Immersion

Back to the drawing board...literally.
It was getting really dusty in here.

"Why don't you scrub harder?"

My hand immediately began to apply more pressure to the chalky sponge that seeped murky water only out of anger. I swear, her voice was worse than Oli's, or even Jenni's for that matter, and I was petrified that all women sounded this way. My masculinity wanted to cut all ties to Adeline and reconnect with a group of chauvinist douche bags. Other than these instances, there were no examples of bossy females that could counter my current opinion, and this one wasn't helping.

As I stood in the presence of the chalkboard, trying with little success to brush away all its deep markings, Mae was sitting behind the the teacher's desk with her bare feet hiked up on its top. Her legs were crossed like a proper lady, but if she wore a skirt you'd be able to see everything. She had her hand in her mouth, and every now and then the sounds of small snips and loud bites could be heard, with the drone of my patterned scrubbing.
She was making her impact, and I was making mine.

The detention teacher had vanished on account of visiting the vending machine, but not before he got a bucket of water and a sponge for the two of us to clean the board, though apparently, Mae thought it was better suited as a one-person job and appointed me the worker. How sweet.

I looked back at her scornfully, not appreciating her dictatorship.
"You do it then," I mumbled.

Eyebrows raised, she stared at the side of my face while I tried harder to get the tedious job done, and hopefully wash my anger away like I did the soapy, dirty spuds of water dripping down further and further. I couldn't help it that my spiteful attitude was getting to me, with some bitch on my back and me missing my first day of official photography.
That's right, it happened, or even better: didn't happen.

Thanks to Mae, the teacher who stopped us, coincidentally, was one who wasn't liked by anybody. She loved catching kids who weren't following the rules, and of course the one time that I'm temporarily influenced by another, it lands me into some deep consequences. I should have just kept walking, and then all that would have been lost was an opportunity to learn that someone was on the verge of discovering my secret. That conversation could have been saved for another, more appropriate time.

Instead of polishing away at a educational pigment, I could have been entering the auditorium for the first time during their rehearsal actually invited, and see the look on the students' faces, welcoming me as their new advertising medium. Maybe Adeline would hate me, yes, but at least I was assigned to take pictures of that anger.

"She's such a bitch anyway," Mae mumbled loudly, in regards to the teacher that sent us to this punishment.

I was beginning to think that she only said things to get momentary attention, a golden time for her when I would crank my neck in her direction and possibly nod in agreement to give her even more than she initially wanted. I've met many people plagued with the same, self-fulfilling disease, almost everyone, if you wanted brutal honesty. You meet a person, shake their hand, and in the same exchange or greeting, or the question of how they're doing arises, they spill all their dilemmas; insecurities; belittling thoughts of themselves. They want you to stoop to their sadness and tell them you're sorry for their misfortunes. That's all they could ever ask for, even if they know that they're exaggerating.

I didn't exactly know if Mae was as extreme as this for the time being. It sounded more like she simply wanted someone to gossip with. Unfortunately, I had to be that lucky soul that was afraid of denying her of such an impulsive need, therefore I nodded curtly, making sure she was looking at me as I did, and turned back to the board. Suddenly I didn't mind cleaning it.

"Fuckin' searching for 'trouble' when the only dilemma is the stick up her ass."

Well maybe if you just let me get to class we wouldn't be in this situation.

You definitely couldn't blame me for being so cynical. It really was her fault, after all, that I had to miss my first day on the job that wasn't a job at all. It was the granted chance to put my Adeline on even more rolls of film while she would know. This meant that maybe, if she wasn't too pissed off or completely creeped out by my calling to do something that was silently harassing her in the first place, well, maybe she would smile at the lens.

She would smile at me.

Then I could run back home like a successful child who drew his first decent picture (in his eyes) and close myself off in my room to admire it. I could dream for days on end about that beam that I had been waiting for and imagine it was directed towards me. I could fantasize about her and I being the only ones in the auditorium, fooling around as a new, fresh couple would when they can't get enough of each other, and watch as she teased about the current role she had as Nidria: Adakias' lover. I would chuckle as she recited her lines so loud and with exaggerated eloquence, and be a personal paparazzi as she waltzed and danced about the stage and sang. Every now and then, she would serve the smile that was only given to dearest friends or family, and now, her hypnotized, devoted boyfriend who would give the entire universe and more for her happiness. For that grin that I was witnessing. Her laughter would bubble up higher into the air as I perpetually clicked the little button as a sort of fast film reel, a way to catch every second of everything she was doing all at once and to somehow capture the perfection that was doomed to be kept in reality.

I created the memories that we would have as an inkling in the vast world of broken links, and how everyone, from students to sidewalk strangers, would envy the mere glow we possessed. We could be Jack and Rose. Noah and Allie. We could be all the examples that came to mind as an outsider would encounter us in our most lovable moments together happening all the time and never coming to a halt. I could walk her to her house and kiss her on the porch. I could take her to my place and hold her as we lay horizontally across my bed, on top of the blankets, watching her favorite film.

