The layout of the clubroom was almost the exact same as yesterday. Same window, same chipped table, and same splotches of dried paint. Without a discerning eye–or knowing what happened–one might not even be able to spot the difference. The outer room also gave no indications since the paint cans had been picked up and set back in their original location. I may have not noticed it myself if I had not been tuned into the complete distance between us. In fact, I know I wouldn’t have paid any attention to how the chair was pulled further away from the opposite end of the table.

She sat with her body angled toward mine, legs crossed while she read the book I had lent her. It was a small thing, but it made me aware of how much distrust there was between us. I didn’t blame her, surprised she bothered to show up today, much less keep my violent outburst a secret from everybody else. Most of the day I had spent dreading the inevitable call over the loudspeakers or for people to be whispering behind my back about what a psycho I was, but nothing ever came of it. 

Was I really in the clear?

I shook my head. This was probably nothing more than some type of eventual setup, a plan to extort me for something or other. Still, that didn’t excuse me. I needed to apologize again for pushing her like that.

With a deep breath, I managed to glance in her direction to watch her flip another page. I exhaled sharply, staring down at the table and my unzipped backpack. The front pouch was stuffed with a binder and a few miscellaneous folders, yet I had forgotten to pack another book. No point in ruffling through it again. My phone was always an option, but there was not much entertainment to be found on an old flip phone. Playing game after game of Pac-man could provide entertainment for only so long, and it wasn’t like I had anyone in particular to text or anything.

Folding my hands in my lap for the upteenth time, I decided to start on the plan I had come up with when I figured I would be the sole member of the club. The chair creaked in relief, being free from my weight, and I padded over to the stack of milk crates in the back. They were stacked three high and two across. Other than that, the crates contained what someone would expect of an art room that had fallen into disuse. Brushes with frayed bristles, torn posters, broken cases, and dusty jars lined the inside of them. Because there wasn't a trash can here, I would have to take them into the other room and stack them on that table for now. I could bother Miss Halsey about getting one and then deal with sorting through them later.

I decided to take them one by one, wanting to stretch out how long the task would take by any means necessary. Nicole must not have got that memo, however, appearing behind me like an apparition and taking two at a time. She hugged the bottom crate close to her chest, her forearms shaking under the numerous precariously balanced glass jars she opted to carry all at once. I reached out to try and better stabilize the crates for her, but she shook her head.

“I got it. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right.” 

She knew I wasn’t going to be any help. More of a risk factor than anything else. My hands dropped to my side, and I considered following her into the room. What would that accomplish, though? Cornering her and making her lash out? Or maybe she’d decide to finally report me and be done with the ordeal.

I stood over the tarp as she emerged from the storage room. Holding back a grimace, Nicole toed the edge of the clubroom, effectively ruining my last-ditch effort to make amends. Expecting her to reclaim her spot from earlier, I was shocked when she cut a direct path to the crates and began to adjust the junk inside. With it being clear that a conversation was the last thing she wanted, it was now or never.

“About yesterday…”

She kept her gaze level with the floor. “I get it. You don’t like to be touched. It won’t happen again.”

“No,” I shook my head this time. “That’s not… I didn’t mean… I really am sorry. I’ve got no excuses. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Nicole tapped a finger on the plastic crate, a clicking sound washing over the silence. Finally, while still refusing to look up, she answered. “Can’t think of anything at the moment. Can I take a rain check?”

“Sure. A rain check is fine.”

She shoved aside a loose poster and grabbed another two crates, and I did the same, watching her raven hair sway from side to side, splaying over the top of her hood. There was a certain pleasure I found in the more relaxed atmosphere, reveling in the fact that I was able to properly apologize. It was such a relief to have off my chest and put an undeniable spunk in my step.

“Hey, are you listening?”

“Not at all.”

“God, you really are annoying.” She sighed, dropping the crates on the table and whipping around to face me. “Does the prince ever stop being such a cocky bastard or not? I’m starting to feel bad for the poor princess who has to deal with all his bullshit.”

Giving her a wide breadth of space, I set the two crates next to her. “So you really are reading it?”

Her eyebrows narrowed, giving me the impression she was unimpressed. “You think I was just turning pages for the hell of it?”

The sarcastic retort rested on the tip of my tongue, lined up and ready to go. I bit it down, and the sentence died in a whoosh of air. There was no point to it. Whether she would have found it amusing or not, I wasn’t in any position to take the chance–especially since she had been as good as her word and kept what happened in the club between us. 

Best just to play it safe.

“Later on he becomes a lot more tolerable. The next volume for sure has him undergoing a lot of character development.”

She wandered back over to where she had been sitting, standing behind the chair and gently tapping on the spine of the book with her painted fingernails. It was rhythmic, syncing up with the measured clicks of the second hand of the clock. Then, Nicole took the book in hand, reclaiming her seat and picking up where she left off. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The door swung open, cutting off whatever lame reply I was going to conjure up. Its hinges creaked in protest and a desperate plea for some oil. That would have to wait, however, because the more pressing matter was why Aubrey had decided to show up and why she was cradling a stack of fliers in her arms. I fully expected Nicole to react to her, but she dismissed the other girl entirely, not bothering to look up from the page she was reading. 

Then again, at this point I should give up on trying to predict anything. The forgone conclusion of this room being mine and mine alone was wrong on both accounts. Everyone that Miss Halsey had wanted to gather together was here. Now if only she could be here to experience the tense atmosphere she had created, everything would be right with the world. 

Fat chance. 

Aubrey stepped cautiously into the room, looking at us like we were foreign objects of sorts. Despite the temperature being below freezing, she donned an outfit similar to what she had worn yesterday. While there was no helping her exposed legs, she at least had the common sense to throw a jacket over the ensemble. The denim jacket hung low, slipping toward her waist and showing off her smooth shoulders. For once, none of that was what captured my attention as I was more interested in the befuddled expression she was making. Her forehead creased, and her lips turned down in something between a frown and a pout. That may have been the most expressive I had ever seen out of her besides the glares she reserved for our English class. 

“Looks like I’ve been lied to.”

LonMair399

Had a great weekend! Football team won, drinks were plentiful, and people were out of their mind. Hope you enjoy the chapter today, and I'll probably post next on Wednesday!