Her Suicide Note

Chapter Ten

Bianca
"Those aren't for you," I snap, slapping Adrian's hand that is sneakily inching its way to my cookie tray.
"Oh, come on," Adrian whines. "She's not going to eat all of those."
"It doesn't matter," I tell him. "No cookie until Mrs. Webster grades them."
Adrian folds his arms over his chest, mumbling and leaning his elbows onto my workstation counter as I scoop my chocolate chip cookies onto a floral printed plate. I catch a few people whispering as they try to sneak glances in my direction and avert their eyes between Adrian and I. He's drawing too much attention to me. "Shouldn't you be in the cafeteria?"
It's the same question I've been asking for a while now every time he walks into my Culinary Arts class for his free block. He's so distracting, it's a blessing I get anything done.
"I don't have to," Adrian says. "That's only for people who have no other place to go."
"Well, it is the last block of the day. Why haven't you gone home these past few times you've been in here?" I try to arrange the cookies into a pretty flower.
"How can I when my little Mike Tyson is in here?" Adrian asks, pinching my cheeks teasingly.
Rolling my eyes, I swat him away. "So," I start off, clearing my throat. "How's Nathan?"
Surprisingly, the incident between Nathan and I has been nothing but tight-lipped around school. It makes me happy to know people are willing to keep quiet for me even though Nathan's one of the most popular boys here.
Adrian shrugs at my question. "Haven't seen him since the end of second block when Mrs. Bates called the hospital. Has to get his jaw wired shut."
I nod, swallowing the nervous lump in my throat. I hadn't meant to hit Nathan that hard, but he just made me so mad. Before Nathan, even before Adrian, I have never punched another living soul in my entire life. I'll be lying if I say it didn't feel good, but I still should've kept my wits about me.
I turn to gaze at Adrian's profile. His jet black hair has gotten longer, a few strands falling into his eyes. His eyes have gotten greener, in my opinion, and when he turns his gaze from the front of the classroom to me, I blush and look down.
"What were you and Nathan fighting about?" he asks. "Was it over that red notebook I saw earlier?"
I nod but don't elaborate further. He doesn't need to know all the details.
"I know you don't want to talk about it right now, but I'm here whenever, okay?" he lets me know before Mrs. Webster rises from her desk chair and claps her hands making Adrian lean away from the counter and straighten.
"Alright, children," Mrs. Webster sings in a high-pitched melodic tone; the kind you hear in Disney princess movies. "Let me taste what you made."

Adrian LaMont has proven me wrong. His black 1986 Chevy Silverado is nothing like the impossibly shiny sports cars that fill the rest of the student parking lot. It glistens in the November sun, but, like him, its large presence commands attention, impossible to be ignored. Instead of looking like a car you'd see in a Fast and Furious movie, racing down the streets of fancy countries, the truck seems as if it thrives on plowing down a dirt road with the radio blasting and the windows rolled down.
As I slip into the leather passenger seat, I realize the car is so...him. He seems so comfortable in it as he pops a cookie whole into his mouth and turns the engine on. I gaze at him.
The top of his head is about an inch away from the ceiling of the truck and the seat looks to fit him perfectly like it was made just for his body. His legs that seem to go on for miles aren't bunched together, but are stretched out comfortably.
As if feeling my gaze, he turns to me with questioning eyebrows as he reaches for the plastic cookie bag that I placed in the center console again. I quickly look around and the silence grows uncomfortable as we get in line behind a silver Rolls Royce.
"A 2014 Wraith," I muse aloud as I lean forward, examining the back of the recent model that has a license plate saying Rich Boy.
"You like cars?" Adrian asks.
I shrug. "A little."
"Well, how does my old school truck look in your eyes?" he questions in a teasing tone as he pats the dashboard affectionately.
I laugh. "I love it," I state truthfully. The answer seems to pleasantly surprise him.
We're in Forest Drive before I know it, passing my house on the way to his.
