Flying
cinq
The next morning at school, I am not flying. My fuel stores have run dry. I have crash-landed. Hard.
I look for Sullivan before first period, so that I can cancel our tutoring session. I find him leaning up against a row of lockers with a bunch of other pretty, skinny boys and pretty, skinny girls too. They start to hiss when I get close. Skank. Bitch. Nympho. Sullivan excuses himself, so that I don’t have to get any closer to his friends and their sharp-as-knives words.
“Hi,” he says, his big red lips spreading into a smile. “How are you?”
“I can’t come to tutoring today,” I tell him, rubbing my eyes. My head hurts so fucking bad. I might throw up. I might be dying. I hope so.
“Why not?” his eyebrows knit together. He’s rubbing his forehead, like his head hurts too.
I know what he’s thinking. Dumb slut’s probably blowing me off to go screw another teacher. The pretty, skinny girls behind us are whispering and giggling. The pretty, skinny boys are elbowing each other playfully in the ribs. I know what they’re thinking. Sullivan’s probably screwing the teacher-screwing dumb slut.
“I have somewhere I have to go after school,” he looks as though he’s expecting more. “There’s someone I have to see.”
“Is it far away?” he asks. “Will you be long?”
I want him to go away. I want him to shrug his shoulders and say ‘whatever.’ I want to ditch school but Principal Manning has got his eye on me, now that I’m trouble. If I miss anything about Kenneth, it’s how he could get me out of any class whenever I wanted.
“Why?”
“I could go along,” he suggests eagerly, running his hand through his tree bark hair. “You can do what you need to do. Then we’ll go somewhere and get your math done.”
“You don’t want to go where I’m going,” I tell him, trying to sound tough and off-putting.
But he doesn’t catch on or he doesn’t care. “Why not?”
I’m going to see my dealer, you idiot! I want to shout. But I know that that would only make the pretty, skinnies talk more.
“Fine.”
I look for Sullivan before first period, so that I can cancel our tutoring session. I find him leaning up against a row of lockers with a bunch of other pretty, skinny boys and pretty, skinny girls too. They start to hiss when I get close. Skank. Bitch. Nympho. Sullivan excuses himself, so that I don’t have to get any closer to his friends and their sharp-as-knives words.
“Hi,” he says, his big red lips spreading into a smile. “How are you?”
“I can’t come to tutoring today,” I tell him, rubbing my eyes. My head hurts so fucking bad. I might throw up. I might be dying. I hope so.
“Why not?” his eyebrows knit together. He’s rubbing his forehead, like his head hurts too.
I know what he’s thinking. Dumb slut’s probably blowing me off to go screw another teacher. The pretty, skinny girls behind us are whispering and giggling. The pretty, skinny boys are elbowing each other playfully in the ribs. I know what they’re thinking. Sullivan’s probably screwing the teacher-screwing dumb slut.
“I have somewhere I have to go after school,” he looks as though he’s expecting more. “There’s someone I have to see.”
“Is it far away?” he asks. “Will you be long?”
I want him to go away. I want him to shrug his shoulders and say ‘whatever.’ I want to ditch school but Principal Manning has got his eye on me, now that I’m trouble. If I miss anything about Kenneth, it’s how he could get me out of any class whenever I wanted.
“Why?”
“I could go along,” he suggests eagerly, running his hand through his tree bark hair. “You can do what you need to do. Then we’ll go somewhere and get your math done.”
“You don’t want to go where I’m going,” I tell him, trying to sound tough and off-putting.
But he doesn’t catch on or he doesn’t care. “Why not?”
I’m going to see my dealer, you idiot! I want to shout. But I know that that would only make the pretty, skinnies talk more.
“Fine.”