Collision Course(43)
Author: S.C. Stephens

Throwing on a weak smile, I shook my head again. "I’m fine…bad Hot Pocket."

I shrugged and her face twisted in parental compassion, and probably a little bit of guilt for what I constantly fed myself with. Her hand came up to my cheek, cupping it. "I’m sorry, Luc. I really shouldn’t buy that stuff for you."

I sighed that my stupid cover was making her feel bad about herself. I seemed to be really good at making her feel bad about herself. I hated that. I stood up, feeling a little wobbly, and put a hand on her shoulder, drawing her in for a quick hug. "I’m fine…really. It was just a weird moment, but it’s gone now." I hoped it was gone for awhile.

She returned my hug, her face never relaxing out of concern. "Oh…alright. Do you want to stay home? Should I call the school?"

I seriously considered that. But…as terrified as I was to see Sawyer again, avoiding her for a day would probably only make this, thing, between us worse. No, I needed to get this awkwardness behind us so we could have our amazing friendship back again. I relied on that friendship too much.

Shaking my head, I reiterated, "No, I really am fine."

She finally conceded, reaching up to kiss my cheek before leaving me to shower away my troubles. Or try to anyway. The soothing feeling of hot water and sudsy bubbles sliding over skin, only did so much to ease the soul. But being clean, and eventually dressed, did lighten the pit in my stomach. Now it was only a typical bundle of nerves and not the radiation-enhanced version I’d had upon waking.

Sipping coffee with Mom in the kitchen later, I waited for Sawyer to appear. And waited…and waited. I started to worry that she was going to avoid me. She’d only said she’d see me this morning…she didn’t say she’d come get me. I’d just gotten so used to being picked up, I guess I kind of expected it now. Pretty selfish of me really.

Mom looked at her watch and frowned. Another few minutes and I’d have to take the bus or be late. God, I really did not want to climb back on that damn bus. I shifted in my chair and spun the coffee cup in my hands, trying to appear unworried. Surely she wouldn’t ditch me?

"Um…Luc?" Mom began, glancing at her watch again.

"She’ll be here," I muttered, more to myself than my mom.

"Well, she’s never late and you’re going to be, if she doesn’t get here soon…"

I stopped fidgeting and stared at my mom, meeting her gaze. "She’ll be here." My voice sounded confident, but I wasn’t. How badly had I damaged us?

Mom stood and ruffled my hair, grabbing my coffee cup and walking over to the sink. "Okay," she said as she rinsed out our cups. She glanced at her watch again and shook her head. "Sorry, Luc, but I have a…meeting before work." She shrugged and looked really guilty. "I can’t give you a ride today, honey…if she doesn’t make it."

I stood up and threw on an unworried smile. Walking over to her, I slung my arms around her and brightly proclaimed. "Have a good day, Mom…and don’t worry, she’ll be here."

She sighed and cupped my cheek as her eyes took me in. I waited patiently for her to finish and then she grabbed her purse, kissed my cheek and left me alone in the kitchen…with that gargantuan knot making a reappearance.

I paced for a few minutes and then decided the enclosed space was just making me feel worse. The bus had gone by not long after my mom had left and my options for getting to school on time were dwindling. I suppose I could run there…if I really needed to. Or maybe I’d just skip first period.

I stepped outside and breathed in the crisp, cool December air. It had rained during the night and everything was slick and damp. Deep puddles filled in a low spot on our lawn and the edge of the road by the sidewalk streamed like a narrow river. Leaves dripped their stores of excess water and the whole world felt heavy and damp. I was not looking forward to being in this.

Just as I mentally accepted that she really wasn’t coming, a familiar Camaro pulled into the drive. A frazzled looking Sawyer waved at me through the window, urging me to get my butt in the car already. I startled from where I’d been stupidly staring at her, and briskly walked to her car, getting in and shutting the door behind me. She was off before my door had even finished closing.

"Sorry I’m late," she muttered as she sped down the wet streets, the sound of the rain splashing up under her car nearly as loud as the roar of the car’s engine.

"It’s okay…I’m just glad you came." I cringed at my choice of words and stared out the window. The town sped by and I clutched the handle of the door, part nerves from driving so fast in the rain, part nerves from the tension I felt in the car.

"Why wouldn’t I?" she shot back, a flatness to her tone that I didn’t like hearing.

She’d ignored the suggestiveness of what I’d said, so I ignored it as well and looked back at her. She focused hard on the road, too hard for it to not be intentional. Her hands were white as she gripped the wheel and she was breathing shallowly though parted lips. I sighed at her obvious discomfort. I didn’t want us like this.

Just as I was about to speak, to apologize for my behavior last night, we reached the school lot and she parked, shut off the car, and opened her door, all in practically one move. I had trouble adjusting to her swiftness, and scrambled to pick my bag off the floor and open my own door. By the time I’d successfully done both, she was ten paces in front of me, walking fast towards the main building.

"Sawyer, wait," I called as I hurried to catch up. The lot was full of cars, and no one was around. We only had a few moments before the bell was going to ring; we’d barely have time to get there and we definitely didn’t have time for the conversation I felt we needed to have. I suddenly got the feeling that that was exactly what she’d planned this morning. Her being late wasn’t an accident.

