0 7

a n x i o u s

The calm before the storm was always silent but heavy. You could feel the stillness in the air, the birds were quiet, wind hushed, leaves unmoving. You could feel every cell, every fibre of your being vibrating with nervous energy, senses heightened, heart thudding with anticipation.

Imagine such an atmosphere, and multiply that by tenfold, multiply that by every second that ticked by. The tension building, brick by brick, layer by layer, until you felt almost engulfed by it. So thick was the atmosphere you felt suffocated. It was difficult to even breathe.

That was me in a nutshell. The weekend had come and gone far too quickly, and in the blink of an eye, it was Sunday, the night before what seemed like Armageddon to me. I found that happiness and bliss was momentary, it was fleeting, and eventually you had to be a meteorite, crashing back down onto the hard, cold ground.

I lay in bed that night, eyes wide open and mind alert, as I ran through all the possibilities that could happen, all the permutations of the consequences that fate had in store for my friends. It did not matter that - in Jason's words - we were no longer friends.

I'd spent the entire weekend trying to press Callum for details of post-Hell Week - no doubt something was bound to happen given what had happened to him on Friday - but to no avail. Callum, as I'd come to realise, was tight-lipped about a lot of things.

"Don't worry about it," he'd said, pulling me to his chest when I expressed my worry to him, "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

His words diffused my worries, but only for that few hours I'd spent with him. The wave of fear came crashing back once I left him and was back alone in my room.

It wasn't me I was concerned for, it was Jason and Henry and Dave and all the other boys whom I once used to call friends. I was driving myself half sick with worry for them, and I wondered if they too perhaps lay awake in bed, dreading for the break of dawn to arrive.

Reaching towards my cell that was on the bedside drawer, I scrolled through the contact list for Callum's number. Once I located it, I hesitated for a brief few seconds before pressing 'call'. After three rings, I heard a warm, familiar, husky voice at the other end of the line.

"Scout?" his sounded rather alert, like it was still far from his bedtime for him, despite the fact that it was already a good forty minutes past twelve. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's okay," I returned, my voice small. "I just - I..."

And then the words failed me, like they always did in every dire situation. My voice trailed off, soft and minuscule amid the stillness of the air in my bedroom.

"You're worried about what'll happen in a few hours' time," he finished, calmly. There was no thread of emotion in his tone and I found myself desperately wishing he were right next to me so I could at least see his face and guess what he was thinking.

"I'm terrified," I admitted, "I just wish we could skip past this week, fast-forward, and see what happens in the end."

"But where would be the fun in that?" he returned, his voice unexpectedly teasing and light, and I found myself smiling in response.

"This isn't funny."

"You're smiling, aren't you?"

Yes, yes, I was. Callum had a knack of assuaging my biggest fears, and that was exactly what he proceeded to do that night, with some light teasing and laughter. He listened when my attention became diverted and I told him about how big Molly's stomach was getting, how I was getting along in AP Chemistry, and how I was probably cut out to be a scientist in the future.

"You're picturing me as a chemist now, aren't you?" I laughed, "With a lab coat and big glasses and hair tied up in a bun and granny shoes."

"Damn straight."

"And?"

He chuckled warmly. "Very sexy."

I felt my cheeks flush at his words, and was instantly grateful that he wasn't there to see me.

"But if I'm being honest," he continued, "I can't quite see you working in that field."

"What do you mean?"

"You always try to find the best in people. I think you'd be a far better psychologist or therapist than a scientist."

I felt a rush of warmth surge through me at his words. It was possibly the loveliest thing I'd ever heard, for it made me realise that at least someone saw the potential in me, the opportunities and the possibilities that were in store for my future.

I fell asleep that night to the sound of Callum's voice, the phone pressed up against my ear and the calming reassurance that when the world fell apart and crashed and burned, there was someone who was right beside me and never left, no matter what.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Both Charlie and Molly knew all weekend that I was dreading Monday, and when the morning dawned clear and bright, they were intuitive enough not to probe or rush me to get ready for school.

And when I entered the kitchen for breakfast, Charlie simply gave me an encouraging pat on the head that meant more to me than words ever could. Molly, on the other hand, pretended like everything was normal and continued humming to the radio playing in the background.

