I quickly turn the corner and repeatedly cast glances over my shoulder to make sure he's not there. I accidentally bump into a few basketball players and I quickly apologise before hurrying away to my locker. She's standing there, waiting for me with a somber smile on her face.
"Why the sad face?" I ask quickly as I unlock my locker. She shrugs, trying to brush it off. I stare at her intensely, trying to get her to open up, but she does nothing but look away and sigh dramatically. Sometimes she really gets on my nerves.
"Just tell me," I snap and pull out a couple of notebooks.
"I just think you should go and talk to him," she murmurs and picks away dirt from under her nails. I groan and start to bang my head against the locker next to mine.
"Hey, hey! Stop!" she yells and tries to restrain me.
"I can't! I can't go talk to him, I mean."
"Why?" she asks and stares into my eyes. I stop and ponder. I search every part of my brain for a reason and I slowly realise that I have no valid reason to not talk to him.
"I just can't," I bitterly mumble and look down on the waxed floor.
"Yes, you fucking can! Your life is too fucking short to not go and fucking talk to him, okay? You should be fucking grateful for the fact that you get to have this love, not everyone gets to have their own fairytale romance during high school, so carpe diem or some shit!" she shouts and shakes me violently by my shoulders. By now, she has attracted the curious eyes and ears of plenty. I grab onto her arms to stop her from turning my brain into a smoothie and give her a meaningful stare before glancing around. She rolls her eyes with another dramatically loud sigh. "Stop fucking staring, you morons!" she suddenly screams.
"Language!" a teacher screams from the end of the hallway.
"Please excuse my fucking language!" she yells back, her voice laced with fury all of a sudden.
"That's it!" the same teacher suddenly appears from the crowd and gives her a stern glare. Their glasses are slipping down their sweaty round nose as they point a warning finger at her. "Principal's office, now."
Someone's aggressively and rapidly stapling together review packets. The clock above me is ticking as the printer goes off, spitting out sheets of paper. I glance at the receptionist briefly and she stares back with her cat-eye glasses at the tip of her crooked nose. She turns her head and looks into the principal's office. I follow suit and see that she's in the middle of a screaming match with three people, and she's winning.
She gives me an empathetic nod before returning to her paperwork. Through the wall the coffee machine in the staff room is humming away, pouring out more coffee for another sleep deprived teacher, and I begin to wonder how much coffee a teacher consumes on average.
"Knew I'd find you here," he says just as my mind is beginning to float away into an abyss of thoughts. I watch him as he quietly sets his backpack down between his legs as he sits down next to me in an old wooden armchair. I nod silently and awkwardly, unsure of how I should approach him after ignoring him for an entire day and running in the opposite direction at the slightest sight of him.
"Is this how you want to do it? Just sit here silently?" he asks, completely frustrated with my bratty behaviour. I continue my silent treatment. Though, in my defense, it is not voluntary. I can not find the words I want to tell him. I can't describe the turmoil of thoughts and feelings within me at the mere thought of us being together. I might just explode if I try.
"Alright," he sighs and sinks further into the chair, "we can sit here silently until you feel like you wanna talk. It's not like I have anywhere to be, I'm done for the day."
