tuesday, november 25th

It only snowed a few inches the next day, so, unfortunately, we were still required to go to school.

It was Tuesday. I detested Tuesdays. Mondays were the ultimate bitch, the day where you had to face the start of a cycle of stuffy classrooms and getting yelled at by teachers after a too-short weekend of rest. Wednesday was the day you realized that at least you were halfway through the week, and the flood of homework and assignments would start to let up by now. Thursday was annoying but not unbearable. You just had to go along with it, knowing that Friday was tomorrow but you had to shovel your way through the day to get there. Friday, of course, was well-known and loved for its closeness to the weekend. But Tuesday, however, was nasty. The day that received disappointed frowns from students. It was the day when, upon surviving the treacherous Monday, you wake up and realize that it's only Tuesday. That you aren't even halfway through the week, that you still had three more woeful days to get through. I hated Tuesday.

Having to bear the misery that was Tuesday also meant having to bear the school's hopeless excuse for a meal. Because Tuesdays and American public schools could only mean one thing: Taco Tuesdays.

No, not even a schoolwide outbreak of food poisoning could stop them. Every Tuesday, it was there, lying in wait for you the whole day until lunch. The pungent odor of hopefully-not-expired cheese would assault your nostrils upon entering the cafeteria. The lunch line would be teeming with apprehensive students thinking, Hey, maybe it won't be so bad this time, without really believing themselves. But they should've seen this coming; now there was nothing to eat, and they would have to suffer the consequences.

The kids who had brought lunch from home would offer a sympathetic glance to the students in the lunch line, then get back to eating their gloriously edible peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich or spaghetti and meatballs. They brought this upon themselves, they would think.

The miasma would be stronger as the students lined up, entering the kitchen, the stench permeating the air. Sometimes it would be hard to see through the reek of cheese, beef, sour cream, and other unknown foods. The vegetarian kids would hang back at the salad bar, watching the rest of their peers march into their demise.

They would survive, but the bathrooms would be crowded with students after lunch. Those foods didn't exactly agree with one's digestive system.

I high-stepped to the bus stop to avoid my sneakers getting soaked in snow. It was almost eerily quiet, the snow freshly fallen and still soft and powdery. All the sound was absorbed by the snow; the snow piled up on the sidewalks, coating the branches of trees, enfolding houses in cushiony whiteness. At least until the bus came, clattering and rolling down the road, gears whining as it came to a stop.

As I stepped onto the rubber flooring of the bus, slippery from many snow-encased shoes stepping onto it, I recalled the events from yesterday. Silently, I braced myself for the appearance of Arrow Fischer.

⸺⸺⸺⸺

My first and second classes were thankfully uneventful. I was able to stay hidden in the back and look like I was paying attention, but my mind was ahead of time, wondering what would happen in French class with Arrow. Something was bound to happen; I knew it this time. I got the sickening feeling in my gut. Something was going to happen.

The third bell rang just as I slipped into my seat in French behind the girl with the enthusiastically wild curls. Arrow's seat was empty.

Ms. Moraeu handed out bellwork and told us we had five minutes to complete it, as usual. I scribbled through each question, not even paying attention to what I was writing. Every few seconds, my gaze would dart to the clock, then to the door, the door I presumed Arrow would swing open upon entering the classroom. He didn't.

"Time eez up," announced Ms. Moreau in her sharp French accent. Numbly, I passed my paper to the front and kept staring at the clock. We were five minutes into class. If Arrow came in now, he'd get one hell of a talking-to from Ms. Moreau.

He didn't show, and the teacher's voice was background music, telling us to take out our homework from last night. Did I do it? I pulled out a sheet of paper which might've been my homework. Illegible answers danced across the page in my messy scrawl. Didn't matter. I passed that to the front too. Six minutes. He still wasn't here. Ms. Moraeu didn't seem to notice.

I furiously picked at my cuticles. Why did I care if he was here or not? If he was off cutting class somewhere, that was his problem. But he didn't seem like the kind of person to cut class. But how would I know what kind of person he was? I didn't know him.

As Ms. Moreau dove into the lesson plan and worksheets about conjugating verbs and stuff, I leaned forward and tapped the shoulder of Frizzy Hair Girl. She turned around with a slightly annoyed look.

"Some of us want to listen to the lecture," she complained, furrowing her brows.

I ignored her remark. "Do you know where Arrow Fischer is?"

She shrugged, turning around. "I dunno. Absent, probably." She twirled a strand of springy black hair.

My gaze fell on the clock again. Ten minutes. Eleven. I glanced at the door. Nothing.

