The basement in my house is silent. Nothing, no one, moves, and neither do I. Upset that he got the last word, I shake my head, trying to ignore the frustrating feeling that has warped its way into my stomach. That wasn't exactly how I wanted, or expected, my birthday to go.
As much as I'm grateful for him catching me, so I wouldn't fall and break my neck, I'm still angry that it seems like I can never get the upper hand with this guy. It's infuriating. He's always one step ahead of me, always knowing my next move. How does he do it? Maybe I'm too obvious. Or he's just super observant. Yeah, that makes sense. Aren't people like him supposed to be freakily aware of their surroundings? In the books, well, in the cliche ones, the bad boys have all gone through some tragedy, like their mom died, or they have a sister with cancer.
I guess that expectation runs for the girls, too. They've either been suicidal, lost a parent, or been hunted down. I guess, in the grand scheme of things, this is just like one of those books. And let me tell you, I'm not happy about it.
Molly steps in front of me. "Alex, what's up?"
I blink. "What?"
"You zoned out for a minute. You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumble, and stomp my way up the stairs.
Downstairs, someone mutters to their friends, "I told you we shouldn't have come. I knew it was going to be a drama fest."
As much as that makes me mad, I can't help but nod grimly to myself. They're--whoever that is--totally right. I didn't think it was a good idea to have a birthday party, anyway, but of course, they had to set one up. And it had to be a surprise.
Everyone's led out by Molly, and when she tries to stay for longer, I just wave her away, flashing her a tired smile. "It's okay," I reassure her, "I'm good. Some tea and sleep sounds good right now."
She nods, not looking completely satisfied with that answer, but respects my answer, and steps out of the house, leaving me alone. Jake's still here, but he knows not to bother me when I get in these moods. Good thing, too. I guess he learned his lesson.
I make some tea, and, slurping it down, curse when I realize that I was supposed to finish that English presentation. I knew I had to do it, I just...forgot? Does that excuse still convince people? I completely forgot about it, and that's the truth. It's a good thing we didn't present today, otherwise that would have been a disaster.
In my room, my desk is cluttered with several other papers, all of which I have no recollection of writing on. So, with a few quick glances at them, I just toss them into the garbage can, and pull out my laptop to get to work on my presentation about poetry.
Poetry's stupid, why'd I choose that?
Because it seemed easy, duh.
Well, now that I'm going to end up being the only one working on this blasted project, it's going to prove to be the hardest topic, and I'm going to fail this. There goes my dream of passing senior year with flying colors.
I'm not even sure what I write on the page, and I don't think it makes sense, but I finish it anyway, hoping for the best. It's, like, almost midnight. On my birthday. What a waste. Can I have a redo? Is that a thing? Can people redo their birthday?
Ugh. I'm not thinking straight. The sky is dark, and even Dylan's lights in his bedroom are out. It seems like I'm the only one here, the only one awake. And maybe I am, maybe, in this whole world, I'm the only one sitting up, thoughts blurring together to make a jumbled mess.
Done with the serious talk(it stresses me out, okay?), I climb into bed, not even changing out of my clothes. It's not worth it. Maybe I'll just go to school with these clothes on, wear them two days in a row. I wonder if anyone would notice.
Then again, Katie would, and the first thing she'd comment on would be calling me a liar. Like, okay? Is that all you got? Because I could absolutely burn her down like dry wood in a forest fire. She'd have no shot against me.
My eyes close, and I force myself to think as clearly as I can, trying to get myself to calm down and fall asleep. As hard as it is, I keep thinking back to the night that my prank went wrong.
Well, what can I say? This isn't the latest I've stayed up on a school night, but it is in the same week.
Wow, I'm a rebel.
Watch out, I'm Katniss...what's her last name again? Potter? Yeah, Katniss Potter. I'm her, the one that got stabbed in the ear by that one guy with a number for a name.
"I'm so delirious," I mumble, and curl up into a ball, officially falling asleep.
***
I swear, someone drugged me last night.
I remember everything, but how the heck could I have been that crazy? I've stayed up that late before, so what was wrong with this time? Oh, whatever, I've got bigger things to worry about.
Like the fact that I'm going to be late. Again.
I speak no words to anyone, not even my mother, and then I'm practically Barry Allen, speeding down the street in order to get to school in time. Everything better be normal. At least, until English.
The gods have finally answered one of my prayers.
Nothing exciting happened during the day; I was just able to blend in, to go through my day with red, bloodshot eyes from the lack of sleep, and a messed-up mind.
When Mr. Harvey calls on me in English, though, I jerk, and pull Dylan with me, my fingers on his shirt. He smirks, and looks down at my hand's position. "Are you sure you're done pulling me?"
I scoff, and push him away. "You better make something up, right now, you little pest. I stayed up until midnight just to finish this, so I'm not even sure any of this makes sense."
He nods. "I know you did."
"What?"
"Your presentation, Ms. Baker," Mr. Harvey reminds me, and I'm surprised how fast I can get sidetracked. I don't think that's a particularly good thing.
I sigh and nod. "Okay," I start, and transform into my usual bubbly self. Turning to the class, I present this poetry topic like a boss.
Of course, I let Dylan have a say in some slides, just because he needs the grade, too, and it'll knock some points off of me for dominating the display. Can't have that.
After we're done, Dylan, knowing it'll raise questions, pulls me close, and no matter how hard I try, I can't get away this time.
"You know, I think we make a pretty good team, Baker," he whispers, "why don't we just do these projects together all the time?"
I roll my eyes. "Team? Says the person who did jack squat to contribute to this fantastic powerpoint that I put together."
Mr. Harvey barks, "Alright, alright, it's English here, not drama class, save your issues for later. Charlie, Morgan, it's your turn." He's done with us, and I stalk back to my seat as the next pair make their way to the board.
Heading home, I try avoiding Dylan at all costs, but it doesn't exactly work.
"Hey, Baker," he calls, and I take a deep breath, knowing that he's hoping for a reaction.
"What?"
"About what I said today in English," he starts, and for once, he looks shy.
"Which thing?" I say, hoping to hell that I can keep this polite.
"I know that you stayed up until midnight to finish the presentation," he replies, and when I open my mouth to retort with something totally rude, he quickly adds, "I wasn't stalking you, I promise."
"Then what exactly were you doing? If I remember correctly, your lights were out by at least ten."
"See, I wasn't the one stalking," he grins, and I smack him on the arm.
"What do you want?" I say, and start to get antsy. "I wanna go home," I whine.
"I felt bad for not helping you with the presentation--"
Whoa, felt bad?! I swear, something happened to the Dylan Carter I know.
"--so I stayed up as long as you did." He continues a breath later, returning to his usual self, "I must say, it was hard not to text you, I needed someone to talk to."
I roll my eyes and retreat to my car. "Goodbye, Dylan."
He waves, and looks like an elementary boy for a second, but then Katie comes up and sucks his face for a little bit--not that I watched--and they both climb into his car to go home. To the house that's next to mine. I can't have those two living next to me, right across from my window, that's just...ew.
My phone buzzes, and I look at the screen. Oh, Mr. Harvey put in the grade for English. Here comes the bomb.
The number that determines my grade is ridiculous.
100%. How did I get 100%?
I smirk. "Maybe we do make a good team, Dylan."
12/20/2015