A Search for Paradise

As much as I loved going to the park everyday after lunch, my English grade was significantly more important if I didn't want a life as burger-flipper-extraordinaire. As of right now I was making a fifteen in that class, not because I didn't do the work, but simply because I wasn't there to turn it in. My 8th period was P.E., which I somehow wasn't failing. If it was any other class, I'd be surprised, but my PE teacher rarely took attendance, so she'd probably thought I was just sobbing in the locker room or something. I did get bitched out by my English teacher; I didn't have the energy to make up a bullshit excuse, so I told the truth. I told her I'd been skipping after lunch to bird watch like an old man. "Well, unless you want to become a professional bird watcher, I suggest you find your way to English for the rest of the year, alright?" She spat. This teacher never liked me in the first place, it was obvious and skipping her class probably wasn't the best idea.

When I did get into class, I immediately pulled my phone out, it had vibrated earlier, and as stupid as it was to get excited by a text message, I was pretty happy that someone had taken the time to text me. It wasn't a number I knew though, I opened it anyway. It was a picture of a tree with the words, "How's school?" it was definitely Noah. I texted him about my teacher yelling at me, and how I wished I was at the park too. It all came out perfectly, because I'd always found it easier to text. No confused glances, or awkward silences, just words. Now that I had Noah's number, maybe my texts would seal our friendship. We talked about everything from a squirrel that Noah saw in a tree, to our favorite Nirvana songs. Until my teacher ripped my phone out of my hands; if I was a slightly angrier person, I would've called her a dumb bitch. Instead, I just sunk down in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest like some sort of giant baby. I did get my phone back before class ended, and I did leave before 8th period, because I was making a 95 in there. I hadn't been in that class since the beginning of the semester. I'm assuming nothing drastic would happen. I didn't text Noah when I was on my way to the park; I figured I'd just show up and surprise him.

When I got there he was laying across the table when I got closer I realized that he was asleep. Man did he look cute asleep? His arms were hanging off of the table; his mouth was open, and his hair all over the place. I briefly wondered why he was so tired, and somehow I didn't realize the issue with watching someone sleep until he woke up, and saw me fucking staring at his face. He jumped and so did I. "Were you watching me sleep?" he was joking, but I felt blood rush to my face. "No, I just got here," I said defensively. He raised and eyebrow and nodded "Suuuure," he sat up swinging his legs off of the table. "Why are you so tired?" I asked, well more like blurted. He shrugged, "I don't really sleep at night," he said and I nodded. I used to have the same problem, before I found my best friend Nyquil.

Noah ran a hand through his hair, and I couldn't help but thinking his hair looked really soft. I couldn't stop myself from touching it. It's like my arm detached from my brain, and suddenly I pet his hair like he was some sort of dog. I hoped he didn't find that offensive, he shuddered; I ripped my hand away. I'm sure my hands were rough, I had always lacked in the tenderness department. I immediately looked down to avoid meeting his eyes, "You have soft hair…" I said quietly. He nodded, "I try," he smirked. It wasn't a flirty smirk, like off of the bad pornos, it was a prideful one. He completely deserved to be proud of his hair! I was tempted to ask him how he got it so soft, but I decided against it. "Are you failing all of your classes not being at school and all?" I asked and it came out sounding like a slap in the face, which coincidentally, was what I wanted to do to myself. As soon as the words passed my lips, he chuckled. He always seemed to be chuckling, "I don't actually have a real 7th or 8th period. I have to get back by 8th period, so I can catch the bus." He was vague about why he didn't have a 7th or 8th period, and my curiosity prevented me from keeping my fat mouth shut. "So why don't you have a 7th or 8th period?" I blurted out. “I did summer classes, so it freed up my schedule. Before I found the park, I'd go to the library for 7th and 8th. Now I just stay…" He trailed off, an unreadable expression on his face.

"That's cool," it was my go to phrase. 'That's cool', I'd said it when I shouldn't have. ("Yeah I'm going to Iowa, my grandma died…" "That's cool,") and it was just a nasty stupid phrase that I wished I could eradicate from my vocabulary. "Yeah, it's pretty cool," he said "How did you find this park?" he asked. 'Well I wanted to fuck some guy, so I just picked the most inconspicuous place', I thought to myself. "I just saw a nice park, and stopped," is what I actually said out loud. Ten points for me, for not saying the first words that formulated in my brain. Maybe this thinking-before-I-spoke thing wasn't as hard as I was making it.