We've Met Before

2 - Winded

KAIA

    Elliot and I walk in the halls, both of us ridden with laughter and conversation.
    I like being with Elliot.
    There's this unspoken easiness in the way I act when I'm with him. He doesn't ask questions, he just says things that seem to make sense with the things I say.
     If I talk about how my converse are dirty, he'll give me some elongated story about how he got a new pair of shoes last week because his old pair were dirty.
    Which is what he's doing right now.
    "They we're looking so dusty dude," He waves his arms around, his brown hair shielding his eyes, "Obviously, I tell my mother and she orders me a new pair," He points to his shoes, "Notice how clean they look now?!"
    I nod, "Very clean, Elliot."
    "I hate this class so much, my teacher is a pain in the ass." He groans.
    "I hate Mrs. Rodriguez. She's so apathetic and it makes me feel like I'm always doing something wrong."
    "Can't be worse than Mr.Garrance. He sounds the way turtles walk. Lighten up, Kaia."
    I open my mouth to speak, but am interrupted by a forceful shove on my shoulder. I'm pushed out of the way and I look to the blonde locks who caused it.
    Ashley Oakley saunters down the hall, her blonde hair sashaying down her back with every movement of her body. She looks back and passes a short wave to Elliot, and a spiteful glare towards me.
    Ashley Oakley is Fairland's varsity cheer captain. If I had to describe high school cliches in two words, it would be Ashley Oakley. Her parents donate to the school and her family has a hall named after them. She's tall, thin, blonde, and the epitome of high school success.
People tend to say it's bad to peak in high school, that it's a sign of failure for the rest of your life. But the way I look at it, high school are the only years of your life you can be undoubtedly, incandescently obsessed with your outer image, and not get called shallow for it. Therefore, making it the only years where it matters whether you peak or not. I couldn't care less if I "peak" at fourty, or fifty. I have no expectations for myself.
    I watch as Elliot's eyes follow her, inspecting her like she's a new book he has yet to read. He brings his hand to wave and offers her a timid smile. He pays my shoulder and rushes towards her, starting light conversation. Her smile seems to reach her eyes, her bright white teeth glimmering against her lips.
    I stand where he left me for a few seconds, glancing for some unspoken voice to tell me it's okay.
    To no avail, I walk inside my classroom and take a seat.
    I unpack my things and drop my journal with a thump. Everyone turns back and I freeze.
What the fuck are all of you looking at? Never heard a book drop against a desk before?
    Mrs. Rodriquez begins talking and everyone turns around to face her.
——
I hate school bathrooms.
They tend to be filled with vape smoke, and poorly designed graffiti art.
Gabby sobs into my shoulder, her tears leaving moist dents on the fabric of my blue hoodie. Jane and Jennifer stand awkwardly watching the situation take place.
"I tried apologizing! I tried apologizing! He just looked at me and told me we were over!" She throws her head back against the stall and lets out an anguished teenage-girl cry.
    "Gabby, I know you're upset but you have to tell us what you did." Jane says, being the voice of reason in the group.
    Gabby looks between all three of us, her eyes shifting nervously. Her eyes pause on me for a couple of seconds, her wet eyelashes closing as she takes a deep breath.
    "I can't." She breathes, her voice nothing but a faint whisper.
    Jennifer's face forms into a scowl, "Is it that bad? Maybe it's okay that he broke up with you, if it's that bad that you won't tell us." She whisper-shouts, making Gabby break down into tears again.
    "You guys don't understand! I can't tell all of you! I can't!"
     I rub her back as she cries into her hands, and I give Jane and Jennifer an awkward smile.
    "Gabby," I say. She lifts her head to face me, a guilty look on her face. "Do you love Gale?"
    She nods.
    "Then you'll do what you need to do." I say, pursing my lips together.
    "It's not Gale I'm worried about."
    I raise an eyebrow quizzically, "What do you mean?"
    "You don't understand, Kaia. I fucked up." She exhales exasperatedly. It breaks me to see Gabby like this.
    Gabby is always the one with a sarcastic, witty remark. She makes fun of me for needing help on homework, only to end up spending the entire night doing it for me.
    I can trust Gabby.
    "I don't know what you did, and I don't need to know because I trust you enough, but don't let a good relationship fall into the drain because you're too scared to admit you did something wrong." I breathe, channeling my inner Dahlia.
    I wonder what she's doing right now?
    Gabby nods and opens the stall door. She takes a look at her reddened eyes and all three of us stand behind her. She turns the faucet and washes her face, alleviating some of the puffiness.
    I open the restroom door and we all exit quietly. Jane tries easing the tension with a couple badly executed jokes, and it half-heartedly works.
Gabby will occasionally throw me quiet glances. There's a distinct apprehension followed by each one.
——
