Different colored minds

Heathers

STEVEN

Im walking down the hall, feet away from my next class when I hear voices echo down the hall behind me. I turn around to see the young man from the party walking confidently up the hall. I turn away and continue walking. Hopefully he leaves me alone.
Ive been focusing better on my schoolwork since I started smoking weed. I even think I could pull my C up to an A by the end of the school year. I don't know what I want to do after high school. All I know is I want to fix cars, but I don't think my parents will let me be a Mechanic. They'll say I won't make enough or that it's just a pipe dream. other than fixing cars, the only things I'm okay at are football and smoking weed.  I don't have the drive to do a bunch of schooling after this year. Or maybe I do. But I don't think so. What I really think I need is a gap year, but my parents would rather me be a mechanic than that.
Im stuck in a plastic bag looking out at a shadow of what freedom looks like. the air is sharp in my lungs— it's okay. I'm almost out. I can do this. I have to survive. I step into the classroom and sit near the back. I just have to make it through. I'm so close to getting out. If I can just hold out a little longer. I don't want to think about that anymore so I pull out my text book.
The pages are filled with equations I have no idea how to do. I'll have to go in to homework help during lunch tomorrow.
"Fancy meeting you here," in the seat next to me slides the black haired kid from the other night. The kid from the hall.
"hi," I say. He still gives me a bad vibe.
"Hi."
"I've never understood math," he looks down at the book skeptically.
"I was always more of a romantic— literature based of course," I turn to him. But just as I'm about to open my mouth the teacher at the front clears his throat.
"Now students, this is algebra 2 for remedial. Now today..."
"Are you good at English too?" He slides over to talk to me.
"No," I say shortly and keep looking up at the teacher, straining to hear him.
"This year we're reading the Great Gatsby. It used to be one of my least favorite books But now that I'm older I know I hated it because I related to it." He continues reminiscently. "Never judge a book by its cover—" but the black haired kid is talking to me at the same time and I don't hear he end of the sentence. I turn towards the kid.
"You know what I mean?" He whispers. I look at him. I don't. I've never really related to books. I'm a slow reader. I'd rather hang out with friends. There is every reason not to read.
"Not really," I reply. Besides, isn't it weird for a guy to be into romance literature?
"Pity," he gives a small frown and turns away again.
But it doesn't stop there— for the rest of class and the five minute gap before my next one he won't stop talking.
"Um, I have to go to class now, is there a reason you keep trying to talk to me?"
The boy looks at me with a smile.
"You remind me of myself when I was younger, more happy," there's a glint of sadness in his eyes. I don't know what to say to that. So he is weird.
"Well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, got to get myself off to class now. By the way you can call me heathers, it's my last name but I prefer it. Reminds me of the old movie— one of my favorites."

And then he recedes down the hall. What is his deal?
As he walks away I notice his arms. Running up and down them like blades of grass is a contorted network of scars. So then he's a romantic suicidal pothead. I roll my eyes and keep walking. My fists are clenched together. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. That's when my eyes find joe. He's sitting in the wheelchair as usual but there is someone by his side. The greasy haired kid from earlier. And for some reason it looks like joe is invested in the conversation. Like that kid has something that I never did. That my friendship really didn't mean that much to him. All of these weeks I've given him to come to me first. All of these weeks I've waited for him to initiate. All of this time I've been waiting for him to show me that he still cares. That our friendship is worth something to him. And here he is, making new friends already. Not only that, he's picked a greasy sniveling kid. It makes my blood boil.

This is stupid.

I walk towards the other building. I gave him so much of my time and my effort and this is what it is worth to him. Nothing. It all amounts to nothing. I chose to stay for longer because I wanted to work this out. I wanted us to have a future.

Before anyone wanted me I had joe.

A best friend.

Or maybe all of this time it's been just me. Maybe all of this time I've been pushing myself onto him fooling myself that he cared. I can't be broken-hearted. It's not like we dated. I have to bounce back like him. I have to be just like him. And not give a fuck. Because the one who cares is the loser. And that person is always me.

I need better. I deserve better. Maybe that weird kid isn't so bad after all. At least he tries in conversations. At least he wants to spend time with me. At least he puts in the effort. It's better than being best friends with the ex captain of the football team anyway.