"An ancient greek philosopher once said, It is impossible to live a pleasant life without living wisely and honorably and justly, and it is impossible to live wisely and honorably and justly without living pleasantly," Professor Howard quotes with conviction, low footsteps echoing among the silenced class. He holds a tight fist up as he speaks. "Epicurus, a philosopher who seemingly focused his ideology among the true existence of man kind. I want you all to think for a minute...relate this quote to society now. See what we come up with."
It doesn't take me long to come up with many ideas, but like many in this class, it's a full house of brains equivalent to a high voltage battery.
A hand raises towards the back of the class, and as no one speaks, the nameless student prepares herself. "He's saying, a good life consists of honor, justice, and wisdom. And it makes sense. Lacking one or the other sets you up for failure, if you relate it to karmic subjects."
"You believe in karma?" A kid scoffs.
"I think everyone gets what they deserve. And if you live justly, honorably, and wisely, a pleasant life will present itself one day. Because that's what karmic rules state," she explains, "The idea varies."
The class time is up, and I'm relieved to be leaving. I had a few classes today, and I'm more than ready to head home. I tighten my hold against the strap of my bag, sighing heavily to myself. I haven't seen Harry all day, and the idea of seeing him after that Saturday night really makes me ungodly fidgety. It's all I've given thought to every time I get slightly distracted. I was eating dinner with my mother and she caught me smiling down at my rice, insisting I need to stop playing with my food.
And I don't know why I'm acting like a prepubescent girl who's never touched another boy's hand. I know why -- soft little feelings of infatuation and admiration clearly have formed; but still I don't know why it's actually so painfully obvious. Charlie pesters me, my mother questions me...so far the list is short.
The corridors fill with talk and pointless banter, rushing teachers with their laptop bags bumping into frustrated students, the light at the end of the hallway flickering because still they haven't replaced it since last week. I noticed for some reason. In some time though, the corridors clear up for the day.
"I knew you'd be here."
I'm not shocked when I hear him behind me, where I stand at our usual meeting place. It only varies to two; the library and of course the infamous vending machine. My smile curves into my lips slowly, refusing to turn around and make it obvious that I've been thinking about seeing him a tad bit too much.
My lips are parted and I pause, murmuring, "I wonder who's behind me?.."
I go to press the button for the Chips A'hoy, but he makes me grin wider than before when he reaches from behind me and presses b5 for me.
Harry hums huskily in his throat, mumbling, "Turn around and you'll find out."
I don't say anything, playfully scoffing loud enough for him to hear, bending to grab my cookies, but embarrassingly enough my body brushes against his. Regrettably -- my backside to whatever denim he's got covering his lower body. I didn't know he'd be so close. He spoke so lowly it was hard to tell. My cheeks heat up from the realization, and not only is my shock prominent, but it's even more obvious as I gasp when his hands grip my hips, effortlessly turning me around to face him. My back presses gently into the vending machine as a result of him backing me up into it. I push at him, hand resting on his chest and he grins faintly. I boldly fist the fabric of his tee, pulling him back in my indecisive gestures.
I accidentally drop the snack. A little pitiful pout joins my lips together as I whisper, "My cookies.."
"They're okay," he mocks with a faint, lazy grin plastered on his face. "They'll survive. They'll make it, I promise."
Sighing, I look up at him to see him examining my face as he always does, and not that I mind or anything, but it happens. "How was your day?" I ask.
"Boring," he breathes out. "Yours?"
"Boring, how odd," I retort, laughing at my own little posh accent that was meant to mock his. A fisted hand against his chest lightly knocks onto his toned body. But mid pathetic giggle, the feeling of his cool lips replaces sound with a kiss, loud breaths, and the sound of the fabric of my knitted sweater rustling against the black windbreaker he's got on.
My lips part lightly, and I feel a churning in my lower stomach when the soft, wet feel of his tongue only glides against my bottom lip. I shut my mouth and unfortunately pull away, knowing our actions are not appropriate for the building. Not that I would care, but I just had a feeling it wasn't a good idea.
Harry's hands rest on my lower back, not shaking off the pressure they put there that inevitably pushes me against his body. I can't stop him because really I don't want to, which can't be such a bad thing for either of us. My eyes peer up at him through my eyelashes and he looks back at me.
Three weeks ago...I was thinking this kid's weird...or he's staring too long. Here. Now. I'm leaning against a vending machine, his body tight to mine and our lips centimeters apart. And I can't help but like it. Regardless of how self-kept and quiet...and honestly odd he was at first, if things keep looking the way they are now, I'm too content to look the other way.
"I...I um," he tries to say. I feel a faint smile curving into my lips again. "Swimming," he blurts out in a breath. He pauses, and doesn't say anything in seconds, which encourages me to gradually frown in confusion...maybe adoration and obviously amusement.
"What...about...swimming?" I ask slowly, eyebrows furrowed and lips turned up into a lazy grin.
"I'm going swimming," he states firmly, and then he looks up at the wall in thought for a second as he murmurs, "That took a lot to say."
"Yeah," I agree, letting out a brief, soft laugh. "Where are you going swimming?"
"At a place." He replies shortly.
I nod my head slowly, gazing down at his body within a split second, then looking at his face again. "That sounds fun. Where's your swimming stuff?"
