class of 2013 ✓

16 | chemistry

 Blaise looked so surprised to see me approaching him that he managed to let his pen slide down the spine of his sketchbook, clank against the pavement, and roll down the grassy hill, stopping right in front of the toe of my sneakers.

"Real smooth, dumbass," I tease him, picking up the writing utensil and offering it to him. With a scowl, he accepts it, scooting to the leftmost point of the wired bench so I would have enough space to sit next to him.

"Remiya Siu talking to me outside of class and when we're not working on an assignment together," Blaise chides, nudging my side with his elbow, "what did I do to deserve such an honor?"

Maybe I should've waited for our next assignment to ask him since he's going to be very difficult about this, but I don't remember when the next one is. To be honest, this whole competition thing has become less about actually winning and more about having an excuse to see him. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud, but I just wanted to talk to him sooner.

"Not you using my full government name," I look at him flatly, returning the gesture by slapping his arm. "But no, I actually have a favor to ask you."

"A favor?" he repeats, frowning, "really? After everything I do for you, you have the audacity to ask me for a favor?"

"Fine," I hiss, "have it your way. I'll just leave."

"Wait no!" he exclaims, putting a finger between the pages he left off on, "since you came all the way over here just for me, I'll hear you out."

Unbeknownst to him, I had no plans on departing at all. I just wanted to get a reaction out of him—any indication that he wanted me to stay as much as I wanted to be here.

Thankfully, he met me halfway, or else I would've just looked like an idiot.

"It's about Nea," I tell him sheepishly, crossing one leg over the other, "I want you to help me surprise her."

"And why are you asking me?"

"Because I really can't do this alone, and I have no other friends," I explain like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ah, so out of desperation. I feel so special. Glad to know I was your last resort."

"So are you in or not?" I press on, ignoring his snarky remark.

"Okay," he, to my astonishment, agrees, "you have anything in mind?"

"No," I admit, rubbing my jaw, "didn't think you'd agree this quickly. Give a minute to think."

"Jesus, it shouldn't take that long. Why don't you, I don't know, write her an apology letter or something?"

"She deserves better than that," I retort with an eye roll. "C'mon, you have to have something better than that?"

"I mean, we'll think of something," he murmurs, "I'm just glad you came to your senses. That was quicker than I thought it'd be. Did something happen?"

A knot forms in my stomach. "Uh, kind of," the sole of my shoe brushes against the gritty asphalt, "I found Aria's diary."

"Oh," he grimaces, "you don't have to—"

"—yeah," I interject, already aware I've probably said too much. "It's whatever."

Anxious to change the subject, I steal a glance over his shoulder, fixated on his lap where his sketchbook is laying idly, half-open.

"What are you working on?" I ask, picking at a skin on my nail bed.

For a moment, he tenses, his ears pinking ever so slightly, but then, hesitantly, he positions the spine onto his leg that's closer to me, letting me marvel at a simple outline of the horizon peeking over the row of houses. The drawing is different from the other ones I've seen in the sense that it's a lot more abstract—with a blob shape for sun and houses with hashed walls.