Chapter I

My name is Grayson Wolfe.

“Oh my god, do you like wolves?”
No, I don’t.

“Oh my god, do you like the color gray?”
No, I don’t.

“Oh my god, do you—”
No, I probably don’t. I don’t like anything that involves wolves or the color grey. In fact, guess what I despise the most?

Grey wolves?—how’d you guess.

I also hate how most of my peers spell the word: Gray. That word disgusts me more than the color does. Gray just looks retarded; grey, damnit! Gray just makes me despise it even more.

…why couldn’t my name be Greyson?

So what do I like, then? Well for starters, Pop Tarts. Not the grey ones—the pink, strawberry kind. I hate the chocolate ones; actually, I hate chocolate in general. Milk chocolate makes me gag. Dark chocolate makes me wretch.

…but I like white chocolate. White chocolate’s okay.

…and white isn’t grey!

But yeah, I do like white chocolate and strawberry Pop Tarts… which is why Evan Weiss is my favorite person ever when he greets me this morning with two packages of individually wrapped Pop Tarts… that say strawberry on the shiny foil wrappings.

“My favorite!” I practically scream at him, giving him the tightest embrace ever (while making sure not to squash the tasty treats in his hands). I’m also fond of tight hugs and strong handshakes; a weak handshake reflects a weak character, after all.

…at least, that’s what my mother Rose said. And yes, she’s the guilty one for my terrible first name; my dad’s responsible for the hideous surname. But I mean, of all people, why did I have to be stuck with the name Grayson? I mean, my sister at least got Lavender, which isn’t that bad of a name….

But anyway, back to the Pop Tarts….

“Two today,” Even tells me, laughing a little. “You know, since it’s your birthday and all.”

Oh right, today also happens to be my birthday. April twentieth, which also happens to be Hitler’s birth- and death-day, Carmen Electra’s birthday, the day of the Columbine shootings, Pot Day, and the day Bill Clinton announced his underwear preference to the public. It’s also Evan’s half-birthday, but I think only I pay attention to that (he’s a half-year older than me, if you wanted to know).

“You’re the awesome, Evan!” I yell gleefully. Okay, I know that was verbally incorrect… er, grammatically… whatever. But Evan loves me for who I am, so he won’t care.

“I’m… the… awesome?”

“You know what I mean!” I quickly snatch the Pop Tarts from his hands and raise them to eye level, giving them a thorough, in-depth inspection. Sure, I’m only inspecting the shiny foil wrapping, but if the foil says strawberry then it must be pink on the inside, right?

…and not g… gr… grey….

I hastily open one to make sure.

It’s pink.

Phew.

“…wanna come to my locker with me?” Evan asks me, eyeing me curiously as I begin to inspect the insides of the Pop Tart. “I need to get my Calc homework so you can copy it.”

“Oh… right.” I stuff one Pop Tart in my mouth (the opened one) and the other in my pocket (the unopened one), and I give an acknowledging nod before I trudge after him down the school halls. Our school is an old building that was never really meant to be a school in the first place. I think it was supposed to be like a cathedral or something, but they forgot the holy baptismal fountain in the building process and scrapped the project altogether. At least… that’s what I’m told. So now that large place with the altar is the auditorium, and the monks’ dormitories are our classrooms. I think one of the confessional booths became a boys’ lavatory… bathroom… thingy. And the hallways connecting the lavatories to the auditorium to the classrooms are where the lockers are.

Personally I hate them and it. I hate the lockers; they’re an ugly shade of grey. Even the occasional works of graffiti on them don’t make it any nicer. No one even bothers to repaint it; has it not gotten through their thick heads? This place needs a makeover! And I hate it too… the school. Because the school uniforms are a borderline grey… and the only reason why I’m wearing mine is because I’ve convinced myself that mine is closer to white than grey.

Evan claims it’s closer to black. But that would mean it’d be grey, and it clearly isn’t.

But anyway, back to the Calculus homework….