Sitting down at the dining table, I pulled my breakfast bowl towards me and began shovelling cereal into my mouth. But the fruity loops seemed dry, tasteless, like sandpaper rubbing against my tongue.

"Baby," Molly's hand stilled over mine, and I looked up. "You forgot to add milk."

Clearly, I was losing my mind with all this worrying. With a sigh, I reached over for the milk carton and poured myself a generous helping into the breakfast bowl. "I hate Mondays," I told her, flatly.

"Who doesn't?" She sat herself down on the chair opposite, albeit with some difficulty because of the size of her stomach. "But this Monday is especially horrid, isn't it?"

"It's terrible or, at least, I'm thinking it will be."

"Look, Scout," she started, at last, after watching me eat for a good five minutes. "I know things are difficult right now but you'll get through it."

"I know," I returned, and glanced briefly out the window. "It just seems like forever, sometimes."

Molly was silent, and when I turned to look at her, her attention was on her bulging stomach, the pink bowl of her palm pressed over her t-shirt, like she was trying to touch her baby through all the layers of skin and cloth and cells.

"Do you think it gets better after high school?"

She glanced up at my question and smiled. "I believe it will. High school's just a temporary place, and I suppose kids grow out of their immaturity and become better people."

It was indeed an incredibly optimistic outlook, and I knew that Molly was just trying to channel some positivity into me. It gave me hope, eased the crevice that had etched its way between my eyebrows.

The sound of a car chugging up the driveway broke me out of my little reverie, and I glanced up and out of the window.

"Oh, look," Molly seemed both pleased and relieved to see the old jeep. "Callum's here."

"You just want to get rid of me," I glared at her accusingly.

"Indeed I do," she laughed, "Now leave so I can read to the baby."

Reluctantly, I slid off the stool, before grabbing my bag and heading out of the house. Callum was busy texting when I got to his car, and I had to rap three times on the window to get his attention.

He glanced up and smiled. Leaning over towards the passenger seat, he opened the door and I clambered in.

"Hey."

I didn't know if it was just the mere act of being in Callum's presence - since I found it incredibly sweet of him to offer to pick me up for school - or the terror that post-Hell Week seemed to inflict upon me. Whatever the case was, I found myself feeling rather breathless.

"Hi."

And then I threw caution to the wind, and reached forward to press my lips against his cheek. His lips tinged a faint pink glow, but the smile that split across his face and lit up his eyes made my impulsive behaviour seem worth it.

The rest of the ride was silent. Small talk was made, a few teasing comments in between. But I wondered if he could feel the tension in the atmosphere, or if he noticed the way my voice occasionally broke, or my fingers that never stopped twitching and playing with the hem of my blouse.

I suppose he did. Halfway through, as we waited at the junction for the traffic light to turn green, he reached across the gearshift and took my hand, threading his fingers through mine. I glanced up at him then, but his attention was stoic, still focused on the road.

His action was baffling. I didn't know if it was to assure me, but something in his touch felt frenzied, almost desperate. Like he was trying to savour whatever little time we had left together, which was ridiculous. I wasn't going anywhere, and neither was he.

Before we knew it, we were pulling into the parking lot. My throat was dry, and it took an almost Herculean effort to force the words out of my mouth. So when Callum made the first move to get out of the car, I reached out and pulled him back.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice teasing, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Please stop with the bullying," the words came out in a rush. "Please promise me that. I know what Jason and the others did to you was horrible, and I want you to know that I am so sorry, and I apologise to you on their behalf, just - stop, because it's not worth it, and I know you can be the better person, so - "

"Hey," he cut in, reaching up to place his palm against my cheek. His touch was gentle, like I was a fragile, porcelain doll made to break. I looked up, met his gaze and stared right into his eyes - bottomless pits that showed nothing but sincerity in them. "It's going to be okay."

He leaned in, and my eyes instinctively fluttered shut. I felt his lips warm against mine. He threaded his fingers through my hair, nipped at my bottom lip softly between his teeth. We were tucked in a risqué position within the confines of a car that had tinted windows, and for a moment I truly believed it was just us, just the two of us, just him and me against the world.