She said nothing and didn’t slow her pace, but my long legs caught up to her easily enough and we made the final steps to the doors in an uncomfortable silence. I watched the way her hair streamed behind her, unrestrained by any clips or rubber bands. I remembered that silky length wrapped in my fingers yesterday, remembered her breath in my ear…remembered the noises she’d made and how she’d clutched my back when she came beneath me. The way she’d held me tight when I came.

She cleared her throat and gestured to the door and I woke from my thoughts, my face heating as I realized we were at English already. In my spacing out, I’d missed the entire trip up here. I pulled open the door as I let my heated memories fade; I really needed to not think about her like that.

Ms. Reynolds smiled at our joint entrance and the bell rang right as we sat in our seats. Ignoring the people around me and Ms. Reynolds perkily asking how everyone did on their last assignments, a five page paper we were supposed to write on the person who inspired us most (I think she was trying to prep us for our college essays that we’d be starting to really focus on soon), I stared at Sawyer.

Unlike most days, Sawyer didn’t look back at me. She’d slung my letterman’s jacket over the back of her chair and was chewing on the end of a pencil, listening to the teacher intently. Nothing in the slump of her body or the casual way she ran her thumb over the edge of her notebook showed any signs of turmoil, but every once in a while, just her eyes would flick over to me, and I knew. I knew she was making herself not return my unblinking gaze. She was making herself kind of ignore me.

When nothing had changed halfway through class, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to talk to her; I needed to know if we were okay. It was unfortunately a silent reading period, and everyone had their nose in a book. It was too quiet for me to whisper a conversation to her.

Ms. Reynolds was preoccupied with reading our essays at her desk, her red pen flying across the papers as she worked, and aside from the rustle of turning pages among the students, she was making the only noise in the room. Sawyer was twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she read quietly and I stared at my book without even seeing the tiny typed letters on the page.

Wanting to curse for having to resort to fifth grade measures, I grabbed my pencil and quietly tore a sheet out of the notebook still open on my desk. I wrote a question in it and folded it as silently as I could. I extended my note enclosed hand out to her, but her eyes remained on her book. Worried that she’d just plain blow me off, I coughed and exaggerated the ‘take it’ motion with my hand.

She finally pulled her eyes away from whatever fascinating novel she was reading, and stared at my hand. She flicked a glance to my eyes and I could clearly see the reluctance on her face. I gestured again, my brows drawing together as I worried. With a soft sigh she finally reached over and took the note from my hand. She unfolded it while I bit my lip. With a shake of her head, she picked up her pencil and wrote something next to my question. Then she refolded it and handed it to me, not looking at me. I took it immediately.

In my messy scrawl I’d written, "Are we okay?"

In slanted, elegant script she’d responded with, "Yes."

My mouth dropped and I looked over at her. That’s it, that’s all I get? A one syllable answer to cover all the tension between us? She met my eye and I gestured to the paper and shook my head disbelievingly at her. She shrugged and started to turn back to her book.

Irritated, I wrote, "Are you avoiding me?" Deciding to not leave her with another yes/no question, I added, "What’s wrong?"

She took the note and read it, responding with, "No. Nothing."

Sighing, and wanting to scream in frustration, I heavily wrote, "Talk to me!" I nearly ripped the paper I wrote it so hard. I harshly handed it to her and stared while she sighed and wrote a reply. It was a long one and I relaxed.

"I don’t know what to say to you. Last night shouldn’t have happened for several reasons, but I’m not trying to avoid you. I promise."

I frowned down at the paper and glanced back at her. She was worrying her lip and twirling the ring on her thumb. I frowned more as I wrote, "You seem mad at me. Are you? Do you hate me for what I did?"

Her brows drew to a point when she read that. Shaking her head she replied with, "No, I don’t hate you. I’m mad at myself. I shouldn’t have let that happen."

Incredulous, I wrote back, "You? I’m the one that started it. I’m the one that kissed you." As I wrote those words, I really hoped our note didn’t get confiscated and read out loud. Ms. Reynolds really wasn’t the type to embarrass students like that though. Now, if we were in Mr. Varner’s class…

"You were hurting. You needed…something. I should have pushed you away, found another way to comfort you. I’m mad at myself. I know better than that…"

I didn’t know what she meant by that last part, but I was so stunned that she was angry at her own conduct, that I ignored it. I didn’t blame her for getting carried away when I practically attacked her, especially when I was pretty sure she had feelings for me. It was all my fault. I was the one with the lapse in judgment. I was the one being misleading, again. I told her as much and she sighed and stared at me a moment.

I bit my lip as her wrist performed the delicate act of cursive writing. "You were…impaired. I understand. Will you please stop apologizing? You’re just making me feel worse."

I understood what she meant by impaired. She didn’t mean drunk or high, she meant overwhelmed by grief. I suppose I was. It still didn’t excuse what I’d done and I felt like falling at her feet and begging her forgiveness. I just wanted things to return to normal.