Time seemed slower than normal, but class carried on as usual without Arrow showing up. Worksheets were passed out, worksheets were scribbled upon, worksheets were handed in. Homework was plopped on desks and slipped into folders. Binder rings gave audible clacks. Warnings were given to students who weren't on task. Sighs of bored students echoed around the room, along with the sounds of shuffling feet. Assignment due dates were written on the board. The door opened a few times, but only for students going or coming back from the bathroom. Thirty-seven minutes had passed. Arrow Fischer hadn't made an appearance yet.

At forty-three minutes, right before the end of the period, I was beginning to think he was really cutting class when the door creaked open. The bastard finally sauntered in, dirty work boots clomping rhythmically on the floor as he handed the teacher a pass. She gave him a look through her thin bifocals but allowed him to proceed to his desk and sink into his chair. He turned his head to me.

"So," he said. "What'd I miss?" His gaze was genuinely innocent, not at all condescending. He didn't seem to think I'd notice him being gone, wondering the whole period where he'd been. Silently, not sure what to think, I stood up, grabbed a copy of the homework from the assignment basket and slipped it onto his desk, then pointed to the due date on the board. He nodded, giving me a small smile. Saying nothing, I avoided his gaze and sat back down.

Piling my things onto the desk in preparation for the bell to ring, I spotted Arrow scrawling something on a post-it note through my peripheral vision. I tried to ignore it until I found it stuck to my desk. In handwriting surprisingly neat for a boy's were the words: "voulez-toi venir à...a party that's happening on Friday? (sorry, I don't know how to write the last part in French). 87 Clove Street. Hannah Mayor's house. Starts at 9 pm." He was asking me if I wanted to go to a party. A party. I looked up at him. He looked back at me. He looked completely serious.

I pondered it for a second. No, parties were definitely not my scene, at least not without the support of Faye and Devan on either side of me. But if he was going to be there, it would give me an extra chance to study him, figure out what kind of person he really was. What he was hiding.

"Yes," I responded as the bell rang. "Yeah, I'll go."

⸺⸺⸺

"So you're going to go?" a girl whose name I was halfway sure was Courtney asked me. The post-it note I'd been given was being passed around the lunch table and being contemplated. Bella was the only person I knew at this table. I wrinkled my nose. It was half an instinct for when I felt awkward, and half because the smell of melted cheese and sour cream from the tacos was making me a little nauseous.

"I'm going," some girl at the edge of the table whose hair was dyed green declared. "Hannah Mayor's parties aren't too bad. As long as she has the sour-cream-and-onion Lay's potato chips. She had those last time. I love those." She smiled, the color of her braces identical to her hair. She took a crunch out of her taco, which was hard-shell, and seemed to enjoy it. I admired her strength.

"Ally, your standards for parties are very low," mused another girl, sitting a few seats away from me. This one had blonde hair pulled back into a tight, painful-looking ponytail. "I'm going if Wesley Rivera's going."

"Yeah, I think he is," Maybe-Courtney confirmed, pushing her glasses upwards from where they sat low on her nose. "How 'bout you, Bella?"

Bella tucked a strand of white-blond hair behind her ear and shrugged. "I've never been to a high-school party. My parents would definitely not approve of it."

The girl who was presumably Ally responded, "Aw, that's half the fun of it! You gotta get out more, do bad stuff. That's the glory of high school. If you're all obedient, you haven't really lived, you know?" She said all this while gesticulating wildly, taco in hand, strands of lettuce slipping out of the shell.

"I guess," Bella said, twisting her mouth into an odd line, pondering Ally's words. "Will there be cake?"

Maybe-Courtney, Ally, and The Girl With the Tight Ponytail all convulsed with laughter in unison.

"No, Bella," The Girl With the Tight Ponytail said after she stopped laughing. "This isn't a birthday party. There's no cake. Lots of boys, though," she added with a giggle.

"Oh. Um..." Bella shifted in her seat, blushing fiercely. I couldn't help but giggle. She was just so pure.

"Oh, don't worry," Maybe-Courtney chimed in. "If boys aren't your type, there's plenty of girls, too." She winked mischievously.

At this, all the girls at the table split open with laughter. I joined the cluster of chuckles, bellowing so hard my side ached. Bella shook her head, smiling a little at the joke. "Kristi," she protested. So her name wasn't Courtney after all.

"Anyway, Bella, what do you say? Are you gonna go?" Ally said. All the other girls turned their heads towards her, expecting an answer. It was quiet. Kristi sneezed.

Bella's gaze danced back and forth onto each girl at the table before shrugging and saying, "Okay, sure. Why not." Her mouth twisted into a tiny grin, before spreading across her face in a radiant beam. She giggled. "This will be fun. What do I tell my parents?"

The Girl With the Tight Ponytail, whose name I still didn't know, offered, "Just tell them you're going to a friend's house and you're coming back late. To study for a test or something."

