Private School Kings

Heavy is the Head Pt. 1

For as long as I can remember I've had a strange relationship with feelings. When I was younger, like elementary school/preschool age, my problems with emotion skewed more towards having too many. I was erratic, going from screaming about a minor inconvenience to laughing at the stupidest little things, but as I got older I went to the other end of the spectrum. I started feeling almost nothing at all. It was like someone had turned down the volume and all of a sudden everything inside me was muted, dull. I knew what things I should be feeling, wanting, but I couldn't tell if they were really there or if they were just pale reflections of the things other people expected of me.

Ever since coming to Pruitt I felt as if someone had reached inside me and messed with all the controls. Especially after yesterday. Whatever fog I'd been comfortably living in had dispersed almost entirely.

Now, the feelings were vibrant colors. The fear about Heather and The Lords and everything else I couldn't control, the anger at all of it, at Magnus' death, the sadness I felt for Fletcher and Madeline. Even the good feelings were too much, the excitement, the relief that I finally had friends (if you could call it that) at Pruitt, the wanting that had cropped up since the kiss.

It was overwhelming, all of it, and I couldn't focus on anything. Especially not whatever Madeline was talking about.

We were in the journalism office again. She was going over "strategies", as Fletcher would call them, talking with so much apathy that it had to be manufactured. Now that I knew about Magnus, I understood a little better why they were taking everything so seriously, but Madeline maintained her air of sarcasm even though I knew Fletcher would have caught her up on our conversation. Most of it, at least. That meant the sarcasm was for her benefit, not mine. I didn't mind. We all have ways to keep from feeling. I just wished mine were still working.

"Murphy, are you listening?"

I wasn't, but I didn't want to admit that. I also didn't want to lie, so I just stared at her.

She sighed through a reluctant smile. "Whatever, I can barely listen to myself." Her long legs folded and she took a seat. Not on a chair, but on top of a desk. "Fletcher was supposed to be here, but he's off doing god knows what..."

I felt my cheeks go hot. I hadn't really let myself think about what the kiss meant, but now I was worried. Madeline noticed.

"Wait a second. Shit, what happened? Did something happen at the party?" I realized she was echoing Fletcher's words from yesterday. They both jumped so quickly to concern, it made me nervous.

"No. Not really."

She scowled like she didn't quite believe me, "Did Fletcher do something?"

I paused. He had, but so had I.

"Oh god, you're blushing."

"No I'm not."

She laughed. "You are."

I was. I knew it. My face loved to betray me. "We got lunch yesterday."

"Right," She raised an eyebrow. "Lunch."

For a moment, I imagined a world where I confided in Madeline and we laughed together about how weird Fletcher was. She'd give me advice, and I'd leave feeling calmer and closer to her. But that wasn't me, and it definitely wasn't Pruitt.

"I need to go. I have homework." I told her.

It was obvious to both of us how weak that excuse was, but Madeline didn't push. Instead, she said, "This is for you." In her palm was a small metal cylinder, about the size of a pen cap. Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "It's an audio recorder. My Father's company makes them. If they're going to keep taking your phone you need to have a way to collect evidence. It also takes pictures." She glided her thumb across the surface, pausing on what I now realized was a camera lens.