Fish Eyes

6

Dean Mathis was a face I hadn't expected to be so close to, well, ever.

I stood a few small inches away from him as he hovered around Wendy's locker. He was even closer to Wendy's face. For what, I had no idea. They didn't run in any of the same circles. Dean was supposedly one of the better players on the basketball team. He damn-near lived in his varsity jacket, like most high-school athletes, but I was pleasantly surprised to realize that he didn't smell bad. Good, at least he washed the thing.

"I told you, I'm fine, Dean."

"You didn't look fine to me a second ago."

"Well, a second has passed. And I'm talking to someone. I don't think it's a good look, you all up in my grill and whatnot."

"Well, I'm talking to you right now to be absolutely sure that you're actually okay?"

Wendy had changed her side part to a middle part, her baby hairs freshly laid. That girl could lay a wig. I eyed her appearance, looking for something off like Dean had described, but I couldn't see anything. "Did I miss something?" I asked.

"You didn't. Thanks for your concern, Dean. It's nice to know that you're a sweetheart. I'm fine, and I need to get going to homeroom." Wendy seemed to really remember that I was there all of a sudden because she blinked wide before grabbing my arm and saying, "We need to get going to homeroom."

I looked confusedly between the two of them before we made our ascent down the hallway, her dragging me by the arm. Just as we made our getaway, Wendy was faced with another guy all in her grill. This time, it was a more familiar face. Terrence Kiersey wasn't an athlete. He was a bit more studious, but he was super into debate and mock-trial, hence his meeting and taking interest in Wendy during our junior year.

Wendy pumped her brakes as if Terrence were a brick wall, looking winded and flustered. "Hey Terrence."

"Hey, Wen, I was just trying to find you because you didn't text me ba-"

"Busy morning. Sorry, boo, but we really gotta go."

I started to believe Dean might've actually been onto something, saying Wendy was off that day. She was never this discomposed. Funny enough, she still had a world more composure than most.

"Alright," he frowned before continuing in our opposite direction.

"The men love you," I joked, still dragging behind her. She scowled.

We settled into homeroom entirely too early. Everyone else was still either scattered in the halls or the cafeteria, relishing the last joy of their morning before our eight-hour torture sessions began. Usually, Wendy and I relished every second of our mornings. This fact, paired with everything I just witnessed with my own eyes in the hallway, prompted me to ask, "Now what's up?"

"Dean was snooping in my car while I emotionally recited Someone Like You By Adele and thought I was having a nervous breakdown," she lied through her teeth. She was clearly upset, but she even more clearly didn't want to talk about it. Wendy usually came to me about things, so I nervously narrowed my eyes and let it go. 

"There's this boy," I tried to deflect from the growing tension in the room by randomly bringing up Lawrence, whom I hadn't seen since the week prior.

Wendy immediately perked up. "Dalia Glees? Boy? Impossible," she perched her head up on her hands, waiting for me to continue.

"It's not like that. I just met him at my parents' studio. And he's like our age. Makes me wonder what I'm really doing with my life."

"Well, girl, not me. Debate, Mock Trial, SGA, you name it. I've got a slew of achievements under the Bleu Belt."

"Don't remind me," I sighed and dramatically sprawled my arms across the desk, ducking my head into them. "I've got a feeling my senior year is going to be a shitshow of failure and wasted potential."

"That's because you don't do shit, Sherlock. Shit don't change until you get up and wash your ass, as they say."

"Sorry, Prom Queen."

She sighed. "Girl, all I'm saying is, you've been to like one football and basketball game each. You're not in any clubs. You don't have a job. Oh my god, you're not planning to go to college, are you?" she gasped in genuine concern.

"Bro, continue your point."

"All I'm saying is live a little. You seem to know so much about what you don't like, but you never seem to even try with some things." She fiddled in her purse for her lipgloss.

I silently pondered this read. Wendy was right, and she was often never wrong, hence her award-winning debater status. She didn't leave me to my thoughts for very long before she continued, "I've been telling you since freshman year to just join the debate--"

"No." I crossed my arms, keeping my head in them.

"You're so difficult," she pouted. I could see her mood souring quickly again. I rushed to put a stop or at least a stall in that.

"You know that's not really my thing. I'd like to think I'm a little more relaxed. I'm not really an arguer."

At this, she perked up. "Then come to the debate team's movie night."

"Movie night?" I asked lazily. "Isn't that far out of y'all's miniatures?"

"It's a fundraiser, fool. And we need 'money' to travel, even though this school is privately funded by all of Atlanta's wealthiest families."

"Girl you know they just make y'all do that shit for the sake of school spirit."

"And so? It's fun. Come on. There's no harm in a movie night. None at all. We do them at your house all the time. And you know my schedule's always thin this time of year. This might be the only chance in the next week we get to hang out, and--"

"You're my only friend. Ha. Not like I have a slew of people to call and entertain me these days."

"Yes, exactly, so come," she pouted.

I recalled whatever was upsetting her just a few minutes ago, feeling that I needed to at least try to be a good friend and do something that made Wendy happy. Maybe I'd get something out of it too. It wasn't like I had shit else to do.

"What's playing?"

-

Janet Jackson: I Get Lonely

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