Tightrope

I Was Ready To Contact Dr Strange

Dread is a funny feeling.

It was characterised by a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, a nervous flutter of my hands, the slight shaking on my body and a tremble in my knees. I was unique in that this dread also surfaced some pretty intense anger, because the only reason I was dreading this class was because I had clearly been dropped on my head as a baby, or I would never have made the decision to kiss Jace Hartley, a decision that had landed me squarely in this predicament.

I had never dreaded English with the level of intense burning passion as I did today. As a regular loather of Maths, I usually stared at the clock above my teacher's head demanding the hands to hop to it and move with some alacrity, as if I were Matilda. The last Maths class, I was ready to contact Dr Strange to negotiate a time loop so that the class never ended.

Unfortunately, I didn't seem to have his number.

I stared at the doorway to the English classroom with trepidation. Hartley was a totally lame nerd, and I had no doubts he was already in class, sitting in his new seat by my side.

"Uh, are you going to go in?" said Kaelin. She was trapped behind me, my schoolbag and crutches blocking her entrance to the room. Thankfully, I no longer needed the crutches at home, or all the time, but I'd realised the long school day led to an achy side and sore legs. "Or is this a hall party. Because I forgot to bring snacks."

"I had a thought. Would you like to break my other leg? I'm craving hospital food."

"Said no one ever. Should I be taking you to the hospital for brain damage?"

"Yes! Let's do that."

Kaelin quirked an eyebrow. "You're weird."

Oh, coming from. "So weird. Definitely need the hospital, I don't know what is up with my head today."

"How about you hop your way into class and if you're still—" she gestured at me vaguely "—this afterward, I'll... call an exorcist or something."

I sighed. It didn't seem that cutting class was going to happen today. Besides, I was relatively convinced that Mr. Prendler had spied us through the door and was vaguely concerned about our loitering already. With hesitation and what felt like squirming eels writhing in my stomach, I pulled the classroom door open and marched—well, hopped, but I liked to manifest confidence—into the classroom.

Jace was sitting in his usual spot, the desk right next to mine, chatting to Holland Rivers in front. The big windows in the side of the classroom lit the halo of gold in his dark hair and illuminated the golden hue of his skin. It was horrific, the way light conspired against me and continuously forced me to acknowledge that Jace Hartley was, quite frankly, stunning. But so was Lucifer, before God cast him from heaven.

And what drugs had Hartley slipped me when I agreed to be his friend?

But I refused to be the one that couldn't hack it in this faux friendship we had struck up. I mean, if we started fighting again, would we have to be forced to fight for custody of Daria? Because, I had to admit, Daria would pick Jace in every lifetime. And I couldn't afford to lose Daria; she was objectively the best.

When I moved closer to my seat, Jace looked up and smiled. I couldn't help but smile back—fake, not real, for Daria, can't lose—and wave sunnily. His eyes were liquid gold as their gaze took a languished stroll over the edges of my form.

I tore my eyes away, because it was a peruse that betrayed everything that had happened between us. When I chanced a look back, I saw that Jace's lips were quirked into a knowing smile.