2.

Too Fast

I'm writing this book because it's the last thing they can give me before the options are all run out and I have to hide behind bars. Jennifer is monitoring me as I do it. She just makes sure I'm actually doing it and she gives me tips. She wanted to write a book once. She wrote so many stories as a kid, apparently none made it big time. It's a shame. She's a nice person. She's patient and she doesn't yell at me like everyone else does. Most people either hit me across the head or ignore me, or better yet they yell at me and I hate that. My little brother doesn't say anything which is worse. I try talking to him but he doesn't respond.

Jennifer told me also not to curse when I write. I'll do how I goddamn please, but I can understand why a reader wouldn't want to read a thousand this and that curse words on a page since it feels like you're being cursed at. Or maybe that's stupid.

What else is stupid is what I did after the principal's office. I went out and smoked. I started when I was thirteen. Dad shoved it at me and said "better start now, kid". It was horrible and my lungs felt compressed and dying but I got hooked anyway. I quit when I entered high school but now I started again. I stood in the back of the school where a group of kids in denim and leather and black clothing and make up exchanged a cigarette too, giggling like it was the best thing they ever did. I turned away and tried not to look at them.

One of them, a short girl with black braids going down either shoulder, went up to me. Her breath stunk. She lingered by my side and asked if I was Gilbert. I said I was. She laughed at me and pointed at my face while looking over her shoulder. The stupider part of that was that I got angry and ran away. I didn't feel well. Matthew was in my thoughts like a heavy cloud that refused to lift and remained stagnant. I went through the halls, snuffing the cigarette on the ground outside of it, and looking through. It took a while but I finally saw that tawny head bobbing in a sea of teenagers.

He was setting his books in his locker. A pile was at his feet, some papers sticking out. The bottom of his locker was a mess of broken pencils and index cards. I went over and picked up one of the heavier looking books. It was an AP calculus book. He must have been crazy smart. I later learned that saying that was a total understatement.

Matthew looked over at me, his thick eyelashes batting prettily, and thanked me. Some others lingering nearby pointed and laughed like the braid girl. I shot them a nasty look that shut them right up. I spent the next fifteen minutes, after school, and helped him organize the locker. The bell had long ago rung and no one but a few teachers remained. Some of the sports kids were noisily rushing around on the lower levels.

"Thank you," Matthew said, shutting his locker and setting the lock to zero.

"No problem." I said. I was really close. He scrunched up his nose when I said that. I guess he smelled the smoke. I felt sorry for picking that damn cigarette from the recesses of my locker. I still had to pick up my things but I didn't care one way or the other. That is, until I said the next thing: "Hey, you're crazy smart and I'm having trouble with geometry. Do you think you could help me out?"

"I've never tutored before." Matthew said, holding his backpack stuffed with homework to his chest. Then he hitched his thumb in the sling and swung it around his back, securing it there.

"That's fine. I guess you'll learn how to teach as you do it." Why did I want him to help me? I hated math. I didn't care if I failed it. This kid was doing weird things to my brain.

"I suppose so… Are you free tonight?"

"Yes."

"So am I. My brother will be at a game and my parents will be there. They didn't buy me any tickets so I suppose I have nothing to do."

"We missed the bus, then."

"Oh, no, I walk home. That or Alfred, my brother, picks me up in his car."

"Shall we head on?" I asked in my gentleman-voice.

He laughed. His laugh was chipped and broken but it was the sweetest laugh I ever heard. Damn was I falling hard for the kid. I tried not to show it. I tried to bottle it up since I doubted he liked me at all. Even if I helped him and he hadn't received any of my signature beatings personally he probably didn't trust me. Plus, he was the kind of kid me and my posse sought out when we felt edgy.

Matthew led me to his house and when we passed my locker I grabbed my things lightning-fast and followed him wordlessly. I decided that I didn't have any luck with him and my best course of action would be to shut up and forget I ever had any soft feelings. I wasn't a kid who had soft feelings anyway for anyone. Not even my brother.

We went through the field. Matthew said nothing and I didn't start any conversation. I hitched my thumbs in my pockets and stepped over the prickly grasses and avoided the ditches. Matthew pushed open a fence and then led me down a winding neighborhood. Finally he came up to his quaint little home painted beige. He produced a key from his pocket and pushed the door open.

"Want a drink?" he asked.

"I'm good."