“Here you are,” Evan says after a few moments. Evan’s one of those people that never closes his locker door, and though that’s incredibly unsafe it’s also quite convenient. Of course, I don’t use the school lockers (due to its pathetic color scheme and such), but if I were to use them I’d probably employ the same shortcut…. “One calc homework assignment for the birthday boy. All answers may not be entirely correct; examine on an individual basis for best results.”

“Ah whatever,” I interject loudly, dismissing Evan’s disclaimer and stuffing Evan’s blue binder into my already-cramped book bag. It’s a very pretty blue… like his eyes… which are also a pretty blue….

Blue’s my second favorite color. Pink’s my true one-of-a-kind ultimately favorite, but I don’t disclose that to many people because it’s also Lavender’s favorite color (go figure; Lavender hates the color Lavender… though I tease her by reminding her that lavender and pink are somewhat alike).

Can you see now why Evan’s my favorite? He brings strawberry Pop Tarts and his eyes are blue! Could he be my favorite in any other way?

…yes, actually, he could. He gives me his Calculus homework to copy. But let’s not continue that list; it’d take too long.

“You’re gonna come with me to the cafeteria still, right?” Evan asks, giving me a curious look.

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“Well, I’ve given you enough Pop Tarts, you don’t really need to buy your own breakfast today….”

I look down at the Pop Tart that’s hanging from my mouth. “Oh.”

“You’ll still come with me, then?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles and shuts his locker, putting some pencil thingy in this hole thingy behind the locker door. “Awesome.” We begin walking, and I take the moment to start biting into the awesomely delicious strawberry Pop Tart. “Hey Grayson, how the hell do you do that?—I mean, talking with that thing in your mouth.”

“This?” I point to the pink once-rectangle. “Loads of practice, I guess… I mean, you give me this stuff every day, I’ve gotten used to it by now.” For some reason Evan sniggers when I tell him this, but when I ask why he’s laughing he doesn’t tell me. I guess Evan’s a little on the reserved side, and though most of the time he does tell me stuff, sometimes there are just some things he just doesn’t share. And though I would never have thought it… this apparently is one of them.

So the rest of the walk to the cafeteria is spent with Evan being his reserved-and-unusually-quiet self and me being my strawberry-Pop-Tart-eating self.

But once we actually arrive at the cafeteria… that’s a whole other story.

“Grayson!” That unmistakably high-pitched feminine voice screeches through the cafeteria, and my head is forced to turn hesitantly to its source. Vanessa Williams is with my sister, and she’s waving frantically from the table we usually sit at (the table’s grey, by the way). Why she’s waving at me I’ve yet to know, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with today being my birthday.

I’d like to point out now that Vanessa looks nothing like the celebrity who shares that same name. Get over it; Vanessa is just as common of a name as Williams, which is just as common as seeing a seagull on the beach. Plus, our Vanessa happens to have obviously-dyed blonde hair and green eyes, and she’s whiter than bleached paper… if that exists.

She’s almost insanely loud, and her extremely high-pitched voice almost makes me wonder if girls can falsetto.

…can they?

But anyway, back to the cafeteria….

“Grayson Wolfe!” she exclaims again, stretching my last name so long it’s almost like she’s saying wool. And wool is usually grey. Ew. “You need your seventeen punches!”

I flinch. As white and skinny she is, Vanessa can punch. There was this one time when someone stole her purse, and she chased him for a good two miles—oh, she can run, too—before beating the crap outta him. Like… bloody-pulp kind of beating up. And it was awesome to watch, I might add.

But not to take part in… which is why I immediately hide behind Evan.

“Save me!” I whine, clutching onto Evan’s shoulders. They’re very bony, broad, shield-like….

Evan’s moving toward the table. Ah!

Several pairs of eyes are also making their way toward the table. Or looking at us making our way toward the table. Something along those lines.

…you think it would’ve occurred to me to just let go of Evan and run in the entirely opposite direction. But I think I’m much safer here; I might run into creepy-stalker person if I leave Evan. Creepy-stalker person who hasn’t yet figured out that I hate the color grey and I hate wolves and anything that closely resemble them (I hate foxes, too… but not their color).

Obviously, this creepy-stalker person isn’t doing a very good job at creepily-stalking me.

