Chapter 11 | I'm Sorry
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We were all told to go to detention after school, and I am freaking out as I begin to walk to my fourth hour: Math. I've never had detention before, and I'm certainly not ready for what's to come. To add to that, if my parents find out about this, I'm so dead.
"Hey, are you okay?"
I've been asked that question way too many times for it to be normal, and it is actually getting kind of old as I hear it almost every hour from each of my friends.
I stop in my tracks. "My answer isn't going to change anytime soon," I blurt with the shake of my head, looking over at the person who had asked me. I expect it to be one of the boys, being they are in my next hour, but instead I am met with the gaze of unfamiliar amber eyes.
The eyes belong to a boy about my age. He has shaggy hair that is the multiple shades lighter than mine, and he wears a plain black V-neck, finishing the look with faded jeans and Nikes.
Overall, he looks... what's the word? Nice? Hot? Good-looking? All of those things qualify, but I think the word Taylor would make me use to describe him would be,
Cute.
"I'm Chance," he introduces, gesturing to himself with a playful courteous bow.
"And what's going on with a pretty lady like you?"
Quite obviously this man is the flirty type of guy. I had a crush way back when in Miami that sort of reminded me of him. He was what one could call a ladies man, that was for sure. I could tell this boy might not be any different by his behavior.
For some reason, I'm compelled to answer. "Detention," I sigh, shifting my things to my other arm so I can grab a lock of my long hair that had fallen into my face and pull it out of my line of sight. Despite my efforts, it sways right back to where it started, irritating me to no end.
"Let me get that for you," Chance says, gingerly reaching over and gently pushing the stubborn piece of hair behind my ear. My heartbeat begins to race as he does this, but I manage to keep a neutral face as I continue to stare forwards.
Once he pulls his hand away, I deem it safe for me to speak. "So what class do you have?" I ask, attempting to start a small conversation between us. It works, but it's the worst question I could've asked.
"I'm in your class."
Could this get anymore awkward?
"Oh, sorry," I profusely apologize, my features guilty as my eyes train to the floor.
He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "It's fine, I didn't expect such a pretty girl to notice me anyways."
I attempt to hide the major blush starting at the tips of my ears by pretending something catches my attention from the opposite direction and soon my whole face is flushing red in a matter of a couple more seconds.
"Well uh maybe we could hang out sometime? Like together? You know, er, so then I'll notice you more."
Smooth Kirsten, very smooth.
He chuckles lightly, waiting for me to return his gaze again to answer.
He opens the door to our class, stepping behind me and motioning for me to walk through the door like a gentlemen. I gladly do after a light hearted snort, but the suspense on what his answer is going to be is internally killing me.
Luckily, I don't have to wait too long. "Why, of course. I'd love to actually get to know you. Meet you at the roller rink at seven?" He asks, ruffling his hair as he draws his hand through its depths. He doesn't give me a chance to confirm or decline, simply strolling over to where he must've sat yesterday and leaving me by my seat.
***
The time I have dreaded has come.
Detention.
Being the smart people adults were, they split us up into groups. Two of us went to sit in the office lobby chairs, two went inside of the principals room, and three were across the hall in the actual detention room, which is too tiny to fit us all anyway.
This was all pretty extra if you asked me. They could've saved the time by not splitting us up and just cramming us all if the detention room. I wouldn't have minded in the slightest. Actually, it would've been great if that happened, for I could just talk with Taylor, Sam, Axel, and Carolynn the whole time. But then again, put me in a crowded room with Victoria and I can't guarantee I won't explode another time.
The guy who is suppossed to be watching us sat in the chair behind the lobby reception desk, his two legs crossed comfortably on the desk. He lies back on the chair, head on his arms and hat over his eyes.
Out of all of the rooms, I'm currently stuck in principals room with Noah. What are the chances. The door is wide open so we can see Sam and Taylor, who are seated in the office lobby chairs about fifteen yards away. Axel and Carolynn are stuck with Victoria in the other room.
I don't even know how they, Noah, or Sam even got detention. Or me for that matter. This is all rigged. Victoria deserved this alone, and I know I sound childish by saying this, but she started it.
Noah boredly sits in the corner, grey eyes glued to his phone in avoidance from mine. I just stand in the doorway of our prison, looking out at all of the different colored and sized plastic ducks on the secretarys desk out in the lobby.
"That's it, I can't take this anymore. I'm bored," Noah complains, tossing his IPhone down on the carpet next to him without a care.
My nose begins to wrinkle in annoyance. It might be petty, but I am definitely still mad with him about after the party. Big time.
I guess Noah realizes this by my lack of enthusiasm or response, his observant gaze lingering on the wrinkle on my small nose as well.
