Class Dictator

Let Me Explain

In art class on Monday, Rachel and I contemplated how exactly we should - or if at all - tell the group about Kyle. We discussed the subtle approach only to admit that is near impossible. There was the good old bandaid motion, which may come across to drastic. Before the ability to choose was allowed, the bell rang and lunch began.

After getting our meals, we sat down with the others at the table. Maybe we had an upsetting look or maybe it was Gwen's helpful Something-Is-Wrong senses because she tilts her head at us with big, concerned eyes.

"Guys," she says as the others look up to see who she's addressing. "Is everything alright?" Gwen seemed to be recovering from Tyson nicely. It certainly made Derrick happier. I almost don't want to tell them to not bring them down.

Rachel looks up. "We're fine." Good, we're on the same page. "It's just... we went to the garage like we said." I guess not. Rachel then drew out the whole day and left no detail so they knew as much as we do. There was widened eyes, dropped jaws, and raised brows.

"I knew that ass was up to something." Derrick has been waiting to be right about him.

"How does he have access to that kind of equipment?" Joel pondered. Rachel and I shrug as we can't figure that out ourselves.

Amy raised her pointer finger before talking. "When I was with Marie, the scrawny kid was quiet and joined a few days before I did. Maybe Kyle uses them as double agents." I take a mental note of that bit of information.

I finally speak up. "We need to go again Wednesday and see if we can find any other stuff. I'll tell him so he doesn't bring The Three." They look in agreement just faintly visible in their eyes.

"I'm coming for you Tyson!" That comes from a sudden screaming voice from the intercom. Lincoln. There's no speech or taunt, just a sudden scratchy yell. It made Gwen pause for a while before Derrick could talk her back to earth. Joel and Amy just hold hands tightly as the look onto the center of the picnic table.

I think over the chilling eeriness that coats the courtyard. Suddenly, there's a slight pressure growing on my shoulder. During my thoughts, Rachel has leaned herself against me. Almost out of instinct, I place my left arm around her and rest my chin on top of her head.

I know this isn't out of love. It's the need of something to hold onto. Everyone has that time when they are broken and need somebody to just hold the shattered pieces together until they can find how to repair themselves.

Rachel is broken. It wouldn't be fair if I thought of this as something more than that. So I hold the love of my life in my arms and let her not be the love of my life.