But incidentally, this creepy-stalker person likes giving me love notes with pictures of wolves at the top, notes which usually and somehow find their way to me. And she (presumably) also puts little hearts around the first four letters of my name, and it really makes me want to choke something… someone… creepy-stalker person….

But anyway, back to the birthday punches….

“One!”
Ouchy!

“Two!”
Stop!

Vanessa’s giving me these sneak-attack birthday punches, and they really suck. It’s probably what I get for using Evan as a shield, though….

The third and fourth punches hurt… and then the fifth one almost knocks me off my feet….

And then it stops. I swivel on the spot and find Vanessa just standing there, giving me that awesome Vanessa smile of hers… which she claims has won her an award before. All lies of course… though she is a model. Models get perks for some strange stuff. But she’s lying, still, I know it!

“I’ll save the rest for later!” she says all happily before taking her seat next Lavender again. Damnit, something to look forward to, then…. Let’s see, Seventeen minus five… carry the omega….

By my request, we sit down in the following order: Me, Evan, empty chair, Vanessa, empty chair, Lavender, and empty chair. I think no one wants to sit next to Vanessa because of her brutal punches, even though today I’m going to be her only victim. And the seat next to me is empty because Lavender’s boyfriend hasn’t arrived at school yet.

…I said those names in a counterclockwise manner, by the way.

But anyway, back to the almost-typical school morning….

“Tomorrow’s Friday!” I shout out to the table, just because I can. Granted I’m sure they haven’t forgotten, since Friday is the only real reason kids actually go to school. Unless you’re Evan, who actually goes to learn, but it’s because of kids like him that the rest of us don’t fail school… or at least, the best friends of kids like him.

“Tomorrow’s Friday?” Evan repeats, giving me this dazed look. How can you not know it’s Friday? Or… tomorrow’s Friday… whatever.

“How do you not know tomorrow’s Friday?”
…good thing I caught that mistake in my head.

Evan gives a shrug before pulling out some really thick textbook from his book bag. “So focused on remembering your birthday I forgot about Friday?” He gives me a smile that rivals Vanessa’s, but I merely nudge him in the side. Lies! Excuses!

“Whatever.”

“So anyway,” interrupts Vanessa, who has to yell because we can’t hear her from this end of the table (or at least, that’s what I think she thinks, because I don’t see why she’s doing it otherwise); “tomorrow is Friday, as Grayson’s gratefully reminded us. So I was thinking… maybe we should—”

“Matthew Lloyd Rivers! My favorite!”
Lavender.

…see, I’m not the only one! It runs in the family! Except I think Lavender’s calling that stuff in his hand her favorite, and not Matthew himself….

But anyway, back to Matthew Lloyd Rivers….

Vanessa pauses momentarily to watch Lavender leap out of her seat and give Matthew a Grayson-approved embrace. Except I don’t think she’s as careful as I am, and I think she squashes the pink carnations between the two of them. And both of them have such long same-colored hair, I’m not really sure who’s drowning who in who’s hair.

…okay, Matthew’s hair isn’t that long. It’s shaggy. Roughly cut. Not quite shoulder’s length. But Lavender’s is so flowing that she could probably use them as curtains if they ever wanted privacy.

She lets go eventually and sets the carnations on the table. “Thank you!” she exclaims, “but what’s the occasion?”

Matthew shifts uneasily on spot. He’s one of those people that use silence as a weapon, but he’s still ultra-cute-and-adorable to all the ladies… or at least, that’s what Lavender tells me whenever I ask her why she likes him. I mean, you’d think shy people wouldn’t date shy people (yes, Lavender’s shy, except when she gets excited and lost in the moment), because their dates would be entirely too silent and boring… unless that turns them on or something.

I wouldn’t know.

Matthew’s still spitting out his reasoning to Lavender. “…and I was getting Grayson a gift for his birthday and thought I should get you one too… not because it’s your birthday, because it isn’t, but just… because… you know….” At this someone squeals (presumably Vanessa), and Lavender takes Matthew into another hug.

“As I was saying—” Vanessa tries continuing, but I feel the need to cut her off. It’s my birthday; I get rights.