"Are you sure your parents are going to be okay with me over?" I ask, suddenly nervous.
"Yeah. I think it'll be a pleasant surprise for my mom, though, because I rarely have people over," Adrian explains as we pull into his garage beside a pretty blue BMW ActiveHybrid.
We get out and I find myself averting my eyes between the two vehicles, wondering how two completely different cars can share the same space and look totally natural.
Adrian laughs as he pats my head. "This was my dad's," he tells me, patting the hood of his truck. "His first ever car. He's kept it in tip-top shape for all these years before he handed it over. It meant a lot to him."
"Well, I can't wait to meet him," I say, gesturing to the door that leads to the inside of the house.
"Well, my parents are divorced and I only live with my mom, so you won't be able to meet my dad today. Some other time definitely."
I know it's nothing new for someone's parents to divorce, but considering how judgemental the residents around Forest Drive can be about that stuff, I'm surprised that it's Adrian out of all people.
He opens the door for me and we are immediately in the kitchen of dark mahagony cabinets, black granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. I instantly straighten, too afraid to touch anything for fear of somehow messing it up.
Adrian chuckles under his breath as his hands gently clamp down on my shoulders. I can't help the spark that ignites in my cheeks at how intimate the gesture feels. "It's okay, Bianca," he tells me.
He moves away, allowing me to breathe again as he opens the silver fridge.
"It's really clean in here," I observe as he closes the fridge with a Coke bottle in hand. A little too clean, I add in my head.
"I would think so too, since Mom never really cooks anymore," Adrian says as he gulps half of his drink down.
I look down at his long, lean frame. Is he skinnier than before?
"No, I haven't lost any weight," Adrian says, a laugh in his tone. "I only cook one person meals for myself since Mom seems to have an immunity to starvation."
Nodding, I sit on a bar stool at the island as a pretty woman walks in. She has light brown hair cut into a stylishly curled bob with skin paler than her son's, though their eyes are exactly the same in shape and color.
"Oh," she says, startled to see me, though not upset. She's dressed in a Heather gray power suit though her multi-colored, mix-matched socks take away some of the professionalism. "Hi."
"Hi," I say shyly. For some reason, meeting Adrian's mom seems like a huge deal. "I'm Bianca."
"Amanda Houston," she replies, sticking her hand out for a shake. As I take her hand, I feel my face being washed in confusion when I remember her relationship status. Houston must be her maiden name. "It's nice to meet you," she says. "Unfortunately, I've never met any of Adrian's girlfriends."
"Mom!" Adrian hisses making Ms. Houston suck in air through her teeth. She quickly turns to me. "Not that he's had many girlfriends or anything-"
"It's okay," I interrupt cheerfully. "I'm not his girlfriend anyways. We're just...." I trail off.
"Friends?" she helps.
"Not exactly," I admit before glancing over at Adrian.
"I'm in her services," Adrian explains nonchalantly. "You know, like a mansion owner-butler type deal."
"Oh." Ms. Houston, to my surprise, doesn't seem confused by it. "Well, that's good." She turns to me. "Did he apologize for what he said at the party?"
I duck my head, embarrassed. "You saw that, too, huh?"
"Yeah, but don't feel embarrassed by it," Ms. Houston assures before shooting her son a warning glare. "I'll make sure that never happens again."
"Um, thanks," I say, afraid at what, exactly, she means by that.
"Well, we're gonna go upstairs, Mom," Adrian cuts in, throwing his now empty Coke bottle in the silver trashcan. He clamps an urgent hand on my forearm and hauls me off the stool. Dragging me out of the kitchen, we make a right to the staircase and make our way upwards.
When we get to his room, which is the second door on the right, it feels like I'm transported into a whole new world. There are shelves scattered around the walls with athletic trophies, almost all of them first place. Framed pictures of Adrian on a football field in uniform as a young boy make up a collage on the wall above his corporate-looking workdesk. The only poster he has is above his bed of, naturally, a cute blond girl in a black bikini laying across the hood of a black and vibrant orange Lamborghini. Written in sharpie on the bottom right hand corner is a small note: Enjoy!-Nathan.