I could be anything that she wanted me to be.
I would be anything that she wanted me to be.
In a heartbeat.

If only that heart wasn't so silent in its activity.
But, of course, I would never let it beat too loud for her to hear, because if I did, she might just be the sole reason for putting me in cardiac arrest. I had a rib cage for a reason, and I wasn't about to let anyone drill through my sternum to get to my fragile, life-depending organ.
Not even Adeline.

I loved her so much that I couldn't risk giving myself away that easily because I knew it would kill me. It would absolutely kill me, and then what? Was I just supposed to live on somehow while we attended the same school? Was I supposed to stop trying to incorporate her into my daily routine through beautiful transparencies? Stand in the corner and scrutinize over the dick that she met at the photo shop? Fuck that.

Suddenly, I was becoming infuriated. I was trapped, emotionally and physically, from being denied to improve the situation that had been searching for an answer ever since I tried solve it with the temporary one in images. I had pondered from every angle to dig up an epiphany that had the ability to have her hand in mine. The stone fact that epiphanies were sporadic purposely evaded my conscience, and I needed to find a shortcut.

There was no such thing.
Shortcuts are meant for the roads, not relations.

I couldn't make her love me, and I couldn't make her come up and talk to me because I was too terrified to do it myself. The pathetic nature of all of this was that I knew exactly how to get things going with another, but my own insecurities and paranoia kept me from doing so. It was as though I was standing on top of the X and refused to dig it up because it was either a cruelly coincidental oil stain from an enemy ship, or the treasure was already taken.

"Tom, calm down dude!"
Mae shrieked.

I snapped out of my conflicts and realized I was scrubbing so strongly against the golf green surface that the sponge was completely flat against the pressure of my palm, and the dirty water had slowly trickled down the board, against the wall, and all over my shirt that was touching it. It had made a stain in the form of a bending ghost, as though his head were tilted; staring at a human in curious opposition. As if enough shit wasn't going wrong.

A livid, exhausted groan stomped out of my mouth as I stepped back from the now clean board and struggled fruitlessly to get the murky stain off of my clothing. I just had to wear a white t-shirt today, as if it were destined to get fucked up in the process. It was as if this whole day was destined to get fucked up, actually. I hate going back in a circle, but Mae was not my favorite person at the time being.

"Fuck," I muttered.

This shirt could only be saved by nuclear power at this point, which was something that was located in the laundry room at home. I resisted the urge to try to fix everything myself and just let it be, feeling more self-conscious than ever with a huge mistake located on my chest for everyone to see. At least it was after school, and the likely hood of me being spotted by anyone aside from teachers and janitors was slim.

Dropping the sponge down in the bucket, filled with little water so it made nothing more than a splash, I walked to the closest desk and sat. It just so happened to be in front of Mae, and it just so happened that she felt like making conversation again.
This time, about me.
My favorite subject.

"So, what's that camera for?"

I glanced down by my feet where my backpack was located, and noticed that it wasn't able to be seen. It was in the depths of my property, and it caused me to wonder how on Earth she knew I had it. Had she seen me with it before? I couldn't remember, but I knew that I wore it around my neck from time to time. Had she seen me with it then?

These rationalizations with myself, trying to think of instances in which she witnessed me with it, and therefore, wouldn't think anything of it, were getting shot down one by one by a thicker element of suspicion. I couldn't get the nervous feeling out of my body that had entered by the first moment after her statement. It literally petrified me to think that it was possible she had seen me (maybe on more than one occasion) taking pictures of her friend quietly for myself.
I began to feel sick when I thought of it that way.

Looking slowly away from the bag, putting my chin in my hand and shrugging casually, I already felt the inner sting of a lie approaching my lips. There was absolutely no way I was going to tell her the truth, if she was in fact looking for it. She couldn't expect me to tell her something that I couldn't even tell my brother, even though she surely wasn't up to date with such information.

Even though she initiated a spider-webbed bond between us, I wasn't going to be an open book for her to scan for what she wanted and then go on her way. I wasn't doing that for anyone.

"...What camera?"

Now she could clarify.
"I saw you with a camera before, are you a photographer or something?"

I love those awkward questions where the answer is embedded. It must have been hard, I guess, trying to make someone like me say something more than one-worded responses. Mae was average, in the respect that she talked offhandedly like the majority of others, while I worked at all costs to keep my mouth shut. Two different people like that put together in a room by themselves was difficult for both parties, and equally torturous. Although, it seemed as though she didn't suffer from this at all, and I was the one squirming around uncomfortably. She must have been accustomed to this, for some reason or another, or just wasn't showing that she was effected by my timid nature. I could definitely imagine her as the one in a group of strangers where she would put an end to the silence by stating something out of the ordinary, or simply puzzling. She was a subtle version of Luna Lovegood.

I shrugged, "I guess."

"Well, are you or aren't you?"
She was also adamant.

"I'm actually supposed to be taking pictures for the drama club today. Razia's Shado-"

"Oh my god, my friend's in that! She plays Nidria!"

Oh did I know it.