“You got me a gift?” I ask curiously, looking down at the flowers. They’re… pink… and though I hope he didn’t get me flowers, too… I don’t think I’d mind… pink….

“Shit’s in the car,” he mumbles to himself. I blank out for several moments—Matthew said shit!—but in the end I figure it’s just my imagination. Quiet people like Matthew don’t know how to cuss. He must’ve said “it’s in the car.” Yeah, that sounds right.

“Don’t you think you should go get it?” Lavender asks him probing at his chest. “It’s not fair to give me my gift and not him, is it?—I mean, it’s Grayson’s birth—”

“I’ll be right back,” Matthew mutters quickly, and he immediately races out of the cafeteria. I turn first to Evan (who raises his head and an eyebrow before returning to his physics homework), then to Vanessa (who still looks like she wants to say something), and finally to Lavender (who just gives me a very creepy wink).

Okay….

“So Vanessa,” I announce, turning to her, “what did you want to ask us?”

“Huh?—oh, right, yeah. Well tomorrow’s Friday, so I was wondering if you all wanted to—”

“Grayson, parallel circuits, is the current the same or the voltage?”

“As if I’d know,” I reply, dismissing his question. I think Lavender answers the question for him. “Sorry, Vanessa, as you were saying?”

“Ice rink,” she says simply. “Tomorrow. Ice rink. Anyone want to go?”

“I’m up for it,” Lavender says quickly, “and I’ll make Matthew come too.”

“Make me come to what?” he asks out of nowhere, and lo and behold, he’s actually there with us again. Hair all over the place and out of breath. But at least he has a bluely-wrapped gift in front of him now, which he quickly hands to me.

“Thank you!”

“Skating.”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

…I don’t think he heard my thank you.

“Thank you!” I decide to exclaim again, and he hears me this time (since he’s not being distracted by Lavender).

He looks at me expectantly. “Well… open it….”

Oh… right.

I begin to unwrap… no, unpeel… it carefully, making sure not to ruin the blue wrapping paper. Sure, it’s not exactly the prettiest shade of blue, but it’s still blue!—and not grey!

But anyway, back to Matthew’s present….

…an assortment of white chocolates! I wonder how he knew I liked white chocolate…?
…wait, never mind, Lavender probably told him.

If Lavender’s arms weren’t all draped over Matthew like that, I’d probably give him a nice hug for the gift. But instead I just give a thank you and gulf down the rest of my Pop Tart, all before popping a chocolate into my mouth. And just to make sure he knows I’m grateful, I give him a toothy grin afterwards.

See, white chocolate can’t make your teeth all funny-looking in color. If anything, they’ll stain your teeth white.
And that’s a good thing.

“So what about you?” Vanessa asks, turning to Evan. “You feel like going?”

He gives a frown and shrugs. “I dunno… skating isn’t really my thing….” He turns to me. “Are you going?”

“What?” I turn to Lavender. “Are you going?”

“She already said she was,” Evan snaps, tapping his pencil impatiently. “So are you?”

Well, if Lavender’s going, then I kinda have to. Otherwise mom will start asking me why Lavender’s got more friends than I do. And that isn’t true at all. “Yeah, I’m going.”

“Ah, okay.” He turns to Vanessa. “Yeah, I guess I’ll go.”

“Great!” Vanessa exclaims, though she gives Evan a curious look before turning away. I know what she’s thinking; she’s probably surprised that Evan can actually take time off his homework to do things. But what Vanessa doesn’t know is that Evan isn’t the typical geek or nerd. In fact he’s hardly much of one. He just… likes doing stuff for his future. That’s all. He’s very capable of a social life.

But anyway, back to making plans for tomorrow….

“So it’s settled, then!” Vanessa says cheerfully. “They have group discounts if we can get enough people, so I’m going to try and….” She goes on and on, but I stop paying attention to her. Matthew’s turned to Lavender and is talking to her, so the only person left to resort to is Evan.

…not that I’m complaining or anything….

“To be honest,” I tell him honestly, “I don’t skate very good, either.”

“I know that,” Evan says matter-of-factly, “and it’s very well, not good.”