A pencil had materialized in Bella's hand, seemingly out of nowhere, until I remembered she always had one on hand to give to someone. She recorded that on the back of the post-it note with her amazingly neat, rounded handwriting. After she was finished dotting every 'i' with a little heart, she stuffed the post-it note into her pocket, along with the pencil, and smiled again. "Okay. I'm really doing this, aren't I? I am about to lie to my parents about studying at a friend's house Friday night, and instead go to a party, where I am sure to have fun?"

"Yes," we all confirmed in unison.

"And I'll pick up a cake along the way?"

"No, Bella," I said, shaking my head with amusement. "Please don't bring a cake."

⸺⸺⸺

It wasn't hard getting out of the house Friday night, three days later. I told my parents I was studying at Bella's house. Bella told her parents she was studying at my house. Nothing could go wrong with that, could it?

I walked to Hannah Mayor's place, thinking that if I took my bike it would probably be half flattened or puked on in the morning. It seemed like the party had already begun when I came upon Hannah's house at precisely nine twenty-two. I could hear the muffled sound of too-loud trashy music pumping through the walls of the house and people were piling up by the front door, being invited inside. The rancid smell of smoke, and possibly weed, hung in the air. I wrinkled my nose. Why did I decide to do this?

Remember your purpose, London, I reminded myself as I walked up to the door behind half our high school's basketball team. The same boys who'd been at Devan's funeral only yesterday, weeping and grieving, ready to get high and act stupid. I held my head low and let my hair cover my face as I walked inside.

The music was louder inside, a cacophony of harsh sounds that pounded against my ears in an incessant rhythm. Like the beeping machine from the hospital, my brain reminded me. Nausea rolled in my stomach as I walked further.

I didn't know where I was going. I'd never been here before, so the house was hard to navigate. I didn't know any of these people, either. Worst of all, I didn't know when Arrow would show up or where he'd be, didn't know if he was already here and I'd be unable to find him. What if he decided to not come at all and just ditch me? I clenched my teeth and played it safe, looking for the food.

It wasn't that hard to find, tables and tables of assorted junk food. I spotted a familiar green head hunched over by the sour-cream-and-onion chips. "HEY, ALLY," I said, having to raise my voice over the vulgar rap music booming from the speakers.

"WHAAAAT?" she answered, her mouth full of chips.

"I SAID HEY ALLY," I waved so she'd understand me better.

"OH," she replied, nodding. "HEY. GUESS WHAT. THEY HAVE THE CHIPS!" She squealed in glee, crumbs falling down onto her shirt.

"THAT'S GREAT, ALLY," I screamed.

"WHAAAAAT? SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THE MUSIC'S TOO LOUD." She cupped her hand to her ear so I'd understand her better.

"I SAID—nevermind..." I gave up, grabbing a bag of Doritos and looking for an empty spot where I could lean against the wall and stay out of sight, but be able to scan the area for Arrow. I found one near the stairs. Sliding down to the ground to sit with my legs crossed, pulling my hood over my head and munching on the orange chips, I felt at peace. In my own bubble untouchable by chaos. I could sleep here. Then someone tapped my shoulder, and I screamed.

"Dude, chill! It's me!" I recognized the voice of The Girl With the Tight Ponytail, whose curly blonde locks weren't tied back anymore. Instead, they were let loose and spilling around her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face. Now I didn't know what to call her.

"Oh, sorry..." I fiddled with the strings on my hoodie.

"It's fine. Guess what? Wesley's here, and he winked at me on the way coming over. Winked. Can you believe it? Oh my god..." She made a sound like a deflating balloon. I tilted my head.

"Wesley is..."

She rolled her eyes as if I should know this. "Tall. Blond. Dead sexy. Power forward on the boy's basketball team."

"Oh." I still didn't know who she was talking about.

"Yeah. And get this—he said to meet him upstairs in five minutes!" She looked about to burst with joy, her face flushed pink.

"Upstairs." It took me a moment took me a moment to register this. "Oh. Oh. Upstairs. Upstairs upstairs. As in..."

"Yes!" she squealed. "He was all like, 'hey, Natasha, can I meet you upstairs in five minutes? I need to talk to you.'" She put emphasis on the word talk.

"Oh. That's..." I didn't know exactly what to say. "Have fun talking?" Natasha. Yeah. That was her name.

Natasha clenched her hands into fists and squealed, her face halfway taken up by a big, goofy grin. "Oh God, oh God, oh God... " There was a bounce in her step as she danced up the stairs.

After she was gone, I pulled out a pair of earbuds from my pocket and popped one in. I knew it was pretty much pointless to try to drown the sound out, but at least I could try to fill up some of my head with some better music.

"Hey."

I jumped a foot, nearly dropping my phone. "JEEZ, will people stop creeping up on me like tha—" I spun around to meet a familiar face. An unsettlingly beautiful face. Arrow's face, only inches away from mine.

"Hi."

"Hi," he echoed, his dark eyes full of wonder.

