「breathe me」| Johnnyboy

h o m e w o r k & c r u s h e s .

As soon as the bus dropped me off, I started speed walking. My bus stop was a few houses down from my actual home, in the parking lot of an abandoned Dollar General. I wanted to get home and, if my parents had already left, I'd call Ponyboy right away. My hand wrapped around the paper in my pocket securely, sure not to let it fall in the street. Unfortunate would've been a complete understatement for that.

As soon as my sneakers made contact with the first step of my porch, I knew they hadn't left yet. They kept the car parked in the garage, which was always closed, so the incessant screaming that blared through the dirty wooden boards of the house was the biggest tip. I paused, right foot hovering over the second step. Did I really want to go in there? After the good day I'd had, was I willing to be hit? Was I ready to beg for my well-being?

I supposed it was stupid to even ask. No one, and I don't care who they are, is ever ready for any of that. I sucked in a deep breath, making up my mind and backing away from the porch. As soon as I got to the road, I made a run for it. If they came out and saw me, I'd have no choice but to go in. I could call Ponyboy from Waffle House, and tell him I hadn't had anything more to do when I got home.

Or, I'd come up with an excuse. I was good at those, though then again who wouldn't be after constantly having to lie to teachers when you walked in with bruises and cuts all over you? It'd always seemed like my way to get out of being further questioned for that, so I couldn't see how this situation was any different. It was better no one knew what really went on, anyway.

I made it to my destination sooner than I'd been counting on, thankfully, but I'd ran most of the way and my whole body felt like it was going to collapse. My breathing was labored, heart thumping hard against my chest and perspiration beading down my forehead and arms. It was a good thing it'd been chilly outside lately, or I might've actually died. As soon as I entered the building, a cool breeze whipped over me. I made my way to an open booth, sitting there a moment to calm my breathing. I couldn't exactly talk to him when I was panting this hard.

"You want some water, sweetheart?" A smooth, southern accented voice sounded at the side of me. I looked up to see a waitress; she was blonde, with lipstick that was too red for her and a tight fitting uniform. Her smile was welcoming, though, and I had to take a moment to return it.

"T-that'd b-be great, t-thank you." She left and returned a moment later, sitting the cup of iced water in front of me.

"You look like you need it. Did you just get done runnin' a marathon or something?" She was clearly attempting to crack a joke, but at this point it felt like I had ran one.

"Something like that." I wrapped my hand around the glass — or, tried to. It was pretty large, and my hand... well, it wasn't, really. I took a few large gulps, and she stood there a while longer.

"You want to order anything?" Her tone kept its accent, and from what I could tell she was a nice woman. But, that could've been her trying to get a tip, too. I'd heard waitresses got good ones if they gave good service, and that seemed logical to me.

"No, thanks." I slipped my backpack off, placing it in the spot beside me before speaking to catch her attention while she turned to leave. "Can I use your phone? The ones around the counters." I gestured toward the bar-type section that stood right in front of the open kitchen. I'd only been here a few times, but at least two of those had included me spotting a phone behind the counter.

"Sure." She waved her hand for me to follow, and I obliged without question. As soon as she set it in front of me, I took out Ponyboy's number and began dialing. It was one of those older phones; one with the wire, but a dialing pad similar to those you saw on a computer — minus the letters, obviously. He answered after a few rings. His voice instantly put a smile on my face, despite how stupid that sounded.

"Hey, it's Johnny. I just wanted to say I'm here whenever you're ready to come. I can wait a little while if you need." I was sure he knew what I meant by 'here', as long as he hadn't already forgotten me. That probably wasn't hard, so I wouldn't have been surprised.

"Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes. You won't have to wait long, promise." I wanted to tell him that I didn't mind waiting for him, that he didn't need to rush because they were open all night and I wanted to see him. But, instead, I just said okay and told him to be safe. After we hung up, I stood on my tip toes and put the phone back where she'd gotten it before heading back to the table I'd picked.

He really did only take a few minutes, which was a shocker. I'd always assumed that was just a figure of speech. When my mom said it, she took hours.

I tried to act like I hadn't been eyeing the door every few seconds and, instead of watching him enter, I averted my gaze to the salt shakers and began absentmindedly messing with them. He slid into the spot beside me quietly, and I finally looked up and offered him what I hoped was a convincing, surpised grin. "Hey, I didn't even see you pull up!" I fibbed to save myself from looking too lonely. I didn't hang out with anyone, especially outside of school, so I was new at this.

"What can I say? Spy in training." He responded without hesitation. I beamed brighter in response, shifting to tug my bag into my lap.

"Shall we start on the study of acids, bases, and water?" I was trying to sound smart, calm, and collected — as if my anxiety wasn't raging inside of me. He began unzipping his bag, pulling his text book, pencils, and notebook out. We both laid our belongings in front of us. I was the first to find the right page, and somehow half way through the homework we ended up on the same side of the booth.

"Okay, last question." I revealed after what felt like hours. "We can so do this." He grinned at my words, causing me to lose my train of thought immediately. I stared at him, managing a hint of a smile of my own. "What?" I asked when I finally found my voice again, but he just kept watching me as if I were the most interesting thing in the world.

"You're just so positive. It's cute, that's all." I wasn't a positive person when push came to shove. I knew that for a fact, and I was sure if he'd known me more he would have too. Even so, there was no denying the dark blush that found its way to my cheeks, and suddenly I was a smiling fool — teeth showing and all. That didn't happen a lot, and I liked the feeling.

"Well, I gotta be. I don't see you showering your positivity over us, so someone has to."

"Hey, I'm positive about one thing."

"Yeah? What's that?" His face was getting dangerously close to my own, and my eyes kept unintentionally drifting to his lips. Was he going to kiss me or something? Right here, in the open?

"That I'm totally going to fail this." It was a whisper, and the smell of minty mouthwash hit my nostrils. He widened the distance between us now, and I almost felt... disappointed? No. It couldn't be. I'd just started having full conversations with him, despite knowing him the entire year so far, and I hadn't even experienced crushes yet.

I was always too busy worrying about my parents, or my next beating, or when I'd get to eat dinner, or whether I passed a class, or even if my bruises were too noticeable. But never about boys. The occasional attraction, maybe a flirty remark if I talked to one. But kissing? Being with someone? That hadn't ever been one of my big concerns, until now, sitting next to a male I barely even knew.