“Whatever. You love me and my incorrect-grammatical-sense… ness.” I playfully stick my tongue out at him before turning back to Vanessa, who’s no longer talking about Friday. Good. Because as much as I love Friday….

“How about my birthday!” I yell, a little on the whining side. “Why can’t we do something today?”

“Money doesn’t grow in our pockets,” Lavender replies coldly, though I’m surprised she actually heard me. Then again… she’s not Matthew, and I sorta did yell it to the entire cafeteria….

I wonder how the rest of the school puts up with me.
…actually, no, I don’t think I wanna know.

“But today’s… special… my… birthday….”

“We’ll celebrate it tomorrow,” Vanessa says, giving me that smile again. No, not the smile!—too pretty, too charming, too….

“…fine.” I swear Vanessa gives a sigh of relief at me relenting, but I pay no attention to it. “Evan, come to Calc with me now?”

“Now?” he asks, confused. “We’ve still got ten minutes until the first bell.”

“Yeah… but I need to copy your homework still…!”

“…but I already gave it to you…!”

“But what if I don’t get it? I need someone to explain it to me!”
…I think I stretched that last word far longer than I needed to.

Evan bites his lip. “You actually care about what you’re copying?” He gives a shrug. “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

“Yay!”
I hug him extremely tightly… probably a record-breaker… maybe a bone-breaker.

“Ow,” he says quietly, which makes me laugh because he doesn’t sound like he’s in pain at all. “Anyway, I’ll see you all later.” The others then give their farewells to him (only Lavender remembers to say goodbye to me, as well) before we turn away. “Only because it’s your birthday,” he grumbles under his breath.

…not quietly enough for me to not hear him, of course. “You know you lo—ouchy!”

Damn those sneak-attack birthday punches!

-

I love Calculus. But in a very unconventional way.

I don’t really like Calculus. I like the teacher. But I don’t like the teacher, I just… like the teacher. As in… I hate Calculus, I don’t like the teacher, but it’s bearable.

…something along those lines.

Anyway, it’s like, I can walk in there with high spirits and spend the entire class happy, yet when it’s time to leave I find myself as confused as ever. It’s almost as bad as those sneak-attack punches; the confusion just suddenly gets at you, and you leave the classroom with a headache you’re expected to deal with the entire day because they don’t allow Tylenol and drugs on school grounds.

And the teacher, it’s almost like she’s purposely amiable and friendly just to hide the atrocity of Calculus. Like… Hey-look-I’m-friendly-I’m-a-decoy-while-the-course-material-murders-you kind of hiding. And she doesn’t stop smiling! And worst of all, not only is her ever-present smile so disgustingly unattractive (unlike that of either Vanessa or Evan), but she always dresses up in this grey… suit, thing. But again, half the time I don’t care because she’s so nice and kind… but the other half, man….

But anyway, back to Calculus….

“Did you finish in time?” Evan asks me concernedly as he passes up his homework assignment; I follow suit moments afterward.

“As always,” I tell him, giving him my white-stained toothy grin. “Anyway, that means I didn’t pay any attention in class today, so you’ll have to come over and explain it like you always do.”

To this Evan raises a curious eyebrow. “Like I always do?”

I heave a sigh and shake my head. “Okay, fine, you don’t’ always come over to my house, but you do explain everything over the phone. Except today is my birthday, so you’re going to come over today and not waste my minutes, got it?”

He gets it.

We can’t talk after that, though, because Mrs. Schroeder very politely asks us to be quiet, almost as if she was only suggesting it. And because we’re good kids (and no person in their right mind would dare go otherwise on her request) we comply and try to pay attention. Except, of course, only Evan actually does.

When the bell rings, our conversation commences once more.

“That stuff should be review for you anyway,” Evan says pointedly, which makes me feel even stupider for not knowing any of it. “This is stuff we did last semester. You don’t remember any of it?”

I brace my head with my fingers and peer at him from the corner of my eye… but then I stop because that only makes my new headache worse. “No, of course I don’t, or else I wouldn’t have this ringing pain.”

“Want a Tylenol?”

“Sure.” Unscrew… pop… swallow….

