Chapter 8: Frienship
It was a strange feeling. He called it a strange feeling because it was not one he could easily describe. It was a feeling that was entrenched in the pit of his stomach; swirling and blooming whenever she walked by. It was similar to the feeling of being tickled, but also warming and faintly soothing. It made his heart seem to skip beats and made him slightly dizzy at her scent. He felt as though he were drifting through life, a pair of wings gliding him over his troubles. It was as if he was not a part of this world, floating continuously, never touching any emotion but this one. Things that were once important to him no longer seemed to have much significance. He sometimes skipped practice to watch her playing volleyball in the gym. She would watch him then, clearly discomforted by his presence, her stare causing a prickly sensation on his skin. But he would only smile, oblivious to anything, completely entranced by this wonderful being.
It was Thursday which meant no practice for any teams. It was somewhat of a boon; giving players a rest from their labors. He walked dreamily through the hallway, unlocking his locker slowly. Nothing affected him today; today was special. Today was the first day he would be working with Jenna. It had been a week since the project was assigned and she had immediately decided they would do as much work as possible separately, in hopes that they would both finish without the other's assistance. She had not realized, however, the amount of work this project entailed. It was a greater deal than she had expected and knew she could not accomplish it alone. She had approached him earlier today and confessed her realization, to which he did not laugh or tease, and asked if he would like to meet somewhere to work on the project. He instantly offered his house, and she rebuffed the idea, saying that perhaps it would be best to work in a library where they had more resources. He agreed, happy to see a small grin appear on her face.
He watched her enter the room as he slid into his chair, languorously flipping his textbook to the lesson written on the board. She had tied her hair into a high ponytail whose fastening had slid down halfway. Turning sideways to speak to one of her friends, she felt the uneven weight and quickly pulled off the hair band. Retying it, she laughed when Hart sighed behind her as the ponytail whipped his face. Unfortunately, Hart had decided to make an appearance and had thoroughly ruined his previous class. His muscles flexed in anger every time Josh's fingers curled around the ends of her hair, holding it in his hands as he did his work. He took his eyes off only for a moment to look down at the lesson they would be covering. Derivatives.
Great.
He rolled his eyes as he scribbled his name onto his homework, tapping the shoulder of the person in front of him. He looked up and grinned at the droll way in which the hair band continued to slide down her ponytail. His grin instantly turned into a scowl when Hart pulled it off, slipping it onto his wrist. She turned around and managed an askew glance before the teacher asked her to face the front
"What? Your hair kept hitting me in the face." he whispered behind her, searching through his book bag for a pen.
He could hear the tiny, musical giggle she had made though he knew no one else could. This fact pleased him somehow; as if the laugh were just for him.
Fifteen minutes into the class he had fallen asleep, his team sweater balled into a pillow on the desk. He could not understand how anyone found derivatives interesting, the flow of numbers like a foreign language. He was having a nice dream; Jenna's face smiling at him as he picked up seashells from their sandy imprisonment. They were walking along the beach, the waves aberrantly warm. She was talking to him, her bright eyes looking down at the frothy water that slid casually over their feet. It was about the coming weekend, but he only understood snippets of the conversation, her voice lost in the sound of the waves and breeze. He was not concerned, however, the tips of her silken hair caressing his cheek. The air smelled sweetly of chamomile and honey, the slightly brackish smell of ocean only adding to the dream.
Suddenly she had stopped, turning to face him. Her brows were pulled close as she spoke to him, her hair whipping around her face, her expression anguished. He reached out to put hair behind her ear and she moved his hand away holding it in her palms before releasing it and turning away. The last glimpse he managed was the brilliance of the sun's rays glinting of her hair, her body enveloped in the grace of sunset.
He was roughly shaken awake, a warm hand firmly gripping his shoulder. He woke dazedly, his vision blurred as if he had slept a month. Jared's keen eyes stared down at him before laughing unabashedly, his hand over his stomach.
"What's so funny?" he asked, his words coming out gruffly.
"Dude, you need a mirror," Jared responded, still laughing, "like, badly."
Paul was instantly spurred and threw his books into his bag. Worried about his appearance and realizing he was late for lunch, he walked faster than humanly possible to the bathroom. Jared trailed lazily behind him, bursts of laughter erupting every so often.