"Don't have it with me," he replies curtly.
"Okay. Don't tell me what you're actually going to do. You don't have to," I laugh, shaking my head. He's clearly not telling me for a reason, and just to be clear, I suspect he has these weird little acts where he tries to get me a certain mood...all for his project. I'm determined not to show an emotion he's yet to draw of me.
Knowingly, he sighs and frowns. "I see...you've caught on..."
"That might get annoying," I admit. "Your project is purely based on pestering me, you know..."
"You find me pester...rer--ous?" His eyebrows furrow as he tries to find an adjective that fits.
My eyebrows furrow too. "Pesterous? That's...not a word," I let him know, pursing my lips, and pushing a hand against his chest. He moves away from me, freeing my body from his warmth and the coolness of the vending machine. I begin to walk away, and he follows beside me.
Keeping up with me, he defends, "I knew that."
"It's fine. You tried," I tease.
"Seriously...do I annoy you?"
I refrain from showing some kind of sarcastic little gesture. I look to him, seeing his eyes already on me. "If I did...I think it's obvious I wouldn't let you kiss me while pressed up against an old vending machine."
"Fair enough," he hums. "So what's it like?"
"What's what like?"
"Being so beau--"
"I'll walk away from you so fast," I warn, "If you call me that one more time."
"I think it's safe to say I've finally annoyed you. And what a surprise, you're still beautiful."
"Okay," I huff, picking up my pace until I'm jogging away from him.
He doesn't move. Instead, he calls out from behind me, "You really think you can outrun a baseball player?"
Grinning to myself, and without turning around, I call back out, "I don't know! I'm kind of really determined! And highly annoyed! Results of your own doing!"
"Is this a challenge!?"
"Yeah!"
"Okay!" He shouts a little louder, the distance between us increasing.
"I think you might want to start running now!"
He laughs, and it sounds so nice to hear. "I'm giving you a head start!"
I don't let his cocky, amusing attitude fool me. The second I hear his footsteps, I round the corner and take the nearest exist, which isn't the parking lot, but one that leads to the track field. Up ahead is the field, and I see a few marching band members standing aligned. The drum line mostly. I turn my head briefly, seeing Harry bolting through the metal doors in a fast sprint.
Not two seconds later I'm picking up my own pace. I bolt towards the next corner of the building, avoiding the track field and the band members. My small feet hit the pavement at the pounding of my heart, which feels like it's going to implode. Legs are burning, but I pay it no mind as I'm oddly determined to outrun an athletic college level baseball player with plenty of advantages.
He's still behind me, and he's fast. I giggle beneath my breath, gripping my bag tightly and turning the next corner, making us run a semi circle around the main building. I take a few steps until I'm crouching behind a bush, slumping down and trying to calm my breath so it's not as noisy. I wait for Harry to arrive, which is literally five seconds afterwards, and he stops right in his tracks. He looks around a bit, and until he's far enough where I can move away from the bush, I don't move.
Harry looks confused. I stand and quietly back away from him, turning the same corner we did previously but now backwards. The childish game turns into cheating the second he turns and sees me backing away. Green eyes wide, chest rising and falling visibly clearer.
"You little cheat," he accuses, accent thick in his tone.
"Um...it's called strategy. Technically, you didn't outrun me because I wasn't running when you ran past me."
"You're insane," he laughs, shaking his head. He runs his hands through his wavy hair, pushing it away briefly before it falls back onto his cheeks. "And clever."
"Thank you. I was born with it."
"Maybe it's Maybelline."
"Alright, we're done here," I playfully snap, and he chuckles in response.
"C'mere," he suddenly instructs.
"For what, exactly?"
"A hug."
Chuckling, I murmur, "Why?"
"Because. I really want one right now. From you."
I pause and look at him for a moment, not giving off the impression that I'll reject him, just that I'm really thinking about what he's saying. "You say things people would be embarrassed to admit," I whisper, head tilted lightly.
"I don't," he whispers back, "At least not to anyone." I don't respond, letting him talk. Eventually we sit like children drawing doodles with chalk on the pavement, but we're regrettably not children. "I just can't bring myself to talk to anyone anymore. Used to be this cheerful guy, uplifting my team. But that enthusiasm is dead," he then chuckles bitterly, looking out to the main road and then down to the pebbles he flickers between his fingers. "I think we should be having this conversation somewhere else."
"Where do you want to go?" I ask him, genuinely about to head out anywhere with him, regardless what my mother would nag me about when I got home.
"I want to go for a swim, actually. The idea was nice."
"Then let's go swimming. In our clothes, apparently," I smile at him.
He turns, pale green eyes looking at me. His stare is focused and nothing at all, but that. I run my sight over his dark eyebrows, defined nose, pouted pink lips, and the stubble of hairs across his prominent jawline. The hair that falls to his cheeks somehow accentuates everything else. Freckles across his nose. Red dots appearing here and there. And if I notice so much about him, I can only imagine what he sees of me.
"Let's go, then."
n. VERY IMPORTANT: The next chapter (in which i'll be updating in like 15
Minutes) is a diary written by an outside character meaning it is not in Tara's pov.
However, it's short and creepy and it's after every eight chapters. It's VERY IMPORTANT than you read them so you get hints as to who is writing the diary.
please and thank you! thank you for reading! 💞