I sat in detention once again, staring at Sam with a glare. How was I supposed to know that Mr. Burlin was listening while I was singing Avenged Sevenfold? That old bastard should just get to doing his paperwork instead of stalking teenage boys!
"When are you going to learn that the f-word is a pretty serious thing to say in school," said Sam. I glared at him and told him exactly what I thought of school. His eyes widened at my specific choice of words.
"You've got very eloquent speech, Joshua," he said, smirking. "Did Adam teach you that?" he asked me. I narrowed my eyes at him.
"I already asked you never to mention him to me again," I snapped at him. He sighed, shrugging.
"Alright...I apologize," said Sam exasperatedly. "I know you're mad at your brother—but couldn't you try to forgive him?" asked Sam pleadingly. I glared at him.
"No," I told him coldly. Sam brushed back his bangs with an impatient hand. He stared at me sternly.
"I know he did you wrong, but couldn't you bury the hatchet?" asked Sam. I shook my head at him.
"What he did to me was inexcusable—I won't forgive him so easily," I replied back coolly. Sam put his hand on my desk, leaning down to stare at me.
"Stop being so childish," he told me coldly. I swallowed hard, but my gaze on him did not falter. "Leaving someone behind may be a bad idea, but it is not the worst thing a person can do to another—hell, people do it all of the time! Get used to it, Joshua!" he snapped. I gave him a scrutinizing glare.
"Aren't you Mr. Cynical tonight," I noted, sarcastically. “And where did a teacher learn to swear like a student? Don't lose your composure, sir, just because a child pushed you too far.”
Sam straightened up silently, running a hand back through his hair. He turned back to me in exasperation.
"If you can't forgive him for your own profit, then at least do it for me! You and your brother were some of my best friends—I don't want to see you two tearing each other apart!" he cried. I closed my mouth firmly, looking away from his brilliant, hazel eyes.
He doesn't know, I thought to myself, half-shocked, half-relieved. My heart gave a big squeeze as the onslaught of emotions hit me. How could Adam have kept such a huge secret from his best friend? Then again...this saved me lots of trouble...so maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Sam sighed again, rubbing his temples together.
"You've changed, Joshua," he said weakly. "You've changed too much." Sam collapsed back at his teacher's desk. I stiffened angrily, leaving my own desk to come stand in front of him.
"Forgive me for outgrowing my ignorance, sir," I grumbled sarcastically. Sam saw my discomfort and gave me a tried smile.
"I"m not chastising you for maturing, Joshua, I'm sad that you outgrew your happiness," he told me. I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Happiness is overrated. The only things that matters in this world are money and power," I told him coolly.
"You don't want to just survive, Joshua, you want to live! Haven't you ever thought about what you want in life?"
"As I said before, one's own happiness does not—"
"Then why are you even here?!" cried Sam. He stood up from his desk, overturning his chair and snatching up the front of my shirt.
"Bastard! If life is so unimportant to you, then why are you still alive?!" snapped Sam furiously.
"I never said—"
"But you implied it!" he said, cutting me off. "And yet you have the nerve to sneer at me—as if I was in the wrong!" snapped Sam. His breathing was heavy, but it slowed down and his eyes widened as he realized what he had just said. He slowly released my shirt and then pulled his chair back upright. Drawing back to his chair, Sam put his face in his hands. He blew out a breath of hot air, looking up at me. I swallowed back against the aggravation I felt at his gaze.
"I apologize for losing my composure," he said quietly. He looked back at me with tired eyes staring deep into mine.
"Please don't be so cynical, Joshua—life is too short, and all of the money in the world won't keep your bed warm at night," said Sam. I glared at him, turning my back on him afterwords.
"If you do that again, sir, I'll report you to the principal for child abuse," I told him, striding out of his classroom without a second look back.
* * *
I strolled into the library, unable to return home for some reason. I didn't know why I had gone into the library—considering I usually avoided it. I was trying to pull off the tough guy image, and surrounding myself with books didn't seem like it would help my case. Nerds hung out here, but they knew better than to screw with me. Besides, my expression was most likely morphed into a mask of anger, scaring away any possible harassing. Still, the library was unbearably bare of human life. The only person there was a woman at the desk, popping her gum as she played a video game on her iPod Touch. Considering the loud sounds emanating from the device, I could only surmise she was engrossed in a game of Angry Birds, not a book by Emily Bronte. I sighed, shaking back my hair.
Why work at a library if all you want to do is play video games? I thought to myself. I stopped myself. Unless you come here for the peace and quiet—otherwise it's completely pointless.
