Trapped in School (Watty Awards 2012 Nominee)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: On Her Terms

It was like someone filled my veins with liquid lead. Curling up in a ball, the dam finally broke loose, tears spilling down my face in a torrent. There were silent sobs, the kind that tore you up inside more then you could express on the outside.

The worst part was I didn’t even know why I felt any of this.

Less than two minutes later, though, I heard an uncomfortable cough above me. My heart stopped. Daring to look up, I saw Lucas standing there stone- faced with a pen and a piece of paper in his hand.

“Hey,” he muttered. His thumb roamed over the pen, clicking it a few times nervously. No longer was his face screwed up in this horrible way like he had just witnessed a tragedy. It was different. Lucas looked like…. For lack of better comparison, a Native American chief. Determination laced his features, along with this kind of stoic composure, as if the world beneath his feet was humble territory. It took all of my will power to evade his eyes, which were fixated on me like the scope of a gun.

“You need to see something,” Lucas finally whispered when the words got stuck in my throat. I didn’t move. I didn’t make a sound. It was like a game of Hide-and-Go-Seek; tucking my emotions behind the drapes and holding my breath in the vain hope I wouldn’t be discovered. But just like Hide-and-Go-Seek, I was beginning to wonder; how long could I stand still here? How long could I stay frozen in one spot, never letting anything slip out from behind the curtains?

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.

“Natalie,” Lucas whispered. It was soft, sweet, but with this hint of concern in it. I couldn’t figure it out.

Lucas wasn’t a Hemingway hero or a Christ figure. I couldn’t pick apart his actions and attach them to a moment in history. My only defense mechanism, my brains, were useless in this situation, I realized that. But this wasn’t exactly an easy thing to come to terms with.

Reluctantly I stood up, shrugging his hand away.

Leading me by my shoulders like a kid who wasn’t responsible enough to shift through the crowds at Disney Land, Lucas directed me to the table. I swatted away his hands yet again, letting my blonde hair fall over my face and shield my eyes. I dropped into the wooden chair, my fingers wandering to a soda can and tracing the lid. When Lucas prowled up beside me, I pulled the soda can under the table and set it in my lap. I thumbed the tab, its soft clinking a sort of comfort to me.

“Natalie, you’re a smart girl,” said Lucas. He pushed the paper in front of me and dropped the pen beside it. It was a sharp movement, the kind that brought me out of my hazy trance and made me think Focus Nat! Footsteps padded softly away, Lucas descended into the darkness before rounding about and circling the table like a hungry shark.

I swallowed. Hard.

“What was your grade in Geometry this year?” Lucas asked.

What the hell?

“Lucas,” I managed. My voice was soggy; I was sure he could easily hear the tears in it. “What are you talking about?”

“Just answer the question,” he spat. Sitting up straight, I frowned. I was too spent for this. My body felt like someone poked a hole in me and let my insides drain out. Watching carefully, I found Lucas had long lost that sad orphan boy look, he no longer seemed like a man who was watching his heart bleed on the floor. It was like some military-sergeant possessed his body during that short walk into the dark.

“I’m sorry Lucas, but I just don’t--”

“You’re not answering my question! Gees Nat, get a grip. I asked you a simple question,” Lucas griped. The acid in my veins started to evaporate, it’s replacement a warm feeling that was as fulfilling as love, but with a burning twist; anger. My mind played a quick reel of all of the fights Lucas and I had gotten into. The old Lucas, the before we got trapped in school Lucas, was back. This was the Lucas who cheated off my history test in third grade, pushed me into the pool during our school pool party in seventh grade, told everyone I had lice freshman year, and now, was standing before me demanding my grades. “Could you answer that sweetie, or do you need some more time?”

I jumped up, the chair scraping loudly behind me.

“An A, you moron. What’s it to you?” I snapped. My hand gripped the side of the table, and my arm shook as I attempted to support myself.

“Sit down, we’re not done yet,” he said. With a long, angry look, I sat down. This was ridiculous! I mean, I knew Lucas was hurt, but it was absolutely childish of him to take out his emotions on me. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?

“Now, you’re going to take a little test Natalie. I’ve been trying to tell this to you for a while now, but you’re just not getting it,” said Lucas. He paraded to the other side of the table across from me, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and with the air of a teacher about him. “So I’ve figured out how you can get the picture in a way that you will understand.”

“Lucas, I’m not in the mood to play games,” I said. He cocked an eyebrow at me, as if daring me to leave. But I didn’t. I stayed rooted to the spot, partially out of spite, partially because I really did want to know what Lucas was talking about.

“Just solve this problem for me,” Lucas said. He strolled foreword, took the paper from me, and wrote: 9x-7I > 3 (3x-7u). He then pushed the paper in front of me again and nudged the pencil into my hands.

After giving him a puzzled look, I went to work at solving the problem. I decided to be a show off and even wrote a proof beside it. But when I finally got to the end of the problem, solving it at last, I stopped with my pencil still on the page.

The answer to the problem?

I <3 u

 A/N-- The video says it all. ;)