Forrest Green

Chapter 13: Suspension and Talking

Chapter 13: Suspension and Talking

A couple days later, when I arrive at school, I walk to my locker and shove my bag in there. I grab all the things I need for my first two classes and stack them in my arms. When I take my math binder out, I see the drawing that Green drew for me last week, and it makes me smile.

Ever since skipping school with Green and hanging out at the park, I haven't been able to get the dorky smile off my face. When I walked into the kitchen the other morning, my mother looked at me like I was on drugs because I walked in with a smile on my face, humming. I never hum, and I'm never that happy in the morning, so imagine how my mom must have felt when she saw me.

She stared at me for a long time before she brought up the phone call from the school.

She wasn't even mad at me, just told me that if I was going to skip school that I could at least tell her when I was going to be home. Sometimes I just want her to be like other parents, but then I think about how easy I have it. I mean I don't have to worry about her grounding me for coming home late. I just have to worry about her burning the house down. It seems like a fair trade.

I close my locker and walk to class, finally knowing my way around the school. When I walk into Mr. Sharp's classroom, I still have a smile on my lips. Green sits in the back, like he always does, with my open seat next to him. I make my way through the maze of desks to the one next to him. I set my belongings on the table and sit down.

"Hello!" I greet him brightly.

He turns his head to look at me and half smiles, but only for a second before it disappears.

"Having a good morning?" I ask him.

Green thinks for a minute before nodding his head.

"Are you just saying that because you don't want me to question you?" I ask with my eyebrow raised.

He looks at me sheepishly and then looks away.

"You know, if my questions annoy you, you can just tell me, and I'll stop asking so much. I know I can be a little talkative and I know you're the complete opposite of me, so feel free to tell me to stop talking any time." I tell him, although it's probably a moot point now that we've known each other for a week and all I've done is talk.

Embarrassed by how many questions I've asked; I stick to the only thing I know how to do in these situations, I ask more questions. "My mom once told me that I talked a lot, but I never really thought about it until right now. Do you think I talk a lot? Do you think I'm annoying? Oh my gosh, here I go again with the questions. Why can't I be normal and not ask so many questions? Do you think I'm normal? Is it normal to talk as much as I do? I don't think it is. What do you think? Do you think it's norm-?"

I'm cut off when Green slaps a piece of paper on my desk. The paper reads:

"Your questions don't annoy me. I like it when you talk. Yes, you talk a lot, but as I said before, I like it when you talk. It makes up for me, not talking. No, you're not annoying. I wouldn't want you to be normal. That's boring. I don't think I know anyone who talks as much as you do, but I don't mind it."

I look up from the paper and turn towards Green so I can meet his eyes. This is the most that Green has ever said to me, and I'm in shock. His handing-writing is so masculine but pretty at the same time. I don't think I'll ever be able to get over that.

"Do you really mean all that stuff you wrote?" I ask, a little touched that he doesn't find me annoying because sometimes I find myself annoying.

Green nods his head.