"Make yourself at home. I'll have a snack and you can find my room." He described how to find the room, the last door in the hallway to the left. I went down it and examined the house. It was a common suburbia place, paintings with no real significance lining the walls, the furniture wasn't bad but it wasn't exactly exquisite. I reached the end of the hallway. There were two doors. One door had college flags and all sorts of decorations on it. The other had nothing but a black ribbon on the door handle. I pushed that door open, since I doubted Matthew would cheer on any teams, and entered. A single bed was in the corner, a dumpy computer in the other. There were no posters but there were books everywhere. I pulled the desk chair over and plumped down on it heavily, staring up at the ceiling. I could hear Matthew scuffling downstairs like a mouse, scratching at the cupboards and finding food. I heard something open and something else fizz.

Matthew came back upstairs, shoes off, and sat down next to me. He had a bottle of coke and a pack of dried mangos. He set them on the table and told me to try them. I picked up the mango. It was soft and looked like a severed tongue if it were so pleasant. I tried it and boy, heaven in my mouth. I think I reached nirvana then. The juice exploded from that dry sack of bliss. I had another one and then another and Matthew laughed.

"You like them?" he asked just as I prepared to beat him to a pulp.

I paused, my fist still clenched, then nodded slowly.

"What do you have trouble with?"

"What?"

"What do you need help in?"

I didn't understand that he was referring to geometry until he nodded at my bag. "Oh. I just need some help with exterior angles and that shit."

He helped me work on it for some time. He was patient and methodical. He never yelled at me either. He spoke softly and pointed me in the right direction. I felt stupid but by the end of that first hour I started to feel a lot better.

"Let's take a break." Matthew said and pushed away from the desk. He had borrowed the desk chair from his brother's room.

"Yeah," I yawned and fiddled with the pencil.

Matthew took a sip from the bottle.

"Why are you so nice to me?" Matthew asked at last.

"Huh? I just don't know. I kind of felt a kindness to you. Mainly because you did me no wrong before. I'm not gonna be mad at anyone who hasn't done me anything bad. It's not right."

He had instigated a whole new branch of something I don't understand. "Why are you so nice to me, then?" I asked him when he made a mumble of affirmation to the previous comment.

"You're the first person who ever decided to be my friend." Matthew gave me a smile that people give when they're about to cry. I know it well. I've done it a thousand times before.

"Oh," I said dumbly.

"And I'm nice to you for that reason. You saved my life, you know."

"Yeah but what the hell do you have to die for? You have everything. You have a good house, a good sibling, a good family, and a good brain. The hell are you complaining about?" I was yelling. I didn't realize that either until he was cowering. I don't realize these things in time. Besides, I felt that I had intruded on something. "Nevermind. I'm sorry. Forget what I said."

We parleyed on some other things instead. He said that he was fluent in French because his uncle took care of him most of the time. I said that I knew German.

"That's so cool," Matthew said, grinning. "You should teach me."

"I'm a horrible teacher."

"You got me to teach you." Matthew looked back at the book and decided that the break was over. He took me through another lesson, the one we would be doing next in class. He said that getting a toe into the lake before he was forced to jump in during class would help me.

It started to get dark. The light drained from the sky and Matthew said his parents would be home at any minute. He looked right scared when he said that. I guess he didn't think I was a fit friend for him. I respected that. As I gathered my belongings and wondered what new torture awaited me at home, I asked him out on a date.

I stopped stone cold.

Those words had really exited my mouth.

"Would you go on a date with me?"

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

Matthew turned crimson.

"We just met."

"I know. That's why I wanted to go on a date with you so I can learn more about you."

"Yes."

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow. It'll be a surprise."

I quickly vacated the house and ran outside. Matthew was in the window, looking down at me. I waved and he waved back. He reminded me of something from a play I was forced to read some time back. He looked a bit like Juliet during that infamous balcony scene, where she decides that she wants to marry Romeo since he sweet talked her and climbed up her balcony. If I were a glove to touch that cheek… or something like that. But Matthew's older than Juliet and I'm no Romeo.

I went home with this hot feeling in my stomach, like a white fire burning. I didn't think I could get that lucky, and especially so soon. Since it was so fast and I was so impatient I doubted it would last. He'd probably stand me up. Maybe he won't come to school the next day. A thousand thoughts raced through my head and when I lay down on my shabby bed, my hands behind my head, and my face to the ceiling and my feet cold where there was nothing on them I could still taste those mangoes and I could still see his face and I could feel so happy that maybe things weren't so bad after all.