Jo
"LAST TIME WE were here, we discussed the themes of the book and today, we've talked about the settings. I think I can say, we're making progress. Miss Anderson wants our papers ready in about two weeks or something? So we really just need to work on your essay writing if you want to pass this class."
My student narrows his eyes at me and lazily fiddles with his pen. "You're not going to tell me what happened back there, are you?"
I ignore him. "I've not seen your writing before. Maybe you could write a sample on one of the themes and send it to me tonight?"
"Like an assignment?"
"Sure," I look up at him. "A tutor can do that. Let's start with something simple. Let's say, social class. Just a preamble of how you think it influences the novel. 10 p.m. That's your deadline, so you'd better get to work."
"You're mean."
"You're welcome." A heavy silence rests between us after that and I carefully arrange all my books in my bag. The library is quiet except for the sound of the coffee Mrs Anthony is brewing, half-asleep. A group of girls whisper and giggle as they exit, leaving echoes in their wake. When I look back at Flynn, he's folding his arms and arching a brow at me as if asking me where I'm going.
"The session's over," I inform him as I place my bag on my thighs. "Pay up."
He doesn't respond. He only looks at me like I've offended him. I attempt getting to my feet hoping he'd understand that the session is really over but his legs spread out under the table and his shoe cladded feet raise behind my ankles and lifts them up, before using his other foot to cross one of mine against the other. He keeps my crossed feet in between his legs and raises his brows at me.
I scowl at him. "What are you doing?"
"What happened back there? At lunch? With Johnston?"
"You're persistent, aren't you?"
"No, I'm Flynn."
I try my best to keep a neutral expression as I clutch my bag tighter against my chest. "I don't want to talk about it."
He leans forward on the table and looks at my wrist. The red imprint of Craig's fingers have become lighter and less painful. I unconsciously withdraw my wrist away from his burning gaze.
"He hurt you, Pryce. Is he giving you trouble of any kind? Threatening you or something?"
I really hope my expression gives nothing away. "Noâ"
He cuts me off. "I know who Craig Johnston is, Pryce. I've been on the same team with him. We've worked together and he's a dick. Barely respects girls and if he wants something, he'd go to any length to get it."
Laughter finds it way to my throat because I've been a firsthand victim of this before but if I laugh, I'll definitely cry and that would just make me look pathetic. When I look back at Flynn, his poker face gives nothing away but his clenched fists do.
"Has he done something to you before?"
An emotion flashes through his eyes and disappears immediately. "No," he says and then releases my feet from his. "More of took."
I'm intrigued so I clear my throat and give him my undivided attention. "Like the position of swim captain? Is he the reason you got kicked out of the team?"
"I didn't get kicked out," he tells me like the words physically hurt to say. "I left."
I eye him cautiously. "Why?"
Before I know it, his hand drops in the middle of the table with a little too much force and the sound abruptly causes Mrs Anthony to jerk into reality. It's not the first time she's glared at us the way she's doing now.
"Last warning," she whispers fiercely and I mumble a sorry before narrowing my eyes at Flynn.
"What was that for?"
"Your pay," he juts his chin towards the dollar notes beneath his palm. "You said the session was over. I'll email you the sample tonight."
When I look up at him, he's not looking at me anymore. I grab the cash and stuff it in my purse. "You could just say you didn't want to talk about it." I tell him as I get to my feet and sling my bag over my shoulders.
"And I'm no damsel in distress, Flynn. I can take care of myself."
â
IF THERE'S ONE band I love as much as the Beatles, it's Rage Nation. It's a pop-rock band consisting of four artists, three males and one female and together, they're an insane force to be reckoned with. Right now, the only thing I can hear is them because their newest song, Jaded, will make me deaf by the time I turn it off. No-one's home except for me and well Grandma but that's pretty much all of us anyway. Mum isn't back from work yet and her mother sleeps like the dead.
King doesn't mind a little jam now and then, so he happily struts his tail around the room while I blow-dry my hair. When he's tired, he'll leave and head to the living room to watch some TV.
The screen of my laptop blares into life and I hurriedly turn off the music and slide into the seat with my semi-wet hair and flushed face. My heart thumps with anticipation once I click on the screen, hoping it's a message or even a missed video call from Hana but it's not. My chest deflates immediately and I pinch my brows. She's probably busy. I shouldn't call her. Not after what her mum told me today.
It's an email from Flynn and I click on it while mentally preparing myself to inspect his sample. Instead it's something else.
From: [email protected]
Subject: To the one I love the most
It's finished.
âââââ
From: [email protected]
Subject: Okay??
Well? Send it.
And what's with the username?
âââââ
From: [email protected]
Subject: I can't
It's a secret
I lean back on my chair confused. And then I start to type again.
So what'd you send me an email for? I'm busy
My phone starts to ring. I get to my feet and narrow my eyes at the device on my bed and then when it's about to stop ringing, I clear my throat and slide my finger across the green answer button.
"Hello? Who's this?"
Low music plays softly in the background and then his low voice comes in seconds after. "We both know you saved my number."
"I'm sorry," I say as I turn on the dryer. "I can't hear you over the sound of my dryer."
"I'm surprised," he says, amused. "You actually take care of your hair."
I roll my eyes even though he can't see me. "It's way past 10 p.m. You didn't turn in your sample and now you've called me to insult me."
"I'm calling to turn it in."
I turn off my blow-dryer and place it on the table. "You're going to say it?" Then I sit cross-legged on the bed and grab my diabetic kit before turning up the volume to loudspeaker and placing the phone on one of my pillows.
"Yes ma'am."
"Alright then. I'm listening."
