He used to say that it was better to have one friend of great value than many friends who were good for nothing. -Laertius Diogenes
The second the High School is in sight, Alex lengthens his stride and walks ahead of me. This of course just proves my theory that the only reason he willingly walked to school with me was because he didn't know how to get here. Still, it was nice spending a little time with him, even if the entire conversation consisted of my answering his random, first day of school questions. I'd like to say that the topic of conversation was brought on by his understandable nerves regarding his first day of high school. I'd like to believe it, but at the same time I know the reason was simply because he had nothing else he wanted to say to me. Mild irritation creeps up on me as I walk, alone, into the foyer of the school. I carefully suppress it and try to think of something else.
Over the last month, I've gotten used to being a werewolf. Managing my temper has become second nature, no thanks to Alex, and I've gotten used to spending my nights running the circumference of La Push. It's actually fairly enjoyable, especially when Jake joins me every so often. He shares stories about the old packs, my parents as kids, and his life with the Cullens. Sometimes I forget that we're supposed to be on the lookout for a rouge bloodsucker, not having a social hour. Or hours, considering the good eight, nine hours we spend out there.
Still, aside from a few faded trails, the vampire has been very good at avoiding us. A couple times we thought he or she may have left, but every time we think that, we find a new trail, and the cycle repeats. We haven't followed any of these trails yet, partially for safety's sake, partially because they're too old to be worth pursuing. It's frustrating, honestly.
A familiar voice interrupts my train of thought. "Hey, Alex!" the voice calls, its owner raising a hand in greeting. Alex ignores the speaker and keeps walking. Unabashed, the speaker shrugs and calls, "Okay, cool. Nice to see you."
I make eye contact with Kyle Uley and smile. "Ignore him," I suggest. "I usually do." Kyle returns the gesture and continues towards me.
Kyle and I have been known each other for about as long as I can remember. Our parents are friends, of course, which led to us being shoved together anytime they decided to invite the other over. Thankfully we didn't mind. Kyle is only a few months younger than me, and we have always gotten along very well.
He was my first friend, and we stayed friends through our first few years of school, despite some obvious social differences. Even in first grade he was incredibly charismatic and athletic; everyone wanted to be his friend. On the flip side, I was an introverted bookworm who always got picked last in kickball. The only reason I wasn't a target for playground bullies was because of Kyle, but that still didn't make me popular.
In spite of this, Kyle and I remained very close friends, though I honestly couldn't figure out why. It wasn't until one night, in second or third grade, when he slept over that I understood.
I mentioned something about how no one at school really liked me, and Kyle of course replied with the polite, "That's not true! People like you!" But he didn't sound very convincing.
"It's fine, I don't need everyone to like me," Eight-year-old Brian replied. "It's just- you're my only friend. Is that weird?"
"No. Because I know all about you. You really only need one friend if he knows all about you," the young Kyle wisely replied.
"Yeah, but you have lots of friends," I moaned.
"But they don't know all about me. You're the only one who does," Kyle said sadly. "You're my number one friend, Brian," little Kyle smiled weakly.
"You're my only one, but even if I had more, you'd be my number one," I promised. From that day on, we called each other our "number one". Nothing changed as we grew up. Kyle has always been the most popular boy in our grade, and I have always been invisible. Still, Kyle has ditched his other friends for me more than once, and neither of us keep any secrets. At least, we didn't used to.
"How've you been, Brian?" Kyle smiles, shaking my hand and clasping me on the back. He releases my hand and looks from mine to his. "Wow, I must be really excited today; my hands are cold!"
Even though I'm very sure that cold hands are a sign of nervousness, not excitement, I don't correct him. If I did, I'd have to explain why mine are so warm. Instead, I ask, "Why are you so excited?"
"Because we're not Freshmen anymore!" he fist pumps as we start walking towards our lockers. "We aren't the bottom of the totem pole anymore!"
"Yeah, because Sophomores are so much higher than Freshmen," I reply.
Kyle misses my sarcasm. "Exactly. We're officially part of this school. Granted we don't have the authority the Seniors do, but who cares? We are no longer the stupid little kids roaming the hallways. Today, we are men."
