Just the Beginning [Complete ✓]

Chapter 11

Monique walks me to my locker after school, a constant assurance that I will be alright despite me trying to tell her that I most certainly won't. Somehow, she gets the final word in and disappears through the school doors. Adrian already left; I found him during lunch and told him I'd be going home late (only for him to tell me that he already knew; Sawyer told him.) Count on me being just a tad irritated with the thought.

I'm done packing my books when Sawyer pops up. I don't notice him until I'm taking a step back and bumping into him, jolting (and, though I'm less proud to admit, squeaking) in surprise. My head whips around only for me to step back to the lockers as our gazes lock. His breath is warm against my face and we're coated in a moment of silence. Amusement flickers in his orbs, allowing one of the darker flecks in his eye to dance around.

"My bad," he says, though he doesn't look like he means it. "I didn't think I'd scare you so badly."

"You showed up out of nowhere," I feel the need to remind, teeth gritting as his grin only grows. "Of course I'd get a fright."

Instead of responding, he nudges his head in a 'follow me' movement before he starts walking. I hurry to follow, and it takes everything in me to keep up with him; his strides are larger than my own. We walk into the library and I don't miss the look the librarian gives us before she returns to her reading. I pretend not to notice, following him to the very back and down two steps onto the floor with all the seating.

"Is this alright?"

"Yeah."

"Ready?"

I respond a moment later. "As I could possibly be."

An hour and a half later, we're leaving. The first thirty minutes were spent discussing what would be done and the rest of the time we spent starting on our parts; it seemed easier considering we were already there. The librarian chased us out the moment the clock hit the half-past and somehow, she was out of the school building before them.

"Run, run, as fast as you can," I murmur absentmindedly, watching her race to the parking lot. A snicker sounds from beside me, snapping me out of whatever trance I'd fallen into and when I look up, he's looking at me.

"What?" I ask, suddenly feeling a little more than my usual self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, and he seems to mean it.

I'm about to walk off when he steps into my path, stopping me from moving for that second. He looks at me quizzically, eyebrows pinching between his forehead.

"What?" I ask again, crossing my arms along my chest.

Though he's shaking his head, his lips part and he sighs. "Do you need a ride?"

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Uhm—"

His head tilts. "C'mon," he pushes. "Quick. Or you'll have to take the bus."

Feeling far too tired to build up enough energy for the bus, I nod. "Yeah," I mutter. "Sure." I follow him to his car. He slips into the driver seat; through the window, I can see him looking over at me expectantly. I hop in, and a silence surrounds us. I want to reach for the radio, but it's not my place; I avoid him like the plague so I shouldn't be trying to put it on.

Most likely tired of the silence, he speaks up. "You don't like me."

When I look at him, he glances over for a second before turning back to the road. His gaze is set but I can feel him waiting for me to say something in response. He's trying to figure out why, and he's hoping I'll tell him. But that's not going to happen. Not any time soon.

"Does it bother you?" I respond, leaning back into the seat.

He furrows his brows again; he does it a lot, I've noticed. Every time he seemed to consider something, he would do it (and hit the pencil against his chin) back in the library. I can imagine he wants to do so now, with the way his hand twitches against the steering wheel.

"It's odd," he finally says. "You don't know me."

"I don't," I say simply.

"And you haven't been around long enough for any rumours to have reached you."

"I haven't," I confirm again. I can't imagine where he's going to go next, but he finds something to say.

"I saw you. In the car." I freeze. My muscles stiffen and my heartbeat speeds up; I can feel it against my chest and if I weren't sitting on my hands, they'd be twitching. I try not to look at him because surely he can't mean what I think he means. He's never brought it up before so I only assumed he didn't remember or realize that it was me.

"When?" I stammer, swallowing the lump forming in my throat as I take in a deep breath.

"At the robots."

"Oh." Of course I'm proven wrong. Of course he remembers.

Seemingly exasperated with me, he sighs. "I'm not that bad. So, why?" He demands.

I shake my head, turning to look out of the window. There was no way I would tell him. Even if I did, what good would that do? For all I know, he just looks crazily similar. These things happen in the world.

Telling him would only open up something that didn't need to be opened. It would be unnecessary, in my opinion.

It's when I've gotten home and disappeared into my room (where a note of apology was taped to the door which I choose to ignore), having done more than enough thinking, that I realize why I didn't want to find anything out.

Sawyer looked exactly like Cooper. The chances of them being related were beyond phenomenal and I wanted to believe in those chances; I wanted to believe that they are related. But if I go about seeking out the truth, asking if he had a brother and the idea being declined, that was it. The small bit of hope that a part of Cooper was still around would be crushed. To pieces. And I would be left with nothing. Nothing but—

Callan—

I shake my head roughly, shaking away the voice; his voice. "Not yet," I whisper to nobody, curling my hands into fists.