…I should probably mention that, while drugs (including Tylenol) are prohibited on school grounds, most of us bring some anyway. Actually, Calculus kids are almost required to bring them if they actually want to survive the school day. And trust me, whether the kids actually want to be at school or not… either way, going an entire day is painful.

I don’t bring drugs because my parents won’t allow it. But Evan isn’t as unfortunate.

But anyway, back to going to Evan’s locker….

“There’s a note on my locker,” Evan says very monotonously, and I immediately give out a shriek. What else but a creepy-stalker love note! In all its hideous glory…! I’m not surprised that it’s on Evan’s locker, though. The creepy-stalker is so bad at stalking that she doesn’t even know where my actual locker is.

“Insane….”

“Read it,” Evan says with a grin.

“Why?”

“Because… I dunno… I wanna see how corny it is.”

I flash the note in front of him. “There, see, okay?—good, now I’m trashing it.”

He pouts. “You know what I meant….” Suddenly he sounds like me and I sound like him… at least, me correcting an incorrect statement of his…. “Please?”

I shake my head. “Fine. But only because I love you.”

“I thought I was the one who loved you?”

I shrug. “Either way. Anyway, wanna hear this or not?” He nods profusely, so I continue reading.

Grayson – (don’t forget the hearts and how pathetic they look… and don’t forget the hideous wolves at the top)
Oh, how much I love you so!
How I admire you from long ways away!
Like a gray (ew) night’s sky
Devoid of clouds
Yet waiting for the warmth of the sun’s arrival!
How I long for you to….

“Okay, I’m not reading the rest,” I declare, much to Evan’s disappointment.

“Why not?”

“I’m going to be late to class.”

“Since when did you care about being late to class?”

“I….” Okay, fine, I admit, I really don’t care if I’m late. But there’s no way I’m reading the rest of this aloud. This creepy-stalker person… is a perverted woman, too!

“You’ll be late to class!” I counter triumphantly, and all retort is gone from his face. Ha! Success! “Here, actually, you can take the note if you want. If you care so much.”

He actually takes it.

“I’ll see you in fourth,” he says before shutting his locker and walks away. He has Spanish now… which is nowhere near my English classroom. It’s very depressing. What’s even more depressing is that there’s absolutely no one I know in this class. It makes me want to stab my eyeballs out.

Actually, I don’t think I’d ever want to do that, because there’s a lot of comical genius that occurs in this classroom, and I’d kill myself if I were to miss it. I mean, for starters, the teacher’s so tall he has to crouch to enter the class (keep in mind our school was supposed to be a cathedral thingy, and monks are either short or once-tall-but-now-so-old-their-backs-arch). He’s also a fresh graduate from the local university, meaning this is his first year of teaching…. In short, he doesn’t have a solid structure of teaching yet. One time we got out of a vocabulary quiz because he needed to use the staff lavatory really badly.

In addition, he also happens to be a klutz. For us that’s a good thing, which means class is always an enjoyable experience. For him, though, it’s not a good thing, because he keeps dropping his laptop, and every so often he drops it so badly that it doesn’t boot up again. And sometimes we laugh at him because he’ll switch from a mac to a Windows computer, and when we ask him why he tells us because it was cheaper.

…computers aren’t cheap. So asking for a cheaper price is like screwing for virginity.

But that’s basically the gist of it. And of course, I usually don’t get to enjoy most of the class period because of the headache I always walk in with, and it’s only until about halfway through class when the Tylenol starts kicking in.

My third period class is a very drastic change from English. The most major change being that it’s a French class.

It’s also on the other side of the school, near where Evan’s Spanish class is. Occasionally I see him going up the stairs.

At least I happen to know someone in this class: Matthew. Normally it makes you feel good when you know somebody in a class, but knowing Matthew in an unfamiliar environment actually doesn’t mean much. Why?—well, because normally you use that familiar someone to have conversations with, in order to ease your shyness.

But with Matthew, you can’t have conversations… unless they’re in French. For some reason he’s a lot more animated when he speaks French. He’s not nearly as animated as the teacher though, who’s a really short lady who sometimes stands on the chair to be seen.

