Page 23 of This I Know
It’s Cole Ebbs. He’s one of the few people I talk to around here. I don’t want to come off as some kind of jackass, like I just want everyone in the world to leave me alone, but … well, I kind of do. For now, at least. Maybe later, when time has passed and I don’t have to worry about anybody reading about my father in the headlines and putting two and two together, I can branch out. But for now, this is fine. One friend. Maybe two.
As for Cole, he was the first person I met when I started here, and we instantly connected over sports. Or rather, I’d sayheinstantly connected withmeover sports after learning I was one of the best football players at my last school.
“Cole,” I say. “What’s going on?”
“This Thursday. Six p.m. You down?”
Cole is the captain of the football team, and ever since he caught wind that I used to play he’s been bugging me to try out.
“Not gonna happen, Ebbs.”
Cole passes me. He holds out his hands, facing me while walking backwards. A girl tags along at his side. “Are you ever gonna give me the time of day?” he says.
“Not in this lifetime.”
And that’s how things are between me and one of my only friends in all of Westfield. That’s the kind of little, joking social interaction I allow myself, all out of this stupid fear.
I lean closer to my locker, moving things around. I’ve got to find that paper. It’s for a class I’ve transferred into, Chemistry 101, and I’ve heard the teacher can be a bit rough – if I’ve lost my syllabus already, I could be in for it. And I’d rather not be in for it any more than I need to be, given the circumstances. Pieces of paper fall to the ground around my feet. I see papers from English, Home Ec, and there’s even a permission slip from gym class somewhere in there. Must have forgotten about that one. Among all this junk, there’s no syllabus. I drop my hands and sigh, then stand back and examine the mess. How did I manage to trash this locker so quickly, anyway?Jeez, Ethan,I say to myself, laying on the sarcasm,with all this time you’ve had on your hands you’d think you’d have it more together than this. After a bit more searching, I give up. It’s not here. I must have left it at home or something.
“Hi, Ethan.”
I lift my head. It’s Julia. Okay, so there’s a few other people I’ve talked to so far. And she’s one.
“Hey,” I say.
Julia is pretty. She’s tall, with long blonde hair that’s always done up just as perfectly as her heavy makeup. Her body is dressed to equal perfection, and today she’s wearing yoga pants with a tight tank top. She’s stopped here, by my locker, in the middle of the bustle of people rushing to get to class, and she’s leaning against the wall of neighboring lockers, looking at me with her arms wrapped around her books.
“How’s it going?” I say, not wanting to be rude.
“You lose something?” she says. She’s batting her thick-rimmed eyes at me like I don’t know what she’s trying to do.
“I did. Syllabus for Mr. Miller. Chemistry.”
She grimaces. “Oh, that’s not good. I had him last semester, and I might still have it somewhere around here. You can copy it, if you want. Come on.”
“Great. You saved me.” I glance at my watch. “Can we do this in two minutes? If you just give me the paper, I can return it tomorrow.”
She smirks, “Of course.”
I slam my locker shut. I pick up the few fallen papers and crumple them up. I can’t stand littering, so I’ll throw them away when we get to class. I follow her to our classroom, and just as Julia’s about to say something more, someone passes us. A girl, who slides by so quickly that I only have a chance to see the back of her, but whose presence gives me strange chills of recognition.
Avery
I recognize him the second he walks in, a few minutes late and after everyone else had already taken their seats. He’s walking with confidence and looks damn fine in that T-shirt of his. His jeans are perfectly fitted and threatening to give me bad thoughts. Before I know it, my eyes are drifting from his shirt downwards towards them…
Must. Stop.
Isn’t it just my luck that he’d join my Chemistry class?
The door closes with a thud behind him. He seems so careless and relaxed, like he thinks he’s invisible and so why should he care what anyone thinks of him. Like he knows that no matter what happens, no one can touch him. And that’s what really gets me with envy.
“Mr. Harrington,” says Mr. Miller, our teacher, in a singsong tone.
Mr. Miller is a short man, balding but with dark brown poofs of hair above his ears, and every single day he wears a button-up shirt. Also every day, it’s buttoned up to the very top. Today his button-up is white with blue stripes, and together with his khakis, I can’t help but see the funny resemblance to Forrest Gump.
“Thank you for joining us.”
Mr. Miller has already begun his lesson and holds out a piece of chalk in one hand and an assignment in the other, staring at Ethan.