    Mrs. Commander's class is rather quiet as I walk in. The dim warm lights envelope the room and everything feels so much warmer.
    My skin tingles with anticipation for this afternoon. I tend to not receive much outer socialization, other than my main group of friends. I'm hopeful to think that this might be a good time to start meeting someone new.
    If Dahlia was here right now, she'd be telling me how proud she is that I'm leaving my comfort zone.
    "Could anyone tell me what dilemma Esther faces throughout the book?" Mrs. Commander asks, holding a weary copy of the The Bell Jar in her hands.
    Nobody says a word.
    I shift uncomfortably in my seat. She looks at me and then shifts her eyes around the rest of the class.
    "Nobody? Okay, well, everyone picked up a sheet of paper when you entered the class. Write me your answer to my question. You have fifteen minutes. Clock is ticking."
I actually read all the books assigned in English, even though I think it's the norm not to. Teenagers seem to be disgusted by the thought of genuine effort, or content in a book.
I scribble my answer down on the sheet of paper, writing, and writing, and writing until she shouts.
"Times up!"
Everyone drops their pencils on the desk, shuffling pieces of paper around.
"Turn it into the tray please," She says, making everyone mindlessly stand and follow her instructions.
    I drop my paper into the black tray on her desk and turn around, sitting down silently.
    I don't miss her incessant stare, Mrs. Commander's eyes burning holes into me.
    The rest of the class simmers by, minutes clocking in one after the other, totaling to the ringing of the release bell.
    I sit in place, anxiously glancing at the door every couple of seconds.
Tick, tick, tick.
    The room is silent, other than the small scribbling of Mrs. Commander's pencil.
Tick, tick, tick.
    Boom.
    There's a single knock on the door. A shy, wistful, halting knock on the wood of the english door.
    The door eases open and I look up, eagerly awaiting for a new face.
    But I'm not met with a new face. I'm met with a face over met many times before.
    Cade Steele.
Maybe he's just here to ask a question.
   "Mr. Steele, so glad you've made it," she gestures towards me, "This is Kaia."
    "Yes," he inhales a sharp breath, "I know."
    "Please take a seat."
He lunges a couple a long steps towards the seat next to me. I can hear the squeaking of his chair as he shifts uncomfortably on the plastic, moving back and forth until he finally sets his backpack on the ground.
Mrs. Commander stands up, "I'll be back in a bit. I have some teacher gossip to catch-up on!" She exclaims, clasping her hands together.
She leaves and the door audibly shuts.
    He looks at me, resting his head on the palm of his hand. He smirks, lifting the corner of his lip amused.
    I flush at the action, my face boiling. I clear my throat and look down at the desk.
    "What um, what are you here for?" I mumble.
    He extends his hands towards my own, untangling my fidgeting fingers.
    "Stop doing that. It's distracting."
Fuck you. "Sorry."
    "I'm bad at english. I tried reading the book and it's incomprehensible to me." He says, his voice unwavering, unaffected by the nervousness I feel through my skin.
"Was the plot too difficult?"
"I don't think it's that, it just seems so unreadable." I look towards him, his words walking circles in my mind. He's looking straight at me, not a sliver of so-called distraction gathering in his blue eyes.
"Maybe it's the writing style," I take my copy of The Bell Jar from my backpack, laying it flat against the table, "I suppose she has a very philosophical way of writing. She has a way of placing more thoughts into her writing than actual events." I open the pages, rimming my hands along the short sticky notes I've laid out against my favorite quotes. "Remember when we were younger, and you used to spell Mrs. Browner's name as Bowner."
He laughs, his eyes wrinkling at the corners.
I laugh too, finding my feet flat against the ground.
It hits me.
I think there are moments in life when things shove against you. Not a shove, more like a slam. The laughter you once felt sobers, ripens, rots.
This moment just became rotten.
I ease my laughing, my chuckle turning into a nostalgic smile.
It's easy to laugh, it's easy to lose yourself in a moment you know you'll never get back. I'm not laughing because of the present, or because he's here, or because I feel happy. I'm laughing because I remembered something that's never going to happen again.
"It was funny, but it was also a really long time ago. I'm an okay speller now that I'm 17." He says.
I shake my head, inhaling deeply, "I'll go over plot points and you can just listen along. Ask any questions if you have them."
He rubs his palms along his sweatpants and nods.
——
"She's poisoned and the person who comes to visit her is Doreen."
The door opens and Mrs. Commander walks in.
"How are things going? Would you both like to go home?"
"Yes." We both reply.
I was thinking the same thing but you aren't allowed to think it. Is my company that bad?
He clears his throat and abruptly stands up, rushing towards the door and leaving. The door closes with such force that a gust of wind blows towards me.
The chill of the wind heightens on my skin.