The Week of Re-evaluation [2]

(Malory)

I’m a complete wreck today. There are sagging blue-black bags under my eyes. My hair is a mess. I’m practically sleep-walking.

As I drag my way into the school, the sudden feeling of an ice cold hand appears on both my shoulders. I tense up and my eyes go wide. I’m startled into complete awareness. I jolt and turn to push the douche right in his arm.

“Oh my god, Kyle! Why is your hand so cold?”

He’s looking sharp this morning.

Hmm… maybe sharp isn’t the word.

Neat.

His jet black hair isn’t all that badly covered over his face and he’s wearing a violet long-sleeved shirt that… actually doesn’t look too shabby on him. It’s not tight and awkward-looking. He’s fit enough to model it nicely. His eyes are bright, too. Cognac brown is still brown… and brown is often seen as such a dull colour for a pair of eyes. I never thought I’d say that brown eyes could ever look more alive –more vibrant. He brings them to the spotlight as they shine, crinkle and curve upwards.

And though I’ve seen this shirt one too many times before, and though I’ve glared right into those same brown eyes a thousand times over, and though I usually want to chop his hair off and fix it myself every time I look at it, I admit to myself that I’m seeing things in a new light and that Kyle...

Well…

He’s not the worst-looking guy in the world.

The jeans are spoiling the outfit, though. They’re black -like they always are with him- and ripped at the knees.

So much for Kyle being entirely classy.

I can’t keep my expectations too high when it comes to him.

I bet he’s going to pull the exact same outfit stunt for graduation; Half classy, Half-assed.

I silently observe him. I don’t want to comment on the outfit. I stay quiet. I’m too tired for this anyway.

“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t the only one still receiving a cold shoulder,” he says, smugly. “You know, there’s this new iced coffee on sale at that small shop up on the hill –it’s a miracle in a cup. I feel like I’m going to be awake all day.”

Wow.

Someone’s in a good mood.

I grimace and groan. “I feel like rope was tied to my waist and I was dragged halfway across the continent behind an old bus.”

“Did you get all your work done?” he asks.

I lazily reach into my bag and pull out my essays. I sigh as I watch the product of my sleeplessness. “The sacrifices we make for education.”

Inside, Olivia and Ron are standing by her locker and talking. By the time we spot them, they’ve already spotted us. Olivia swallows as she stares at me. Then she gently tugs at Ron’s sleeve and they walk away. I look up at Kyle. He’s frowning. He looks down at me and shrugs. We walk over to my locker. I start piling books in and taking others out.

“She’s not usually like this. Usually we’d make up the same day that we fight. She’s not replying to my messages, or answering my calls... just like Ron.”

“I think they’re spending way too much time together,” Kyle says. “They’re really starting to wear off on each other.”

Starting to?

They’ve always been like twins, in my opinion.

“They're exactly the same, dummy. They've always been exactly the same. We're the two fireballs and they're the water we fall into, disastrously unsuccessful.”

Moron Monroe turns to me with a stupid idea. “Maybe we should tell them the whole story.”

“Which story?” I ask.

The one about your uncle?

Yea. Sure. Let’s see how that tale ends.

“About the fight,” he says. “I mean, I can't act to save my life and Ron would know I'm lying, but... you can tell Olivia the whole story, and then tell me what you told Olivia and I'll tell Ron the same thing. Easy. Let’s just get this stupid silent thing over. It’s starting to give me more anxiety than my messed up personal life.”

“I'm not telling her anything,” I state. “You aren't telling him anything. They're allowed to be as upset as they want. They'll calm down eventually and forget the whole thing. I probably deserve this punishment, anyway. I treat my best friend like crap a lot. I deserve to know what it's like to be truly alone. Maybe I forgot.”

“You're alone? What am I, then? Air?”

“You might as well be.”

He looks at me pointedly. “Thanks. I’m really feeling the love –from everyone.” He rolls his eyes.

I grab some pencils and pens from the bottom shelf, close my locker and turn to him.

“Look, whatever we end up telling people, whatever we end up telling them, whatever happens after this, we made a deal about what we weren’t going to say. There are two things we’re never going to bring up in the presence of others. Do you remember what those were?”

“No, Lloyd, it’s not like you’ve reminded me a million times within three days,” he says, sarcastically.

I glare at him and point a pencil at his face by the eraser. “Shut your trap or I’ll shut you down. I will not have people getting the wrong impressions of me because of something your amateur-acting-ass says.”

Kyle leans against the locker beside him and stares down at me with a smug expression and I want to smash a brick at his face to erase it. “What if I do tell someone?”

“I’ll give you a special hug.”

He raises a brow. “Oh?”

“Yea. A tight one with both my hands around your neck.” I smile cheekily at him.

His expression changes from smug to bored. He retreats towards his locker without another word.