"It's a poor boy, rich girl kinda thing," he starts. For some reason, I imagine him laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling with his phone on his ear. Probably wearing a black Tee and shorts. Or shirtless, maybe. When Drew was home, he'd usually walk around with shorts and a bare chest but then again, he wasn't really a fan of shirts. The thought suddenly morphs into Flynn and I shake the image away like it's physically imprinted on my forehead.
"...rejection from Catherine andâ Pryce? Still there?"
I blink. "Yeah, sure. Off-course," I scoff while I toss my needle into the sharps container. "Where else would I be?"
"What's the last thing I said?"
"Said."
"Ha, funny."
"I've been told I'm quite the comedian."
"Well, maybe you should get new friends cos these ones clearly don't like you."
I lay down on my bed and pull the covers to my chest. "I never said they were friends."
"Right," he pauses for a second and then says, "I might have stepped out of line, the last time I said you had no friends."
I stare at the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling with a forlorn expression. I'm happy I'm alone. "You don't need to sound apologetic. You were right but I'm not bothered about it."
"Yeah sure. Even Heathcliff wasn't alone. I mean at some point, he had Catherine."
I snort. "Yeah, well she ditched him and everything went downhill from there. He became miserable, sought for revenge, abused people and whatnot and you'd know that, if you really read the book and didn't google it."
"Ah," he says. "I love it when you talk book to me."
The corners of my mouth pull against my will. "You're an idiot, do you know that?"
I think he's smiling. "So I've been told. You think I might need a new set of friends?"
I turn to my side and hug the covers tighter to my body. I'm staring at the blood glucose meter on my bedside table as I respond. "No."
"I've been trying to write it. It's harder to put words on paper than to say them to someone. It's even harder to say it to a bunch of people. Both things you can do perfectly."
"You're just saying that."
"I'm not," There's a knock on the door from his side and then he shouts, 'I'm busy' and returns to me. "I've read one of your works. A poem fell out of your book once at the library and I took a peek. Never seen anything like it."
I turn to the other side of my bed and press my cheek to the pillow because it grows hot all of a sudden and then I place my phone at my other ear. "It's a piece of crap. And you shouldn't snoop around like that."
"Well, it's your piece of crap," he responds immediately, ignoring the latter part of my statement. "And I think you should suck it up and turn in an article of yours to the newspaper. I could talk to the head writer about it."
I perk up on the bed and pause for a moment. If I allow myself to think about the reasons why he's offering to help me, I'll sleep with a headache. So I do what I always do when someone offers me an assistance of any sort, "Thanks but I'm okay."
Before he says anything else, I abruptly ask, "So you seem like you know Daniel."
"Ugh," Flynn groans and I can already see him rolling his eyes.
The little smiles instantly drops from my face. "What?"
He groans again and then I hear the creak of a bed and a deep exhale. "'Oh god, he's so majestic, I want to die.' That's what girls say about him and that's how you look at him."
My brows pull in on each other. I have so many questions. "Not everyone's a rogue like you, Flynn and I'm pretty sure that's just you being petty about the whole situation. Plus, I've never looked at him that way before."
"Please," he sarcastically says. "Spare me. Last year, we were all in Communications and you had this fuck me eyes whenever he was around."
"Biggest lie I've heard today. You wouldn't even know if I liked a person."
"Right? I was initially surprised, y'know? Like, oh, she's actually human, she also has feelings. But then it was Daniel and well, I was disappointed."
I sit up and glare at the screen of my phone. "Why are you being so whiny about this? And how would you even know I was staring at someone if you weren't staring at me first?"
"You're not exactly hard to miss, Pryce and I don't mean this in the complimentary way."
I'm staring daggers at my wall, imagining it's him. "Flynn Cauley, did you just call me ugly?"
"Hey," there's a smile in his voice. "That rhymed."
That's it. "I'm hanging up."
"Wait, wait," he's laughing now. A soft kind of laughter that somehow finds it way to my chest and settles there. "I'm just messing with you."
"Do you get off from being an ass to me?"
"No," he laughs quietly. "It's kind of satisfying."
I lower myself on the bed until my covers are up to my chest again and I'm staring at the ceiling. "That's just sad."
"Maybe, maybe not."
I don't say anything after that and he doesn't. After a while, I say, "Your essay. First thing tomorrow morning. Fail to do so, and you'll have to buy me a coffee from the new cafe, Sprouts. Decaf preferably with lots of ice."
He starts laughing quietly again and I gaze at the cobweb at the corner of my room and wonder if I'm really that funny. Or if he thinks this is some kind of joke. I've heard the new cafe is really good and I don't want to make Jace sad even though competition is expected. Then I hesitantly say, "I'm serious. Stop laughing." But in reality, I don't want him to and I want to hit my myself on the head for that.
"Fine, fine. And if I do, you have to get me one. Iced Latte. Bless you."
"Why do I have to get you something if you eventually write the essay? It's for your benefit, not mine," I pause and then stare at my fingers. "You honestly don't seem bothered that you might be failing this class."
"I don't, Pryce. I don't have anything to loose, really. I'm not on the team anymore and besides, it's just a stupid grade."
I don't say anything for a while because the memories of why I began to dislike him replay in my head. His words from last year replay in my head. It's just a stupid grade, Pryce. Get over it.
"Wow. To some people it's not just some stupid grade," I say harshly but with the noncommittal reply he gives, I doubt he remembers. "You're forgetting the fact that you might not graduate and don't you care about college?"
He doesn't respond for a long time and I don't think he's going to. Sleep clouds my vision and my eyelids grow heavier with each breath I take and just before I succumb, I hear him murmur, "That was taken away from me too."