Losing Grip

Chapter 9➷ It's Like Being Graded for Making Friends

On my lucky days, I successfully tricked my brain into believing Riley was only temporarily away. I convinced myself that her death and the eleven months that followed were just a detailed and interminable nightmare.

I would then wake up with the unshakable certitude that when I opened my eyes, I would find her smiling face looking down at me.

On my less fortunate days, like today, my brain was much smarter than my defensive instinct to deny reality.

The occasional not-so-subtle whispers about my sister during class made denial even less feasible.

"I mean, can you blame her?" I heard a girl on my left mumble to her friend.

I was much better at overhearing irrelevant conversations than focusing on the teacher. Arson had tried to teach me to tune out trivial sentences that were not addressed to me but somehow, those were the ones that I registered and processed.

"She's been through so much," the girl continued, visibly more concerned about my life than her psychology grade. "School would be the last thing on my mind if my sister had died. Riley was so cool, though. I still can't believe it. Such a shame."

Hearing strangers mention my sister's name no longer made me flinch or glance towards the door full of anticipation because now I knew that she wouldn't be there.

"I don't see it." I heard someone whisper over my shoulder.

I held on to my seat, startled, and glanced at where the voice came from.

Matthew was leaning towards my chair, openly trying to catch a glimpse of my book.

"What?" I asked, letting go of the book I had been holding.

He leaned back into his seat on my right and shifted to face me. He was wearing a bright yellow plaid shirt that drew in and retained perplexed eyes on him like leeches to blood. He appeared not to notice all the stares or if he did, he had grown too accustomed to them to react.

"You've been staring at this book ever since class started," he said, spinning a pencil around his fingers. "There's nothing particularly interesting about the cover."

"I'm just a little distracted today." I told him but 'distracted' was definitely not the most effective word to describe how I felt right now.

His eyebrows rose slightly when he registered the last word and he chuckled to himself. As he leaned back into his chair's backrest, he placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes like class was the last thing on his mind.

He displayed a warm and inviting personality but although his playful expressions and attitude reminded me of Arson's, there was something phony about his demeanor. His smiles never quite reached his eyes. They retained a somber tint no matter how wide a smile he wore.

I could now understand this "something" about him that had made Riley so curious to find out more about him and I wished I had cared enough back then to ask her if she had found out anything.

"You're staring," he said, comically opening one eye to look my way.

I looked down at my book once again. I always failed to understand the intricacies of subtlety.

"Sorry," I mumbled, more to myself than to him.

He sat up again and turned to me.

"Not a problem. Just making sure I had nothing on my nose," he replied, as to make me feel less embarrassed for getting caught. "I don't mind it if it's you." He winked and I shook my head.

The door swung open and Arson entered, looking as disheveled as ever. His eyes were squinted into a thin line like it was the only way he could keep them open.