I heard the door opened behind me and I stepped to the side of the thin halls t to make way for the next person, but when I turned Sam walked in with his fatigued eyes. I glared at him as he came in. He saw me standing in the entryway and looked up with surprise, but eventually smiled at me.
"If you wanted to come to the library, I could have given you a ride, you know," he told me. I rolled my eyes at him. "Butt out, Nishimoto. I don't give a damn either way—I just don't feel like going home yet," I told him. Sam, however, ignored me, glancing around the library calmly.
"My word, why doesn't someone tel that librarian to put her iPod away?" he muttered to himself, ignoring my incredulous look.
"What are you doing here anyways?" I asked him furiously. He smiled at me.
"I come to the library too—once in a while," he told me.
"This particular one—at this time?!!" I snapped at him. He raised an eyebrow at me.
"Well, it is fairly close to my house," he said to me calmly. My face turned red in indignation. A furious thought rose to question in my flustered and confused brain.
"Are you—following me?!" I spluttered. Sam gave me a charming smile.
"Now why on earth would I do that?" he asked me innocently. I glared at him.
"Maybe because you're a sadistic-meat head with a talent for pissing me off with every word you say?" I asked him angrily. He raised an eyebrow at me, making me more infuriated with him than before.
"Well, don't hold back, tell me how you really feel," said Sam teasingly. I opened my mouth to form some very ugly language, but the librarian took this chance of silence to glance at us and hiss for us to be quiet. I turned to swear at her this time, but Sam put a restraining hand on my shoulder.
"Let's move to somewhere more private," he told me. After a moment of irritated hesitation, I followed him sullenly, glaring at his back as he went. We stopped in the middle of the fiction aisle. Sam leaned back against one of the shelves, pulling out a book at random. He glanced at the cover casually before handing it to me, smiling.
"You should read this book," he told me. I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Why?" I asked him stubbornly. He shrugged.
"I enjoyed it. I'm almost certain you would too," he told me. I opened it slowly and rifled through the papers. I stopped, closed it, and then looked at it once last time before handing it back.
"It's a romance novel," I told him. He gave me a small smile. I glared at him. "I don't like Nicholas Sparks," I told him.
"Come on, Joshua. The Notebook is a classic," urged Sam, a smile of amusement lit up around his lips. I shook my head, handing it back to him.
"I hate mushy-gushy love stuff," I snapped at him. He took the book back, putting it back in place.
"Funny—you used to love it as a little boy," he told me. I flushed. "Shut up, Sam!"
"Don't call me Sam," he told me again. I glared at him still. He looked at me gently.
"You say you don't like romance, yet as a child it was the only thing you read. What happened there?" asked Sam. I shook my head at him.
"None of your damn business!" I repeated to him. He looked back at the book's spine.
"You don't want to read it then?" he asked me. I nodded stiffly with a stone-set jaw. He gave me a smile.
"Still, something tells me that you've already read all of Nicholas Sparks' work," he said to me knowingly. I flushed, looking away from him. He gave a little chuckle.
"You do not deny it," he told me. I glared at him in defense.
"You think you're so smart, don't you, Mr. Nishimoto?" I snapped at him, my rage barely contained. His grin grew larger.
"You do not deny it," he repeated. I crossed my arms at him, believing that if I put a kind of barrier between the two of us I would be able to hide my feeling better. Sam's smile faded.
"Will you not smile for me once more?" he asked me softly. I glared at him.
"Why the hell would I smile if there's nothing left to smile about?" I asked him. He shook his head at me.
"Is it because your parents—"
"My parents are dead! That doesn't matter to me!" I snapped at him. I looked away from him, cheeks burning, eyes stinging.
"What's the point in living if God's just going to take away everything you've ever cared for. Everyone I care about always leaves me—it's not fair," I muttered to myself. Sam nodded at me.
"You've had a rough time of it," he said to me. I glared at him.
"Oh yes, I forgot that you're Mr. Perfect who gets everything he wants," I snapped at him. He gave me a somber look.
"Not everything, Joshua," he told me, a kind of gleam in his eyes.
Before I could react, he crossed the distance between us and kissed me full on the mouth, his hands lingering on my neck as he forced my lips to meet his gently. His lips tasted like tobacco and he smelled like smoke. I realized with a start that Sam had kept his habit of smoking. In fact, he was the person I had learned how to do it from in the first place. His lips were warm and inviting, and oh-so-urgent upon my own. I sucked in a shocked breath, my fists curling to fight him off, but then his touch had left me as quickly and as suddenly as it had come. I hadn't even noticed he had slipped a book into my hand until he pointed it out.
"Read the book, Joshua," he told me, taking a step from me and towards the door. "I expect it to be read by the next time I see you in detention."