The Misadventures of Owen Bonner

Chapter Thirteen

I lost a lot of interest in school those next couple months. Which is surprising, because losing interest means you had some to begin with. I didn't think it was possible for me to care less, but after a small chat with my history teacher and a long lecture from my mom, I realized caring less was extremely possible. And I was doing exactly that. Caring less. 

Caring less, however, also made the days go by easier. I'd blink and suddenly, my whole week would flash before my eyes, nothing eventful and nothing noteworthy. Just shuffling through hallways, sleeping, and trying not to sleep. I had the most mundane and pathetic winter break of my life, which is saying a lot because the bar was never high to begin with. If I'm being completely honest, it would have been nice to use Fisher as an excuse to leave the house, but I wasn't gonna call him out of the blue like that. I had some pride. 

The only thing I can think of that's mildly entertaining is the fact that I started talking to this girl from my English class. We only ever struck up conversation because the teacher assigned both of us and two other girls to work collectively on an independent novel study. The book we would study was completely up to us, so we all somewhat agreed on Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. Three chapters in, the two other girls (whose names I never bothered to learn) began complaining about the non-linear timeline and lack of ability they had to enjoy a book. The girl, Nessa, and I both mutually agreed to ignore their whining. Or, well, I ignored them,  Nessa just seemed to never notice. 

Nessa was interesting, for lack of a better word. Her hair was big, curly, and messy, almost to the point where I wondered if she even owned a brush. She wore the same, army green sweater everyday, except on Fridays. She was probably the only person in the whole school who wore her class t-shirt on school-spirit Fridays, for reasons unknown and beyond my comprehension. She had nice teeth though and her breath never smelled bad, which put her above a lot of her unhygienic peers. Nessa also had nice eyes, but not in the sense that they were a striking shade of blue or had a long array of flirty lashes. They were just nice. Sincere, almost. Innocent. 

"Have you ever heard of Patrick Rothfuss? He wrote the Kingkiller Chronicle. It's an amazing series, really, it's fucking epic and--"

Another thing: Nessa was excited all the time. Her voice stayed in that permanent, high-pitched octave people adopt when they start talking about something they really love. You know, their eyes get brighter, they can't stop smiling, and their thoughts are racing faster than their mouths can communicate. I've never been that excited, which is fine because people look fucking stupid when they're all flustered. But Nessa didn't look stupid. I mean, she probably did, but I just didn't notice. 

In the middle of our conversation, one of the other two girls sighed melodramatically. She officially looked and sounded like a horse. I glared at her from the corner of my eye. She clicked her tongue, shook her head, and turned to her friend, "We should've just read The Hunger Games like everyone else." 

I rolled my eyes and mumbled "moron" beneath my breath. I could have sworn I heard Nessa chuckle beneath hers. 

I hated being at home all the time. But, considering I had neither a car, nor license, nor friends with either of those things, my only choice was to lock myself in my room or go for a nice walk. It was the dead of winter, so the latter wasn't really an option. I mostly just played video games and got yelled at, both online and offline. My mom noticed my newly adopted hermit lifestyle and decided, for whatever reason, to buy me a journal. I guess she thought if I wasn't going to talk about it, she could at least sneak into my room and read about it later. I just couldn't get over the fact that she still thought I wrote. I almost laughed.