I hated khaki. Never, before this day, had I been graced with the displeasure of wearing the dull, tan color. I glanced down at my pants one more time and sighed. This was ridiculous.
I realized that my anger was slightly inappropriate, considering it was partially my fault that the school had turned into a prison ward. But only partially. And at any rate, I couldn't see how khaki pants and color-coded polo shirts would stop people from trying to stab me. Again. I guess that's not exactly the right way to phrase it. Fitz's intentions were never to actually stab me. Just humiliate me in front of her. To make me beg. The events of Vegas Night had been burned into my memory, like a headache that wouldn't go away. The kind that gets worse when you remember its there.
The flashback started involuntarily. The way Fitz approached me, knife in hand. The way she looked so scared. So scared for me. Truth is, I was scared too.
But I didn't want to be scared. I wanted to seem like I had the situation under control. I'd never been even relatively scared of death-in fact, I had pined for it on multiple occasions-but the truth is that when I had finally stared death in the face, I was scared shitless. I caved, admitted weakness, admitted I'd screwed up.
My thoughts reflexively drifted to her. I couldn't make her watch that. I didn't want her to see me die. She didn't deserve that. She did everything in her power to stop it from going too far, and so I swallowed my pride and begged for my life. His plan had worked, and I hated that. I hated him for that.
But now he was in jail, expelled indefinitely, and I was marching back to the scene of the crime. Leaving my security, my sanity and my beloved Morty sitting in the school parking lot.
The only light at the end of the public school tunnel was her. I'd get to see her. That made the khaki worth it-I glanced down-sort of.
She'd been at her grandma's house during the two week break from school where I had no idea how to contact her. And this past week, I lost my nerve. I had wanted to call her. God, I had wanted to call her, but how was I supposed to start that conversation? I didn't know if we were still a thing. In fact, I was only about seventy percent sure we were even friends now. She had every right to be pissed, but was she? I didn't know, and I wouldn't know until I talked to her. Face to face.
"Eli! My man!" A voice said from behind as I climbed the steps of Degrassi toward the newly installed metal detectors.
"Adam!" I turned around. I'd been IM-ing Adam during the break, but I hadn't seen him in person since that fateful night. We walked up the steps together, waiting in line. Countless dirty looks were shot back my way from ahead in the line.
"So I guess everyone's heard that my little knife fight was part of the reason for all the changes."
"Yeah. Sorry, bud. Don't let it get to you. You know teenagers, they just need someone to blame."
"No big. People can think what they want, and it was my stupid pride that caused some of this. I can't deny that much." The conversation drifted off to small talk as we slowly made our way to the doors of the school. A man with a badge tugged my bag away and sifted through it as I walked through the metal detector. When the alarm didn't sound, I was given my apparently weapon-free bag and was able to walk into Degrassi.
Adam headed for his locker and I headed hesitantly for hers. The anxiety got heavier with each step of my combat boots(which were now partially hidden behind the baggy legs of my khaki pants. Did I mention how much I hate khaki?). The dirty looks continued. I even caught a "Thanks a lot, emo boy!" to which I offered no response. I couldn't bring myself to. I marched on. And on. And on. Has her locker always been this far away?
Eventually I rounded a corner to see those sandy ginger curls I'd been awaiting for three weeks. My breath caught in my throat. She turned me into a sap, one of the cheesy, hopelessly romantic leads she reads about in those Fortnight books. I hated it. I loved it.
She hadn't turned around and I forced my legs-which somehow now weighed one hundred pounds each-to walk toward her.
When I finally got right behind her, I froze. I tried to say hello, but all the came out was a short breath. She whirled around.
"Uh…" I still couldn't speak. This was not me. I'd been nervous around Clare before-that first day when I ran over her glasses, the time we almost kissed because of English class, the time we kissed because of English class-but this was something else entirely. We both stood there for a second, awkwardly, staring at each other.
"Clare." I finally managed.
The word felt like an old friend as it left my tongue.
She murmured something that sounded like my name as she threw her arms around me for a hug, almost knocking me over from the force. My arms wrapped around her in return. I still wasn't sure what we were. I wasn't sure where we stood, but at least I knew we were still friends. That was a step in the right direction.
I remained uncertain, but I pressed my lips lightly to her forehead before pulling away from the hug. She grinned up at me, her eyes glowing even bluer than I remembered.
We went back to staring again, but this time it was incalculably less awkward. We stayed silent, that is, until she started to giggle. Profusely. A deep crimson rose up to my cheeks, "It's the pants, isn't it?"
She nodded, "Never did I think I'd see Eli Goldsworthy wearing khaki pants. I mean, they're weird looking on everyone, but on you, they just look so…khaki."
She started laughing even harder now, and I couldn't help but join in.
"Why, I've been told many times that khaki is my color, so I really have no idea what you're talking about, Clare."
"Oh, yes, it really brings out the…dork in your polo shirt," She started laughing again.
"Besides the fact that you are wearing the same ridiculous outfit, I really don't appreciate this public lampoon of my appearance today."
"And what, Mr. Goldsworthy, do you intend to do about it? Hm?" She grinned up at me.
"Absolutely nothing. I can swallow my pride, let the fight die down for the sake of people around me, especially the ones I care about."
"You've been practicing."
"Someone wise told me that I don't always handle stuff well. So I'm working on it." I smirked.
"This person sounds very wise, indeed."