…in her case, though, animated implies an excess of hand gestures. She doesn’t speak French animatedly, unless you consider stuttering to be quite animated. Sure, she can speak French—but she definitely can’t teach it.

She also assigned us French names at the beginning of the school year, but she doesn’t even call us by them anymore. Not that calling Matthew by his French name would change much, since he elected to be called Mathieu. Quite frankly, I don’t even remember what I chose for my French name, but I’m sure I’d reply to anything so long as it didn’t resemble my current one.

But that was pretty much all the fun out of that class. After French I had Microeconomics, which I shared with Evan. But there was nothing really fun about that class… except for our atheist teacher. He struck lucky and got a room with a bunch of crosses nailed to the walls, so he kept these black blankets over them so he wouldn’t have to see them every day. Of course, someone in our class took great pleasure in removing the blankets at the start of every class, which usually meant we’d spend the first five minutes being lectured about those blankets.

…well, it’s his fault. I mean, if you’re atheist or anti-God, why go to a school built off of a church?

But anyway, back to describing my day….

After Microeconomics I had lunch. I eat lunch with Evan, Vanessa, Matthew, and this other girl named Bianca. She’s one of Vanessa’s friends… definitely not one of mine. Bianca is very ditzy girl, if I might dare say. She’s a brunette with blue eyes, and though she’s actually fairly smart, her voice is incredibly airy and lacks much intelligence in it. Not to mention… she has a grey hair at the back of her head!

Lavender doesn’t have the same lunch period as we do, so she doesn’t eat with us. But I like it this way; it tends to give Matthew more of a personality. Though as quiet as he is, he and I tend to get along very well. Sometimes I even catch glares of jealousy from Evan—that, or hate, because by not talking to him I’ve left him with the two… vultures.

…er, I mean, girls.

Then after that comes Physics, and then Government. American Government is one of those required classes, and you can take it during any of your four years of high school. Most people tend to get it over with freshman year… but not me. So it’s one of my more boring classes, and I’m left with absolutely no one. The only class more boring than Government is Physics, but least I have Evan to ease that burden.

My last class is European History, and then I’m out for the day. It’s a fun class—quite comical, but it usually takes the longest to get out of… mainly because that anticipation of wanting to get out kills me from the inside. But apparently I do manage to live it out every day, so it couldn’t be that bad.

And so there you have it; my daily schedule. Of course, there’s stuff that usually happens after school, but that alone would take a little while longer to explain. So I’ll skip it for now.

But anyways, back to today….

I find Evan at his locker. That’s where he always is after school, though I’m not sure why. I mean, it’s not like I go home with him after school or anything. He has his ride; I have my own (though today, he is my ride). And for some reason it’s like he knows I always go to find him when the day ends. Yes, it’s also occurred to me to try and see what he’d do if I didn’t show up… but I figured that’d just be a tad cruel.

You know… cruel and unusual punishment… against the law… as I learned yet again in Government today.

“Sup, birthday boy,” he says with a bit of slang, holding his hand out as if expecting me to shake his hand. Somehow, I don’t think the exclamation fits the gesture….

I shake it, anyway.

“I really should have you pay for my services,” he continues, picking up his bag. “I mean… tutoring you… kind of… services….”

“But you love me,” I whine, to which he does nothing but walk away; then I find myself tagging along behind helplessly, like a dog. “So you won’t make me pay.”

“I might consider it.”

“No, don’t, I’m bro—ouchy!” I quickly turn my head to catch Vanessa skirting away, giggling.

Oh, she’s at sixteen, by the way. Damn her stupid sneak-attack birthday punches.

But anyway, back to going to Evan’s car….

“Let’s go find your sister,” Evan suggests, turning me ninety degrees to my left instead of to the parking lot. “I might as well bring her home, too.”

…oops. Back to finding Lavender, then….

There are really only two places where she might be on a Thursday afternoon. Pretty straightforward places, actually. The first—her locker. That happens to be on the opposite side of the school. The other place she could be is Matthew’s locker, which is on the other side of the school. But not the same side of the school, if you know what I mean.

