Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind - Treebros

Chapter 14: "A Touch and Thought"

Thursday, November 15th

 Normally, I'm not the first one at the desk when I reach Mr. Abdul's classroom. Connor is there before I am, and then he complains about how long it took me to get there.

 But today the desk is empty. Which isn't a big deal, his teacher probably held him back or something. So, I set my bag down next to my desk, and pull out my notebook and pencil.

 And then wait.

 I never realized how used to Connor I was. The only day I wasn't in this class was when I got my cast off, and he's never skipped. Which is odd, because in past years I remember him not showing up a lot.

 But now, as I sit here waiting for him, I kind of understand why he always complains.

"Smell my wrist." I spin around in my seat, slamming my elbow against the table. Connor is standing there, holding out the back of his right hand, and looking startled.

"What?" I ask, heart pounding. I didn't notice him enter the classroom, but apparently he did because here he is.

"Smell my wrist," he repeats, holding his hand out closer to me and mercifully not commenting on how I jumped. I gently grab his hand and sniff it. A strong odor burns my nose, and I pull away, my face scrunched in discontent.

"Your wrist smells like peppermint," I comment, only faintly aware of how weird this exchange probably looks to anyone watching. Connor nods.

"Zoe tried out this lotion on me so she could see if it was disgusting before she used it," he explains, although this answer causes more confusion than it solves. Before I can ask anything, though, his other hand is in front of me.

"Smell my other wrist," he demands, and this time I do so without question. This scent isn't as violent and overpowering as the peppermint one.

"That one smells like oranges," I say, and he nods again.

"It is." Connor rubs his wrists against each other as if that could get rid of the smell.

"How many did she have?" I ask. I pat the seat next to me, and he sits down.

"A lot, but she only used two on me because fortunately that's how many wrists I have and she didn't want the scents to blend," he says. It's kind of funny how I can just imagine that happening. What's not funny is how I'm imagining it happening. But Connor doesn't sound pissed, just mildly annoyed.

"Oh, well that's smart." He crosses his arms, and his shoulders shake in a silent, humorless laugh.

"If you see her in the halls, run. There is a chance she might stop you and ask to swatch a lotion on your wrist," Connor warns, and I laugh. Now I kind of want to run into Zoe. That citrus lotion wasn't half bad.

"I'm surprised you let her," I muse, and he gives me a pointed look.

"Y'know, I've been letting her get away with a lot of shit recently. Like, the other day, she fucking swatted me. And I just let her do it," he says.

"I swat you all the time," I say. He waves his hand dismissively at me.

"That's different. This is your fault, you know?"

"How?"

"You got me to be to nicer to her and now it's terminal. I'm dying now, and my wrists smell like peppermint and oranges," Connor complains, glaring at his left hand, then his right one.

"That one was peppermint and that one was oranges," I say, pointing to the corresponding hands.

 Connor holds his left wrist up to his face, sniffs it, then stares at it blankly.