Troubles

As I walk down the hall towards the canteen, I try to focus on the good things that have happened today: the teacher said she'll read and grade my assignment, I think I managed to get through the math test pretty well and I kissed Gerard.

But in a way, I wished I hadn't – kissed him, that is. I mean, kissing him was amazing and it was everything I could've ever hoped for, but in all honesty; I wish we had talked first.

I wish I could've told him that I really do care and at least try to explain how much. The fact that he thought I left him that night because I didn't want him, it hurt. It felt like a punch in the face, hearing him say that. And of course, the look on his face didn't help. But that's what I wanted to explain: I'm in love with him. It hurts me to see him hurting and it hurts me even more that he would barely even acknowledge my existence at first, because I'm in love with him.

I love him. I love him so much that I'm willing to throw away the 'm in and just stick with the short version, because I know it's enough.

But he wouldn't talk to me. He wouldn't have listened to me if I had told him that. I needed to get his attention. So I kissed him. And it worked. He listened to me, but of course, my plan backfired – it backfired in so many ways.

After I kissed him, all the feelings I had stuffed away deep down just came welling up, without warning. It's as if he opened Pandora's box inside of me, just letting out all the pain and secrets and joys, even. Everything.

And of course, when I cried, I couldn't say a thing. I couldn't even say 'I love you too'. And of course, the bell rang before I had finished crying, making us both late for class and making us both unable to talk.

But that's not the worst part of my plan blowing up in my face. The worst part is the fact that now, everything is so awkward.

I finally dare myself to look out at the crowded canteen. I'm standing in line, a tray with a sandwich on it in my hands. My stomach twists into knots, making the butterflies bat wildly, desperate to survive the enclosing space. I look around the room, but I don't see Gerard anywhere.

I turn my head back to face the back of the guy in front of me, my guts getting the better of me. The guy in front has his arm around a girl, and I feel my stomach clench a bit again, but only briefly.

I look down at my tray. It seems to be the only safe thing to stare at. Looking around makes me nervous and gitty. Looking straight ahead makes me jealous. And looking behind me is something I simply can't do. He might walk in through the open doors and take my breath away – or ignore me.

I pay for my food and go to sit down at an empty table by the doors. If Gerard walked in, it would be the last place he would look for me. He'd look around the room, scan the queue, check by the windows and all along the walls, and I'd be able to lose my breath, stare at him and slowly regain my composure before he spotted me right there next to him.

But he never did. Instead, Mikey did. He spotted me right away, sat down by me and talked about everything but his brother. I know he doesn't know about the kiss. Maybe he hasn't even talked to his brother, but even if he has, then Gerard hasn't told him a thing. I can tell. Mikey is pretty good at keeping his mouth shut, but he still can't keep it a secret when he knows a secret; his nerves always give him away.

Near the end of lunch, I notice how often Mikey looks over my shoulder while he talks. I haven't said much, which might explain why he'd be bored with just looking at me. But it's not the fact that he looks over my shoulder, but more the amount of times he does it.

“I know I'm not supposed to do it as a report, you know? She just thinks she's smarter, just because she's old.”
1
“And she really is.”
2
“She must be, like, at least 50. Maybe even 60.”
3
“So.”
4
“I'm thinking about just handing in a blank piece of paper.”
5
“Just to annoy her.”
6

Without being discrete or slow or any of those things you're supposed to be when you look over your shoulder at something someone's staring at, I turn my entire torso and look.

Behind me, some 4 – yeah, 4 – tables down, Bob and Gerard are playing cards. Ray is sitting on the table, talking to a girl who's on a chair next to the one he's got his feet on.
Gerard glances up, not lifting his head one inch as he does. He sees me and quickly looks back down.

I turn back around.

“Sorry,” Mikey mumbles. I glance up at him, moving my head a little to look at him properly. He looks apologetic; as if any of this has been his fault.

I smile and shake my head. I lower my head and look down at my fingers as I start scraping my nails over my skin, imagining what a tattoo would look and feel like.

He looked at me. That's good, right?

-----

I know things are awkward, but we just need to talk things out.

That's my conclusion and I'm sticking to it. I've been fighting my mind all day to not read too much into the fact that Gerard actually avoided me at lunch, but the blank look on his face when he looked at me at least told me he doesn't hate me. And the fact that he did look, I think tells me that he was thinking of me; that he wanted to see if I was looking.

So I've deemed it as a good sign. He thought of me. He looked at me. He didn't hate me.
I walk away from the school quickly, desperate to get away from the school, on a bus and away from Belleville. At least I can pretend that my worries are far away when I'm in Newark. I know it might just be wishful thinking, but if so, then I'm the king of it.

As I cross the parking lot, tires screech across the pavement. A feeling of déjà vu rushes over me and I freeze. I quickly turn my head to my left, but by then the car is already completely still and all I can hear is the roaring engine and my pounding pulse. I seriously have a bad luck with cars.

When I see the driver's face, my world kind of freezes again. Gerard looks shocked: he looks tense and pale, and I'm sure behind his black sunglasses, his eyes are wide open. I open my mouth by letting my jaw fall, wanting to say 'sorry', but I don't let a sound out when I realize he won't be able to hear me through the glass.

The passenger door flies open and that's all it takes for me to relax my shoulders and tear my eyes off of Gerard.

“Frank. Fuck, dude. Watch where you're going,” Mikey says, a little amused, but plenty serious. He looks a little tense too, but by the time he reaches me and smiles at me half-assed and goofy like he always does, he's back to his sluggish and dangling posture.

I smile apologetic, much like he did earlier.

“Sorry,” I breathe out, realizing I'm still not breathing. I take a deep breath and straighten up.

“Hey, want a ride? You can come and hang out,” Mikey says quickly as the first horn of an impatient driver sounds.

“No, it's okay.” I look behind Mikey to see that three cars – including Gerard's – are lined up, ready to go.
“I need to help Brian out at the store.” Okay, so I don't need to, but I feel kinda obligated to, considering all he's done for me. Plus, I need to pay him back all the money he's lend me.

“Okay,” Mikey shrugs and runs back towards the car. I quickly get my ass onto the sidewalk before another car decides to try and have a go at me.
“Hey, how about tonight?” Mikey yells and I turn around again. I'm starting to feel guilty for basically causing a traffic chaos, which makes me feel stressed as I want to get everyone moving already.

“Sure!” I smile. Mikey smiles back.

“Call!” he yells before he throws himself into the car. He doesn't even get the door closed before Gerard steps on the speeder and drives past me.
“Bye!” Mikey calls before he slams the door shut. Just before the car turns around the corner to drive away from me, I swear I see Gerard look at me through the tinted glass of his shades.

It takes me a few tries, but eventually, slowly, I can't fight a tiny little smile.