Saving Laurel

32. Slaps & Morons

Laurel Gilroy

I place my lunch down, lowering myself to the seat beside Ellie. The one that's across from Wes. There's a chill in the air, the sun hiding and I feel the lack of vitamin D all the way through to my bones.

It's official.

I'm in their group.

And I don't hate it as much as I thought I would. They're not like my old friends but if I'm being honest, I might like them better.

They're all close, that's been apparent, but unlike my old friend circle they don't seem to have ulterior motives. At least none that I can tell for right now.

I catch Savannah picking through her brother's lunch, he doesn't even seem to notice as he talks with Brett from across the table. Ellie's in the middle of their chat, talking with her hands. One has a French fry, the other a cucumber slice, but she's currently too heated to eat either as she talks with the two boys.

And then there's Wes.

He's quiet today, calm.

Well calm for him. I watch the subtle shift his arms beneath his jean jacket and the slight rocking his body has as he taps a rhythm against his bouncing leg. It's something I've noticed that he does on occasion, quiet tics disrupting the beat he creates.

He doesn't seem to be paying any attention to the conversation. I can't blame him, I'm not neither, too fixated on him and his messy hair and hazel eyes and the spot that would push inward if he smiled. He has a green shirt on that's intensifying the green that mingles with the brown in his eyes, his jean jacket on.

I watch as he goes to reach for a green apple that he pulled from his lunch, my lips twitch, desperate to smile as my mind connects all the green. The apple, his shirt, the flecks in his eyes but Wes tics just as his fingers close around the apple. Everything happens fast, the apple a blur as it flys from his hand and then the smack that causes my heart to plummet in my chest. Our things all shake on the table as fear rises in me only to heighten when Wes slams his hand down again.

My eyes are wide as I watch him across the table, memories flitting through my mind starting at the other day when Ellie dragged me to the mall all the way back to the first time I ever saw Mason's anger.

Folding my arms across myself protectively, my fingers find the soft fabric that hides all my imperfections and I pinch hard.

"Sorry." Wes announces to the table, his hazel eyes meet mine and even though I know he's not Mason, I can't find it in me to release the breath that's trapped in my lungs.

My eyes dart around the table as I take in everyone else. Brett rights a water bottle that's tipped, Ellie, beside me, grabs the apple that went sailing, James tosses a napkin on a puddle of pop and Savannah laces her fingers with Wes.

This isn't the first time I've seen Savannah do this. And I know they aren't dating, in fact I'm certain she likes Brett. I'm also certain Brett doesn't like her back otherwise he's completely blind.

The panic and fear slowly becomes replaced with thoughts of Wes's hand in Savannah's, grounded by the ache in the tender flesh of my arm.

Does Wes like Savannah?

But when my eyes finally pull away from their intertwined hands, he's still watching me. Studying me closely with a look I can't read. And the focus I have found disperses as I realize what I'm doing. What if someone notices I haven't just folded my arms oddly. What if Wes saw? What if he knows?

My lunch turns angrily in my stomach, disgust curdling the PB & J and celery I ate.

"Sorry." Wes apologizes again but this time he says it directly to me. "That one sort of blind sided me."