The Flames that Engulfed Us

Chapter 28: How We Met and How We Killed It

I followed Gary numbly, holding on to Lincoln's hand with one of my own, clutching the strap on my backpack in the other. Treasa followed behind, seeming to be unwilling, even then, to fight because she thought it would hurt him. I wasn't a mother. I didn't know that sort of natural dedication, but as I looked down at my fingers, wrapped in his, I understood some of it. I knew it wasn't like hers, but I did need him.

And he needed me. That was the only thing that bothered me. I knew what I would do for him. Anything. But the fact that he would do the same, give everything away for me, was something that hadn't ever really sunk in until he'd quite literally died for me.

I followed Gary in silence, praying that someone would say something, start a spark for conversation. I could do it, but I didn't know what to say. That was really the problem with everything. Those who knew me would've described me as talkative, but the people I didn't know, I didn't have anything to say them, so I just didn't. It was that simple. Then there was a whole new level with Lincoln where I'd told him everything about everything, but then we got to the point where we didn't really need to use words to understand each other, and we did still talk, a lot, but we were fine in the silence too.

How did you meet? Gary finally asked.

"Well," Lincoln said, "Sky was in most of my classes our junior year."

"And Caleb, one of our friends, was also in a lot of the same classes. I didn't really know either of them before that. Me and Lincoln didn't start dating until the year after that." I informed them, looking back at Treasa, who seemed to have an interest in the subject. "Caleb is great, but he's also a terrible influence. He doesn't know when to shut up, and when he interrupted the class, I found it funny, but I still hated it. I had my group of girls at the time, and they would always gush about how hot they were too. That didn't help."

"Really," Lincoln interrupted. "Did they really?"

"Yeah, they did. They talked about you and him as though you were gods from heaven. They told me how you had it all. You were in my English class, so you must have appreciated literature. You always got into trouble. What's hotter than breaking the rules? It wasn't so bad at first, but by Christmas, I had started to hate them, and by extension the idea of you. I didn't know you. I know that now, but then, you were nothing but trouble. You didn't help yourself with the way you behaved in class either.

"You interrupted everything. There wasn't a single lesson that you and your friends didn't contribute too. It was funny, sure. It made me laugh until I was in pain fine, but I was determined to prove the girls wrong. Did you seriously not hear them giggle when you passed them in the hallway?"

"Yeah," Lincoln answered, "I did, but I found it more annoying than anything."

"That must have been horrible, having your own private fan club," I chuckled. "I made it through the year, and then there was that project, remember? The boys had to pick a girl to be their partner. It went alphabetically, so of course, you were second. I didn't even think to worry you would pick me. I expected your fan club to be your candidates, but you picked me."

"What stupid person would pass up the smartest, prettiest girl in the class?" Lincoln protested, adding on, "Who also happens to be funny and sane, and did I mention pretty? I mean, you had perfect grades. You never had below a 95%. What other girl would I have picked?"

"A girl that actually liked you," I answered, "but I guess I worked too. Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by my loving doting boyfriend, who at this point in the story was an obnoxious extremely hot guy who wanted me to be his partner in a project worth the majority of our grade, I didn't expect that. The teacher just kind of looked up and moved on. My friends all squealed next to me, fawning over how lucky I was.

"We sat down, and I made the mistake of sitting on my feet, so my whole butt fell asleep. You started by making jokes at everything. We worked out a system of who was going to write what, and I went home that night and started on it. The next day, I rehearsed in my head how I was going to yell at you for not doing it, but you did it. You wrote the whole pages. You actually did it."

"I didn't want the most beautiful girl in the grade to hate me," Lincoln explained hastily.

"And I spent the whole class reading yours, and you picked up mine. You grabbed the teacher's pen right off his desk and started marking my paper up. Yours was flawless, and I got my paper back with a coating of red. And I made every single change. I fixed everything because I agreed with it. The next day we each did a little more, and this time, you made fewer suggestions, and I didn't even look at them before I got home. I was on my computer, fixing the mistakes.

"My mom thought I was dying when she heard me laughing. There were still corrections, but it was all so funny. I came back the next day, and I didn't know what to think of you. I wrote more, and soon we were done with everything we could do separately. We had to turn it into a project. It was the sort of thing that had to be artsy, the teacher recommended using pop-out parts. You asked if you could come over to my house.

"What was I supposed to say? It was my grade on the line. I told my mom it was a friend coming over and made sure my dad was out of the house. Remember the look on her face when she opened the door and saw you standing there? She called inside to me, and I barely even looked at you before walking back to my room.

"You followed me. We had scissors and we cut and glued everything. My mom told me later that she could hear us through the floor we were laughing and talking so loud. I liked you. I mean, not the way I like you now, but as a friend.

"The project ended, and we killed it. And I expected not to see you again, but then, on the last day of school, you slipped me a note with your phone number."

I looked up at his face. I wasn't really telling anyone else any of it anymore. I was just reminding myself why I loved him so much. I was telling him just how much he drove me insane.

"You didn't call or text," he said after a while. "I assumed it was your way of saying you didn't really like me. To be honest, after the first few weeks, I told myself that that's what it was. And then I got a text."

I looked at him. "I didn't know what to say to you. I could've texted you earlier. I hung the paper on my wall, you know. I just didn't know what I wanted. Did I want to talk? I didn't know anything. I'm sorry it took so long."

"When you did text, all you said was 'Hey. This is Skylar. We worked on that one project together.' That's it."

"Yeah. It was generic. And I'm so happy I did send that because you invited me to hang out with your friends. I don't think they liked me at first, but they warmed up."

"They liked you. It's just, they liked you a little too much. I think any one of them would have asked you in a date if you'd shown the slightest interest."

"But then you wouldn't be here with me right now."

"No," he agreed, "I wouldn't. I would have missed out on the two greatest years of my life."

I was only talking to Lincoln. Gary asked the question, but he wasn't really the one that received the answer.