"I know you're mad at me," his deep voice rumbles quietly, grey eyed stare now aimed directly in my eyes. My brows skyrocketed in mock surprise. Woah, he can see the obvious? How intelligent he is.
"Yes, I am Sherlock," I snap sarcastically, turning my head back to the entertaining ducks.
Gosh, I really need a life.
"Well I asked Victoria so you didn't have to. Only God knows what kind of a fight you would get yourself in with her based off of what you tried to start earlier." He ignores the glare I send his way, continuing his thoughts undisturbed. "She said she didn't do it. You know, set you up."
I scoff. "Victoria is the one who got us into this whole detention mess. She doesn't bring trouble, she is trouble. Who is to say she didn't do it?" I throw my hands up in my anger, whipping my head back towards him. "And why would she admit to it? Would a murderer ever admit they killed someone?"
I'm aware that's not the best analogy, but it seemingly does it's job. He just shrugs, suddenly interested in the wall next to him with either a loss of words or a reluctance to talk to me any further. I roll my eyes irratably at his sudden change in behavior.
"Can't you just say sorry?"
"For what?" he says through a look of disbelief, irritation dominant in his expression.
I give him a look of disgust before tapping my chin with my forefinger as I pretend to think. "I don't know, maybe for being a jerk the past couple of days?"
Silence fills the room for a few long seconds. He seems quite taken aback by my comeback, and his eyebrows raise, bemused. He probably didn't expect me to be so straightforward, and frankly I don't think anyone scolded him as much as I have his whole reign in school.
"I've never apologized to anyone."
"Well make this a start."
"Okay," he finally says, rolling his transfixing eyes over to my direction with much attitude."I can't believe I'm saying this. I was 'a jerk'. I'm just easily riled."
"And?" I hint.
"And," he pauses for a great length of time, seemingly having trouble mustering his next words. "I'm sorry." The way in which he says it makes it seem like those words are foreign on his tongue.
I release a breath I didn't know I was holding, tension diminishing from my posture. I guess we both had an excuse for being mad and scared that day, for a lot had happened. His apology doesn't entirely erase my negative feelings towards him, but it does lift most of my grudge.
But the first day we met, he really was a real jerk. Never letting that slide.
"I'm sorry too," I confess, hesitantly walking over when he only grunts in reply. My eyes are instantly drawn to the brown bruises lining his jawline, which, like my own bruises, have darkened overnight. As he leans backwards on his hands, I also note his knuckles are in worse condition, scabbed over wounds scattered about.
"Are you okay? I know you said you were fine yesterday, but your knuckles look awful, no offense," I inform, cautiously watching his reaction as I sit down two feet next to him. He doesn't seem to mind, in fact he surprisingly angles his body over so he is on his side, facing me more with his back on the wall.
He shrugs before stretching out a hand in front of him. He inspects the spots with great concentration, as if it's the first time he's really looked at them.
"They're just bruised. Nothing too big."
Without any warning, he suddenly reaches over with the hand he had stretched out and grabs the hem of my crop top, driving it upwards the slightest bit until my nasty bruises from the encounter are in his full view. My heart begins to race, whether it was because he was so close to me with his piercing grey eyes or that he was looking at the hand print shaped bruises I tried so hard to cover, I don't know for sure. Probably the latter.
"Here you are, worried about me. Look at yourself. I thought you said he didn't hurt you. You should go to a doctor," he mumbles, tone a low vebratto as his eyes continue to skim over my waist. He lowers his hand until his fingertips are gently brushing the bruises that are an angry purple. I swear his eyes darken for a millisecond, turning stormy with outrage. I almost miss it because it's gone as fast as it flickers on, making it seem nonexistent.
"I'm fine," I reassure, goosebumps running over my body as his hand lingers for a second longer than I am comfortable with. I reach up and pull my shirt back down as far as it will go ―which isn't that much farther―
turning my head as my face flushes. He get's the hint, retracting his hand and returning it to his side.
Soon the familiar silence has overtaken us both again, but we are both perfectly fine with that.
With a great amount of the angry tension between us gone, I feel like now we might actually get along. Hopefully at least.
Though, I still consider him a jerk for hanging with a girl like Victoria. That girl is the dictionary definition of a snake.
I close my eyes, truly exhausted after the dramatic fight that I almost physically caused. In five seconds flat, I'm already on the verge of sleep. My hair falls in my face as I distantly feel myself positioning more comfortably onto my arm on the floor, which is somehow hard yet soft at the same time. I pay little attention to my surroundings in my final moments of consciousness, being sucked into the land of dreams as I fell into a deep, content slumber.
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