Burnt Out | J. Kirstein

|04|

The streets are less chaotic because most people have found their way into the different parties across campus or are staying in tonight.

This leaves you and Jean walking down an empty sidewalk. Well, he walks on the sidewalk while you take the asphalt on the road.

"So you've been here for a year?" Jean speaks up after a minute of walking in silence. You were fine with the silence though.

You nod. "Early admissions. I started at the beginning of spring term last year."

"I always knew you were smart, but man..." he lets out a deep breath. "Pretty impressive."

It's not super impressive. Tons of people do things like this all the time. But you appreciate the compliment, so you stay silent.

"Why'd you decide to come here? Pretty far from home..." you watch as two girls jog across the street ahead of you and you pull out your box of cigarettes.

Jean shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks at a pebble on the path in front of him. You notice the frown on his lips, but you don't pay too much attention to it.

"It is," his tone is low. "But it's the school that offered the best scholarship and since college isn't cheap, it was the smart choice."

You can agree to that. This school does offer the best scholarships. They sure have helped you out with your situation. You take out a stick and the lighter from the box.

"Do you miss your friends?" Your question is obviously one you don't need to ask. Of course he does. You ignite the lighter and place the cigarette between your lips.

Jean nods his head slowly, his shaggy hair shifting slightly, some of his hair cascading over his eyes as he looks over at you, his attention mostly on the smoke rising from your lips as you put your lighter in your back pocket. "Yes and no. I miss hanging out with them because it was easy, but they weren't really good friends, ya know."

Back in high school it was sink or swim. You either accepted how things were, or you were outcasted. Everyone knew that most of the "popular" kids were spoiled brats who were entitled. Some were just acceptant of those people. Like Jean. He never did the things his friends did, but he also didn't tell them it was wrong.

"I know," your voice is quiet and could very well have just been lost with the wind that's blowing through the street. Along with the exhaled smoke from your lungs.

"Do you still talk to anyone from school?" Jean asks as you two round the corner of the street. He can't seem to stop taking glances at you.

Your answer is quick. "No."

"How come? I remember you had a ton of people wanting to be your friend. Some of them you surely have to talk too still," he turns, his eyes casting over you.

"I don't. When I left I didn't think twice about that town. Specially not the high school," you come to a stop under a street lamp and take a few more drags.

Jean mirrors you, but since he's up on the side walk and blessed with tall genes, you have to look up slightly to meet his soft gaze.

"I'd rather not talk about the past," you tighten your jaw. "It's not your fault or anything, you're just being nice; But I have nothing to say about anything from before now."

It's not that you want to be rude, but you're also not obligated to talk to him about things you don't want  to talk about.

"You're the one who brought up if I missed my friends," he rubs the back of his neck, his bicep pressing against the tight cloth of his long sleeve. "Sorry, I just thought I'd talk about the same thing."