Disequilibrium

Part 1: Freshman Year - Scene 7

"On a scale of one to ten, how much did I force you into coming with me?"

Casper's leaning against the outer school wall with his hands in his pockets, staring out at anything but me. I also keep my eyes trapped on the flow of expensive cars and yellow busses leaving the lot, knees bent to my chest and my butt hovering centimetres from the ground.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs and squints in the sunlight. "I'd feel crappy if I forced you into something you didn't want to do, you know? I say and do things before thinking about it first; I admit it. So, here's me thinking. How much did I force you?"

"Not much, to be honest."

We're both looking at each other now. He's got that same frown from the music room, face all screwed up like he's trying to solve a hard math equation. It takes a moment to realise that I should look away, and when I do, Casper still keeps his eyes trapped on the side of my head.

It's a hell of a lot of trouble not knowing what people are thinking. The world would be much easier if you could just see what's going on in somebody's head. Then again, if he could see, would he still stand this close?

Many cars are still rolling in and out of the lot. After a moment of long silence, I ask, "Which car are we supposed to be looking out for?"

Casper shifts beside me, taking his back off the wall. "That one," he says, gesturing with his chin to a slick black car pulling into the lot. The coat gleams in the sunlight to the point where it damn near blinds me, the windows tinted and making the figures inside look like mere silhouettes.

Wide mouthed and tongue tied, I watch as Casper strolls to the parked car and taps the front window, waiting for about two seconds for the trunk to open slowly. I can't help feeling a little jealous, to be honest. Dad's rusty truck takes a lot of manpower just to get the damn passenger door open.

"Are you coming, or are you just going to sit there and swallow bugs?" Casper asks as he sets his bags down. It takes a moment for me to get up, wipe my palms against my jeans, and pick up my bag. Casper throws it in the trunk with his stuff before shutting it, eyebrow cocked and the smug smile still there when he sees the look on my face.

"Hop in, Holden," he says. "We don't have all day."

There's not much I can do other than open the back door and slip in timidly. The leather seats make this embarrassing squeaking sound, which I can't stop apologising for, earning beautiful laughter and an "it's alright, son," from the front seats.

Casper's parents are just as pretty as him. They look back at me with huge grins on their faces, teeth so white I could've seen my reflection if I looked hard enough. His mother sits behind the wheel, dressed in a fitting suit with thick curls tied in a sophisticated bun. Her partner sits with his jacket on his lap and his tie loosened, brown hair standing in short spikes.

"Casper didn't tell us he was bringing a friend," she says. "Please excuse the mess."

There is no mess, but I still say, "No problem."

"This is Holden," Casper cuts in as soon as he's settled in his seat. "He'll be joining us for dinner later."

"Do his parents know he'll be joining us for dinner?" his father asks.

"They know," Casper answers curtly, though I haven't spoken to Dad since last night. I steal a quick glance but he keeps his eyes straight forward, staring at nothing in particular.

"You've got to stop spontaneously inviting people out, Cas," his mother says as she follows the line of cars out of the lot. "Planning is the best way to live. Besides, I don't want to get into crap again. Remember what happened last time?"