Lessons of Indifference

chapter nine

It has been several days since I went to the beach. It has been several days since I spoke to Everett last as well. Occasionally he sometimes waves from across the classroom, or maybe smiles when I leave the school through the front door to see the garden. I think he is used to me coming. I wonder if he looks forward to seeing me in the garden. Sometimes I stay there and sit on the bench while I watch the men work. Sometimes I do homework, sometimes I sketch. I do not try to draw, I just draw. Sometimes flowers, sometimes water. I like drawing flowers because they remind me of long talks with Gran in the garden. She would tell me about her high school romances, and I would tell her poems I wrote.

Today is a day like any other. It is Tuesday. School is beginning to bother me less and less every day. I just try to ignore the people and focus on nothing. It is easy to focus on nothing. I push all the memories, anxieties, and thoughts from the day away so I cannot be distracted, and stare perfectly forward until it is over. It's not as hard as people might think. Biology is the one class I cannot seem to push my mind's business. From where I sit, only Emma and a low-standing bookshelf sits between me and the window, about five feet.

There is only one framed poster out of all of them on the walls of the cluttered classroom, and that poster it straight in front of me, behind Mr. Parker's desk and to the left a little. The glass covering the poster is obviously cheap. I can tell because the light hits it promptly three minutes after class starts, and the sunlight bounces off it, creating something similar to a mirror. Today is the fourth day this week that I have stared intensely at it. I do not stare at the poster, which I think is a bacteria reproduction diagram, but I cannot see it because the reflection is so clear. I stare more intently at what is in the reflection. When I look into it, I see my pale face, thin arms, and half-wavy, half-frizzy straight hair sitting at one half of the desk, and a round-faced, rosey-cheeked girl writing hearts on her notebook on the other half. I cannot see many other people in the reflection, but the one person I do see is the person I focus my attention on. His cheeks are half tanned, half burned from his work, and one has a dimple in it from concentration. His head tilts as he writes, his lips purse, and he taps his foot on the desk foot. Only when I first see him do I get that horrible feeling in my chest and stomach, but when I watch him in the reflection, my heart is the only thing that pounds irregularly. Sometimes he looks up, and I can see when he looks at the back of my head, although he cannot see me in the poster's reflection. Sometimes I wonder if I should feel silly for staring at a boy during class. Sometimes I do feel stupid. Like in middle school. I conclude that it did only stupid if it is not personal. It'll be my own secret.

I haven't seen Luke since Everett drove me home. I am starting to doubt his intimidation. When my classes are over, I exchange my homework and books in my locker and take my sketchbook and iPod. When I am done in my locker, I close the door and begin walking toward the door. The typical high school experience is occurring in the same hallway I stand in. The classic stereotypes are real and fake right before my eyes. Burn-outs, jocks, nerds, preps. They are all real, most of them just covered up with a thick coat of mainstream. What I mean is the same old fashions and images as everyone is expected to have. Everyone expects to be themself, an individual, but at the same time they do not want to step out of their comfort zone. They wear what everyone else wears, they say what everyone else says, and they act the same. This concept confuses me. Everyone is everyone else, because they are afraid to be themselves. My mind is twisted up in a knot. Society is one thing I will never understand.

Today, the garden is looking well nourished from what I can see through the glass doors. The bright sunlight outside makes the halls look dull and dim. Students flood the short staircase that descends before the doors, and I approach them with purpose. Everyone who does not ride the bus leaves through these doors. Mostly juniors and seniors, who have their own cars or rides. Among them are some people I recognize from my classes. A tall, dark-haired boy from English, I think his name is Todd. A scrawny, dark-skinned girl from my lunch table named Alicia. The crowd flows in one direction, out the doors, except one boy who is coming in. This boy I have not seen in days. Suddenly, I feel like I have swallowed something sour that makes me mouth taste bad and my stomach clench up. It's Luke. He looks horrible. His face is puffy and his eyes have dark rings around them. He looks temporarily directionless, his wavering footsteps confused, and he stumbles toward the steps. He looks up at me, and I see a faint sign of perplexity and confusion in his eyes, like he woke up from a long nap not knowing what day it is. He stares at me in bewilderment until my eyes lurch toward the ground and my stomach feels queasy. My legs feel numb as I take a few steps forward, not towards Luke, towards the door. One step closer to Luke means one step closer to the door. His eyes are still fixated on me when I break into a run and push myself through the crowd and through the door. I look back for only a moment to see Luke, in bleak confusion, crumpling into the staircase, unable to following me.