"Nathan basically superglued that poster up there," Adrian says a little urgently as if I need explanation.
"Um, okay," I say before quickly slipping my shoes off. The carpet is a beautiful creamy color that I don't want to mess up. Who knows what's on the bottoms of my shoes. I set them out in the hallway beside the door before sitting on the foot of his bed that consists of nothing but the color black from the comforter to the three pillows and everything else in between.
"Your room's nice," I say, glancing back at the collage of his football youth.
"What's your room like?" he asks, kicking his shoes off without care of the material underneath his feet.
I shrug. "Definitely not like this," I answer, looking around again. "It's pretty bare."
I scoot over as he starts to sit beside me, tucking my legs underneath me. "So, pull out your math textbook."
At first he just stares at me as if he doesn't understand what I mean, but then his eyes light up in realization. "Oh, uh, yeah," he stammers, dragging his backpack to him. "I did ask you for help."
I feel the right side of my mouth lift up in a smirk, finally understanding. Placing an elbow on the side of my knee, I lean my chin into my palm and try my hardest to keep from laughing. He's rummaging around in his backpack, but I know he's not looking for his book which is easily seen as soon as you open the bag.
"Adrian." I draw out his name, very amused. "Why am I here?"
He turns to me, trying his best to look confused. "What do you mean? I need your help on homework."
"Really?" I inquire, snatching his textbook out. I thumb through the pages until I find the one Mr. Bell assigned and see two pieces of notebook paper wedged inside filled with solved math problems. I lift them up so he can see them more clearly. "It doesn't look like you need my help."
Adrian sighs before running his fingers through his hair. He holds up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, you got me."
Putting the pieces of paper back where they belong, I shut the book and toss it towards the pillows. "Okay, spill." I demand.
"You were scaring me," Adrian says.
My eyebrows knit together, not understanding. "What do you mean? How?"
"Remember the first time we met?" Adrian asks, turning his whole body toward me. "In PE class?" I nod. "Well, you weren't exactly friendly towards me. You had this look in your eye when you talked to me. It was icy yet blank like even though your body was there, you weren't. I saw that same look today when I saw you come out of Gym and I knew I was losing you. So, yeah, I lied about the homework to get you to hang out with me. To take your mind off of how you were feeling about Nathan."
I scrath my hairline, a move I notice I'm doing a lot lately. "The only reason why I'm over here is-was-to help you with your homework. I don't feel like hanging out with anyone."
"But if I hadn't had brought you over here, who knows how cold you would've been to me tomorrow without me trying to cheer you up," Adrian defends.
I'm about to tell him how false that is. That I was going to treat him how I always treat him, but then I realize how much of a lie that is. As much as I hate to admit it, I would've shut down on him and acted coldly like I always do when I'm pissed. I close my mouth and deflate my puffed out chest.
"Exactly," Adrian says, though he doesn't sound particularly triumphant about it. "Are you okay?"
I push my hair away from my face. "I'm just tired. It's been a long few weeks."
He nods in understanding before fidgeting his fingers. "Um, well, what do you want to do now?" he asks. "I have other homework to do so I don't know if you just want to stay here and relax or go home."
"I'll stay here, I guess," I say, getting more comfortable on the bed. "But that doesn't mean anything."
Grinning, he gets up from the bed, bringing his backpack with him to his desk. I unzip my own bag and retrieve my red notebook, flipping it to a blank page. I look around, tapping my pencil against the tip of the book, trying to find inspiration on what to draw. I glance over at Adrian to see if I can draw him, but I can see nothing but his back. I think, for a brief second, on drawing the view that's out his window, but it's just of the houses that look like this one, perfect lawns and fancy cars; something that doesn't need to be captured in art. Then I look around his room. I think I can draw this. It's something I've never down before, plus, it shows a lot of personality. I put pencil to paper.