"Yeah, she is."

I could tell her so many things about her friend that maybe she didn't even know. I was aware that Adeline loved the colors red and white together, just as I had with that outfit, because whenever she wore them together, her smiles were wider and there was a skip in her walk. She must have felt more confident. I also knew that she found more joy in taking the long route to class outside on a breezy day, instead of getting there a couple minutes early by traveling through the crowded halls full of body heat and obscenities. I noticed that she, from time to time, walked by the gym after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays to watch the girls' basketball practice. Even went up in the bleachers occasionally.

I wondered if Mae held knowledge of all these small parts of Adeline's life like I had. Even if what I did could be considered darkly strange, no one else knew her like I did. I was a library: books of different genres and lengths. Some of the things I knew were small bits, and others extensive research that had been acquired over time. Did Mae invest as much as I did?
I don't think anyone did.

"What, do you like her or something?"

My eyes widened.
"What? N-no, I don't."

Her smirk from earlier in the day had returned, and I knew that I was in deep shit. There was no way that I could hide my true admiration for her best friend, no matter how hard I tried to be discreet. It just wasn't happening, because whenever I was put on the spot, especially by a stranger like this, I couldn't hide anything.

That takes at least some level of confidence, which could easily explain why it was a piece of cake to lie to Oli but not to the girl sitting in front of me. The pressure to come was too intimidating, so I knew that when I pathetically ventured to fabricate the inevitable, it was going to be shot down.
All by that fucking facial expression of her's.

"Sure you don't, that's why you were the one harassing her."

Que my shock.
Adeline must have been so mad at me that she told everyone she knew about my following her. This also meant that she must have known my name, which I couldn't figure out because I never talked to her and she never directly contacted me to discover my title. I had no idea how she could have deciphered it, but that was swept to the back of my mind when Mae continued.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

I wanted to get the hell out of that room.
For the first time ever, I wanted to call Oli and tell him to get his ass over here to pick me up. Hopefully use that so-called Sykes Charm that was of absence in my bones and make up some bullshit to let me leave early. Mae could no longer dig deeper if I was allowed to depart with my brother because my mother choked on a meatball and was in ICU in the hospital.

The only thing that happened next was the classroom door opened, the strict female teacher entering with a tight scowl on her face at the sight of Mae relaxing in her chair, feet propped up on her desk.

"Get to a seat," she ordered roughly.

Anyone else would have been scared by her appearance and tone of voice, but Mae simply rolled her eyes, "I am in a seat."

"Sit next to him and get out of my chair."

Mae dropped her feet to the floor, a sharp bang echoing through the space, lifted herself out of her dominating paradise, and allowed the real superior to take her spot. She gave the teacher a look of disgust, which she chose to ignore. I wanted to laugh, honestly, because I saw a spark of Oli within her when she sluggishly settled by me and muttered "cunt".

I could bet that she had been in detention many times before, or just didn't take the bullshit of an elder. Or possibly both. It was ironic considering that she was just like all the other kids in that department, and for the ones like me who never talked back, we were considered above it. Especially when they got excellent grades to add to it.

Mae glanced over and smiled at me. I was taken aback from the non-verbal attention, but managed to return a overly zealous grin that looked like a grimace. She didn't seem to mind, for she laughed lightly and stared back down at her desk, writing. I had no idea how she even had the time to bring out a pen and paper, and sincerely, I didn't see her as the type of person to be doing homework, writing literature, or whatever the hell she was doing.

I should probably lay off of the stereotypes.

The room became deadly silent, in the way that I didn't know if either the teacher or my new partner in crime would say something caustic to the other which would result in a screaming match. The female dictator was staring down Mae in extreme dislike as the black haired Junior continued to write quickly, then fold it in half, then another half.

She turned towards me, slapped the note on my desk, and threw her things in her bag. My eyes were fixed on it curiously, and didn't know if I should open it yet or not. I had no earthly idea what it could be anyway. Was it one of those moments where a girl gives you her number? Did she like me or something? God I hoped not. Not because she wasn't pretty or anything, but I wasn't interested. I thought it was clear that there was a total attraction towards her best friend, and I didn't want this to become some drama filled love triangle bullshit or whatever.

What the hell was I even talking about?
It couldn't be a love triangle if Adeline didn't want to be involved, which she surely didn't considering that I had been stalking her. It would only be Mae becoming as infatuated as I was with her friend, maybe. Then I'd have to file a complaint against her.
God I was getting out of hand.

Setting those raging impossibilities out of my mind, I took the thick piece of paper and unfolded it four times. It was surprising to observe the characteristics of chicken scratch as opposed to neat, concise lettering. They say that writing is an art, and Mae was no DaVinci. What was in the letter, however, was an abstract piece that could be taken either way.

She doesn't hate you, trust me. If she did, why would I want to help you in the first place?

That's right.
I promise that she can be your's.
With my assistance, of course.

So she didn't like me.
She wanted to help me.
Why did this feel like deja vu?

Maybe there was more than a spark that made her remind me of Oli.