Stuck

“I think you should go.”

It was the first sentence spoken at the table since the guys had wandered off to take their usual seats. I had been left to ponder my thoughts about why they had let the kissing-matter rest. Every time I had stumbled across the possibility that they probably really wanted me to come, I had just shook my head and started again, going through the very short list of potential explanations.

At the sound of his voice I looked up from the Thursdayly salad which I had maltreated with my fork, not really eating anything. Though it had looked disgusting enough already, now with the mustard-dressing and poked through salad-leaves it seemed like someone had vomited into the white plastic-bowl.

Emil hadn’t even touched his salad; just the Nestea-bottle was uncapped. His green-brown eyes were fixed on mine but not for long as I stared at him. He lowered them again and I furrowed my brows.

“Why should I?” I asked defiantly and saw him wincing slightly. Feeling guilty, I attempted to mollify my words. “I mean what do I want with those people?” I gestured around the lunch-hall with the white plastic-fork.

“It isn’t about thosepeople!” Emil snapped, leaving me to blink like a retard at his sudden outburst. His eyes were narrowed angrily for the first time as he began to rant.
“It’s about your status! Do you even realize who was just at this table?” I didn’t dare to shake my head or fire off a smart-ass response. Instead I tried to grasp as much of this new side of Emil as I could. The angry and suppressed side.

“That was Charles Mariott, the mayor’s second son, and Ian Nott, the Chief’s youngest son!” Judging from the expression and the tone Emil used, that meant that being the mayor’s second son or the Chief’s youngest son meant something along the lines of being a celebrity.

“They can do everything they want, they are popular. And through them you can become popular!”

“Why don’t you go then?” I asked languidly, interrupting him for the first time since this rant had started. He seemed to calm down slightly and stared disbelievingly at me.

“Iwasn’t invited.” He stressed, pointing unnecessarily at his own chest, as if I didn’t know who he was talking about.

“Well why don’t you get invited?” This time I was deliberately asking for information. But I didn’t want to make it outright obvious that I was curious. It had to seem like an usual comeback.

Despite being agitated, he averted his eyes once again, hiding his face and therefore any information I could have extracted from his look, murmuring into his chest.

“That doesn’t matter.” But I had heard whispers about him that told me otherwise. There was very well a reason that he didn’t get invited to parties, that he was an outcast. And I couldn’t help but feel angry again at the gossipers, though this time I felt even more enraged than when I heard the rumors about myself.

Breaking the uneasy silence that had settled upon us, I played with my fork, twirling it in my hand.

“So basically you are telling me to go to this party to mingle with the popular kids.”

Emil looked up again. “Yes.” His simple answer stopped the fork in my hand for a moment while I stared at him. Then I began to twirl it again, agitatedly talking.

“Well that’s ridiculous! What do I want with those kids?”

Emil sighed and then spoke as if he was explaining to me that one and one equals two. “Look. You’re new here and those kids don’t have a set opinion about you yet. They talk a lot, but you don’t give them enough material to really categorize you yet. Therefore you can still make it. You can still fit in. And then you can go partying with them all the time and have friends.”

I titled my head sideways, averting my eyes from Emil, knowing that these words hadn’t left his lips easily. He was hurt because he didn’t fit in and as much as I knew that there was pain and irritation, I knew that he felt lonely and sad. And I felt selfish in that moment. Selfish for not taking an opportunity because of stubbornness and seeing as someone else who would have wanted that opportunity didn’t get it.

Yet I couldn’t agree with him. I didn’t care about my social status. It was such a petty intangible thing and wouldn’t last long, if I had finally made my escape. Why work for something if I couldn’t gain anything?

My voice was low when I spoke, since I didn’t want to startle him or disturb him really. I just felt the need to justify my decision.

“If they knew why I was here they wouldn’t be so keen on partying with me.”

Emil looked up, his eyes curious, the traces of hurt and pain and loneliness gone, hidden behind a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but still was genuine. Just as if he couldn’t be angry with me.

“Well why are you here?” I raised an eyebrow at him until he elaborated. “I mean you keep talking about it but never actually tell anything. What’s the reason for covering it up then?”
“The reason is that I’ll get out of here soon and then I’ll never see these losers again.” I retorted sharper than intended but this time I didn’t apologize or soften my statement. Questions like this made me anxious and angry. Emil didn’t notice though.

“But then tell me. If you’re gonna be gone what does it matter?”

He had a valid point there, yet if I told him, I would reveal too much of myself to him. If I told him, I would have to say it out loud. And I couldn’t do that. So I subconsciously switched to a defense-mode, answering his question, with another question.

“Why are you so keen on prying in my life?”

“I’m just curious.” He replied level-headedly, his eyes showing the curiosity he was speaking of.

I turned towards my salad, putting the fork down and then grumbling.

“Well I fucked the hell up and now I’m stuck here. So shut it.”

He did after that, not asking anything more, sinking back into silence. When the first bell rang he grabbed his tray, getting up from the table.

“I still think you should go.” He mentioned calmly.

I sighed, lifting my own tray and looked up at him. “I guess it’s better than staying at my aunt’s.”