He bent his knees before the mirror, having to stoop to be able to see his face. He was horrified; his watch had left a large, deep circle imprinted onto his forehead. The circle was filled with tiny impressions, the metallic details of his watch leaving their mark on his skin.
"You have got to be kidding me!" he yelled, furiously pressing the mark with his hand, trying to smooth the skin.
Jared continued to laugh, leaning against the grimy bathroom wall for support.
"Shut up, man." he said angrily, shoving him as he held his hand over the mark.
"It doesn't look that bad," Jared responded, his laughter silencing, "well yeah, it does." before resuming his fit.
"I'm not going to lunch like this." he decided, walking out of the bathroom, pretending to scratch his head so as to cover the mark.
"Alright, you do whatever, but I'm starving."
"Buy me something will you." he replied, heading in the opposite direction towards the breezeway.
Exiting the main building, he was assaulted by the warm, savory smell of pizza and fried chicken. His mouth began to water but he forced himself away, walking towards the small niche at the end of the breezeway. It was a sitting area lodged between an alternate entrance and an outdoor hall. There were bushes and flowering plants lined alongside the hall, giving the entire space and private setting. Stopping briefly to retie his laces, a sweet fragrance wafted into his nose and he began to walk faster. She couldn't be there. It was a spot that he had found most comforting during his years here, allowing him a moment to think and relax. He could see the crown of her head above the bushes, her heartbeat steady and the smell of strawberry yogurt. Realizing he was barely making a sound, he scuffed his feet against the floor, rounding the corner to the area.
She looked up, alarmed, and he could instantly feel her tension. Her heartbeat had sped up, an irritated expression appearing. A sharp pain entered his heart and he could almost feel the sadness that seeped from the wound. When she continued to glare, he bottled his thoughts and feelings inside and smiled amiably.
"Hey, I didn't expect to find anyone here." he said kindly, walking towards the bench. His closeness obviously discomforted her, but she shuffled to make space, her good manners overruling her aggravated sentiments.
"Neither did I." she replied, her acerbic tone piercing him again.
He breathed a sigh and it was almost as if his calm passed over her as well. Her pressure lowered and he heard the small sigh that escaped her. They remained in a friendly silence, one reminiscent of their youth. Neither chose to interrupt the silence, both enjoying the bench as a personal reprieve. He watched as she scooped the remaining yogurt from the bottom of the container with the tip of her spoon. Her actions were graceful; birdlike in their gentility. He noticed she had given up on the hair band, pinning back her hair with a clip. It was thin and red, a swallow with its open wings gliding across the surface. Her complexion was fresh and vibrant, a light coat of mascara and blush as her only cosmetics. His eyes traveled to her hands, now digging in her lunchbox, and the thin wrists that were adorned with bracelets. Some were clearly made by hand, the threads uneven in some areas. Others were beaded and carried a vintage appearance. Her only ring was silver with a blue heart mosaic melted in.
"Do you want my sandwich?" she asked, holding out the sandwich to him. It was wrapped in aluminum foil inside a plastic snap-close bag.
He was startled from his reverie by her question, righting himself. He had leaned over significantly while trying to understand the writing scribbled onto the face of her binder. His hunger was immediately riled and he smiled.
"Yes, actually, thanks," he replied, gladly accepting the offer, "I'm starving.
"Why didn't you go to lunch?" she asked, packing away her remaining lunch, leaving out a bag of chips.
"Why didn't you?" he countered, swallowing the last bite of the ham and cheese sandwich.
She turned to look at him, the first time since he had joined her, acknowledging his point. He returned her gaze, raising his brows and grinning contentedly.
"Because I wanted to think." she replied simply, swiftly opening the chips.
"Me too." he responded.
She turned to look at him again, a small grin on her face, before turning away. She passed her chip bag to him and he pulled out a few, silently thanking her by placing his hand on hers as he took them. They continued to snack in the small niche, light conversation and laughter bubbling from them. It was open and unhindered by outside stresses, a private moment they could share. He knew that it was a moment dictated by friendship and its restrictions, but it did not irk him, at least, for the moment. Her friendship was enough for him.