I can't help laughing, and Kyle joins in. "How was Hawaii?" I ask.
As usual, he responds instantly to a topic change. "Dude, it was incredible." After six solid months of begging and pleading, Kyle was allowed to spend most of the summer at a surfing camp in Maui. I'd be jealous if I wasn't a terrible surfer.
"The waves were unreal. I don't think I'll ever be able to surf here again," Kyle gushes. I let him continue to talk as I throw a few binders into my locker, and he's still going as we head towards his.
"I feel like I'm hogging the conversation. How was your summer?" Kyle says while doing his combination.
"Not nearly as exciting as yours," I admit.
"Nothing crazy happen?" he asks.
"No, not really," I lie, biting my lip.
"Didn't you say your Uncle Jake's been in town? What's he like?" Kyle asks. Honestly, I'd forgotten I'd told Kyle about Jake.
"He's cool. We've been running together," I say truthfully.
Kyle nods. "Yeah, I knew you had to have done something this summer. You're ripped, man. When did that happen?"
"I don't know," I lie again. "Growth spurt? Regular exercise?" Turning into a mythical creature?
"I might have to run with you sometime," he says. I smile and nod, but secretly hope, for his sake, that never happens.
Kyle looks at his watch and groans. "I should go, my first period's in the basement."
"What class?" I ask, grateful for the new subject.
"Speech," he grumbles.
"Fun. I have Chemistry. And, since it's a lab day, I have it for two periods," I complain.
Kyle looks revolted at the thought. "Okay, you win. That sucks."
"It's not the Chemistry part that bothers me, it's the first and second period part that bothers me," I clarify.
"Yeah," he agrees. Suddenly he perks up, as though he just thought of something. "Hey, I know someone in your class!"
"Who?" I ask, expecting one of Kyle's 'other friends'.
He smiles mischievously. "Did I tell you I have a girlfriend?"
"That's awesome!" I say enthusiastically. Judging by the look on his face, he must really like this girl. That and the fact that, despite the countless girls who like him, he has never dated. I wish I had that problem. "When did this happen?"
"We went out a few times at the end of the year last year, and then texted all summer. I didn't tell you because it wasn't official until last night when I got home," Kyle smiles like a lovesick puppy. He's lucky it's me, because any other guy would probably tease him mercilessly.
"Who is it?" I ask.
Kyle suddenly looks uncomfortable. "Taylor Madison," he mumbles.
I try desperately to keep the smile fixed on my face. "That's great," I lie through my teeth.
The story involving Taylor and me starts in the third grade. We sat next to each other, and by the end of the first day, she glued me to my seat. So, the next day, I cut off one of her pigtails. Our teacher was smart enough to move us, but that didn't stop our rivalry.
She would "accidently" kick me in the shin while playing kickball in recess, and I would "accidentally" spill milk on her at lunch. We'd compete over grades, whose lima bean grew faster, and who read a longer book for book reports. Looking back, it was pretty ridiculous, but at the time it was an all-out war.
Our paths didn't cross again until seventh grade, but we hadn't yet outgrown our pettiness. After being seated next to her in English, I begged to move, and during an in-class debate we nearly ripped each other's heads off. I will admit to throwing a piece of cheese at her in lunch after she won.
Either because he knows this story or because I'm a terrible actor, Kyle notices my discontent and says, "Look, Brian, I know you don't like her, but she's actually really nice, and funny, and-"
I cut him off. "Kyle, I don't have to like her. You're dating her, not me."
"True," he agrees. "But I don't want my number one to hate my girlfriend."
"I don't hate her," I insist. "I just don't like her very much."
Kyle tries again. "You know, I bet if you guys tried you could really-"
"For you, man, I'll be civil. But that's all you're getting," I say shortly. "I'm happy for you, though," I add in a kinder tone.
He nods, relieved. "Thanks. I should go. Have fun in Chemistry!"
"Thanks," I reply, knowing full well that I will not be doing anything of the sort if I'm being forced in the same room as Taylor Madison.