"You are standing very close to me right now."

"Sorry," he said, stepping back a few feet. "I see you're enjoying the party." He gestured towards the hood over my head and the earbuds half in my ears.

"Yeah. I don't even know why I came." That was a lie. I came to investigate him. To find out his motives for being here. Don't lose sight of your goal, I told myself, trying to keep my gaze away from his lips. They were very nice.

"It's nice to get out once in a while and stuff your face with junk food," he joked, leaning against the wall a few feet away from me. A safe distance, I supposed.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be watching him from afar, studying his every move. I wasn't supposed to be talking to him, and I definitely wasn't supposed to be looking at his lips.

But they were very nice lips.

Averting my eyes, focusing my gaze intensely on the wall, I mumbled, "Where were you during French?" Something fluttered in my stomach, and I realized I was apprehensive of his answer. Would he be honest, or would he dodge my question and give me more reason to be suspicious of him?

He tugged at the fabric of his shirt while muttering, "I had to take care of some stuff." So it would be the latter, I supposed. I narrowed my eyes and popped my earbuds back in, pressing play on my music.

"Hey, are you ignoring me?" said Arrow through the fog of sounds, his smiling face catching my gaze from under my hoodie. I took out one earbud and told him, "I'm a wallflower, you see. I'm supposed to be alone." Without waiting for his response, I popped my earbud back in. He shook his head with amusement and gave up, walking away to the snacks.

I noticed as soon as he got there that the girls started crowding in. The first one came up to him and sat atop the snack table, smiling seductively and giggling. Then another came, and three more. They were all variations of skinny popular girls with low-cut shirts and push-up bras. I snorted, but I wasn't surprised.

He didn't seem interested, though. He kept dismissing them, shrugging at whatever they said or answering with an absentminded yes or no. His attention was fixed on his phone, a minuscule smile woven on his lips. A few minutes later, he got up from the table, ignoring the hordes of girls, and came back to me.

"So," he started. "I looked it up. A wallflower is apparently a type of cabbage." He seemed fascinated at this fact, holding his phone up for me to see the Wikipedia definition.

I couldn't help the smile that blossomed on my face. He actually took the time to look that up. "Okay? So?"

He shrugged, leaning against the wall again. "So, you're too pretty to be a cabbage."

My smile slanted into a smirk. I wasn't about to fall head-over-heels for him over some small compliment. "Oh yeah?" I challenged him. "So what vegetable am I?"

He pretend-thought about it for a minute before answering, "A radish. They're very bitter."

This aroused a chuckle from me. He looked proud that he made me laugh. "Wow. Thanks."

"So what am I, then?" He ran his fingers through his hair narcissistically.

I didn't hesitate before answering, "Brussel sprouts."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Because I don't like them very much."

Arrow shook his head while laughing, saying, "London, you a malicious being."

"Thank you."

He shook his head in wonder and walked away, but returned with a family-sized bag of Lay's chips and two paper cups of what looked like Pepsi. He offered me the bowl and one of the cups.

I gave him a skeptical look. "No alcohol in those drinks, right?"

"Just Pepsi."

I took the cup from his hand and chugged half of it, realizing how thirsty I was. Aside from the Doritos, I hadn't eaten or drunk anything the whole night.

I eyed the enormous bag. "Isn't it kind of unfair that you're hogging the entire bag?"

Arrow shrugged and stuffed a bunch of chips in his mouth. After swallowing, he replied, "I don't think they'll miss it. There's a lot of junk food here." He gestured towards the tables overflowing with cancer-causing snacks.

"You're right," I agreed. "I haven't had this much junk food since..." Since that day. Since the day Faye and Devan were killed in the car crash. A series of mental images flooded my head, of the three of us laughing and joking while raiding the fridge. A lump lodged itself in my throat, and I shrank down into my sweater. It all came crashing back to me for the millionth time.

"Since what?" Arrow asked quietly, sensing something was wrong.

"I—" I choked on my words, blinking furiously to keep the tears from escaping my eyes.

To my surprise, Arrow's arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a warm embrace. I had no choice but to sink down into his consoling arms, my head against his chest, letting the tears smear across my face and stain his shirt. Tears for Faye, tears for Devan. The misery overtook me all over again, but it was slightly muted because I wasn't alone.I hated myself for doing this, though, for feeling helpless around him. But on the other hand, he was so warm, and I was finally feeling all my bottled-up pain start to let up. We didn't say anything, just stood silently in our little bubble sharing warmth, and soon the pain was subsiding. We pulled apart.

I opened my mouth to say something, but he frowned and looked past my shoulder. "Is that a cake?" 

✽ ✽ ✽

So what do you think of this chapter?? Can you guess where this is going? ;)

Do you think London is still going to try to figure out what he's hiding? 

Keep reading to find out!

XOXO ~brooklynrose~