…like, the parking lot, her locker, and his locker… they all form a triangle….

Generally Evan has enough common sense for the both of us, so I don’t have to think much. So I let him decide where to look first.

He chooses Lavender’s locker.

And she’s not there.

So now we’re headed for Matthew’s locker, and my feet ache like a bitch.
…entirely Evan’s fault.

“So I read the rest of that note,” Evan says, turning to me with the most devious smirk I’ve yet seen from him.

“Note?”

“The one on my locker this morning.”

…oh, that note. Creepy-perverted-stalker-woman-written note. Ew.

“Pretty explicit,” he continues with his tone still dripping with gray wolves. At least, that’s the picture I’d draw if I had to associate it with an image. That’s how much I hate how his voice sounds right now.

“Shall I spare you the details?” he adds, to which I profusely shake my head.

…hold on….

“Wait, I mean yes!” I cry out, rather pathetically. “Spare me the details!” But I think it’s too late, because he’s already got it pulled out, and I know he’s about to read it….

No, he better not reveal to me just how perverted this stalker-woman is!

“She seems to have bondage fetishes,” Evan says, smirking. No, stop it!

Ouchy!
Damnit, Vanessa, not a good time!

“I’m starting to think this isn’t a girl, either,” Evan continues, his eyes still scanning the paper. “Lots of references about a—”

“Ew!” I whine, snatching the paper away from him. “That’s so gross on so many levels.” At first he puts an effort to keeping it out of my grasp, but after a quick moment in which our eyes make contact, he relents. I smile in triumph before tossing it to the local trash.

“Come on,” I tell him, stepping forward. “We’re almost there, come on.”

Evan moves along with me. But now he’s wearing a dejected face, and though he smiles forcefully every time I look at him, I know he can’t hide whatever he’s hiding from me.

“Talk,” I mutter, grasping his shoulder and forcing him to halt. “What’s bugging you.”

That wasn’t a question, by the way. But I decide not to remind him out loud.

“It’s nothing….”

This isn’t the Evan I know….

“Is it something I said earlier?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Is it because I freaked about that note?”

He still doesn’t respond.

This is getting a little awkward.

In the distance I can distinctively make out Lavender and Matthew. But I choose not to say anything for the time being.

“I’m not homophobic or anything,” I say hurriedly, basically speaking off my mind until I hit what it is exactly that’s bothering him. “I only yelled ew because it’s the freaky stalker woman… maybe man, and I’ve always been disgusted by that person. Though, honestly, bondage kinda scares me a little, but I’m not disgusted by it. Or maybe was it something else I said—”

“No,” he says quietly, but at least he laughs while doing so. “Nothing like that.”

“So….” I still consider calling over Lavender so she can sort him out. But in the end I figure that might not go too well. So instead I commit myself to figuring out what might be wrong.

…

Uh….

…

…oh!

“Is it because I forgot your half-birthday?” I exclaim. I know this has got to be the reason….

Evan just stares at me incredulously.

“Well, uh… I mean, I’m really the only person who recognizes your half-birthday and stuff… and last year I even got you a present….” I look at him desperately, trying to see if I’m right.

I don’t think I am. Damn.

“…sure, why not.”

Wait….

“Really, that’s it?” I ask, to which he nods quietly. “Well in that case, I’ll get you something later then, after we’re done at my house. Is that fine?”

“Sure….”

So that’s settled. Thereafter I yell out Lavender’s name (right as Matthew’s giving her a “goodbye” kiss), and the three of us make the long journey back to the parking lot. I’m the only content one amongst our group (it’s my birthday, after all); Lavender’s fuming at my awesome timing, and Evan’s just… quiet. Again. So quiet that it’s starting to freak me out. What a sudden change.

But he saves me from my creepy stalker. He helps me with school. And he loves me.

So, I guess it doesn’t matter right now. A small amount of silence couldn’t kill anyone, right?

…right?

Right? Well, anyway, this is my first attempt at original fiction in a long while, so I'd appreciate it if you tell me how I did. If you want more information on the characters or plot, feel free to ask me. Especially since this chapter doesn't explain the summary much, yet.

-Zak