He eventually pulled back, his breaths ragged and eyes glazed. And after agreeing to have him drive me home after school that day, we parted ways, took steps that drew a great divide between us, both physically and metaphorically.

It was then that I realised, belatedly, that the promise between us was never really sealed, that he never really gave me an answer after all.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Things were back to status quo that day. And I could tell they were, because the usual social hierarchy had returned.

I was once again relegated to the bottom of the popularity ladder, the average high school girl who sank into the shadows. I was bumped into and never apologised to as I made my way through the hallway. Occasionally I'd catch the eye of a popular girl and she'd look at me, before looking right through me, like I meant nothing at all.

It was alright, I supposed. After all, all the years of high school had made me pretty much used to things like these. Used to being unseen and unheard, used to being average. At least, if you were average, you never got judged.

The first few lessons passed without any casualties that day. But then lunchtime came, and I had to return to my locker to get some books.

The first thing I noticed when I opened the locker door was the yellow. The bright flash of yellow that indicated a warning. A sinking feeling of dread rushed through me, and I grabbed the post-it, before scanning through it quickly. On it were scribbled the following words:

Room 305 / 407 / 102

Library - east wing

Science labs 2 / 3

My hands froze, the paper a deadweight that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, ten thousand pounds.

This was it. Callum had not promised, he never did, and he had chosen this option to warn me, just as I had done so on the first day of Hell Week. And we were both cowards in our own sense, staying in the shadows and never finding the guts to fight to stop this endless cycle of bullying.

It took me a good ten seconds to come to my senses and try to recall where Jason and the others would be during lunch period on the Monday right after Hell Week. Dave didn't have lunch at this time, and I knew that he was safe - for the time being.

But Jason, Henry and about five others had the same lunch as I did, and they were in peril. They were bound to walk right into the lion's den, like sheep sent to the slaughterhouse.

Slamming my locker door shut, I broke into a sprint in a frenzied attempt to warn my friends. I followed the locations on the post-it, all familiar spots to me since they were the usual hangout places my friends had. The popular kids had cleverly identified these places, and were waiting to ambush them whenever possible.

I eventually found them in Room 102. They were seated on the desks, talking and laughing away as they usually did. Jason and some of the other boys had access to this room since it was for the computer club, which Jason was the president of.

The group of boys glanced up when I flung open the door, chest burning as I gasped for air. A few of them smiled to see me, but Jason's expression was stone-cold.

"What the hell do you want, Scout?"

I flinched at his words, but forced myself to go up to him. "You need to leave. Now."

Jason stared at me like I'd grown three-heads, but Henry seemed to sense my desperation.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and I saw the fear in his eyes, the cold hard sinking feeling of dread like he knew it was only a matter of time before the popular kids got their revenge on him.

"They know what you guys did," I explained, quickly. "Greg knows that you were the ones who beat Callum up and trust me when I say that they are not going to let you off easily - "

"And you would know, won't you?" Jason interrupted. He stood up to face me, and I realised, with his hard expression, his mouth twisted into an ugly sneer, he had never seemed more like a stranger than he did then. "After all, you're one of them now."

My heart sank. Jason was unmoving, his defences were up and I realised that there was no force on earth that could penetrate through that shell. "This isn't a time to pick sides," I pleaded, "You need to - "

And then I heard it - raucous laughter from the corridor that seemed to get louder, footsteps drawing closer. Then a familiar boy pushed the door open, spotted us, and smiled.

It was Greg. His lips curled up further into a smirk, and he tossed the baseball bat from one hand to the other as he surveyed the room lazily. Everyone was frozen, so was I. I felt like I could hardly breathe.

"Hiding from us?" he asked, his voice light with amusement.

The boys from the basketball and football team trailed into the room after him, and bringing up the rear - Callum. My breath caught in my throat as I met his eyes, and I could, for a fleeting second, see the terror in them as he realised that his warning had come too late.

But then the terror was gone, and his eyes were cold and emotionless, they swept past me, through me, as if I were completely invisible. And when he spoke, his voice sent a chill down my spine.

"Take them away, guys. Let's show them what happens when they try to fight fire with fire."