Post by Katana on Feb 15, 2009 16:58:06 GMT -3
A day late for the mere fact that last night, when I was writing it, my brain suddenly went "Oh HELL no, we're DONE for the night". I was very mad at it.
Warning: This is effing long. I'm debating putting this on my domain and linking to it, but for now...eh. When it's all formatted as it is, MS Word says fourteen pages. Also, it starts off well, then goes down a very steep hill and crashes and burns. Then it gets rescued before being in another accident while still in the full body cast.
Anyways.
-------------------------------------
Clayton Forrester looked carefully at the note that had dropped from the inside of his locker door. It was a plain sheet of paper, folded in a way that resembled an angular heart. He blinked, rotating the shape in his fingers, a deluge of emotions overwhelming him – confusion, frustration, anger, and…
…Happiness.
Secretly delighted was probably the best way to sum it all up. Clay looked to his left and right, scrutinizing the actions of the students around him. They couldn’t care less about what he was doing, as they were all off in their own worlds – their own bubbles of girlfriends and boyfriends, of chocolates and roses, of romance and stupidity. Even if it wasn’t the fabled Valentine’s Day, they still wouldn’t care about him.
In fact, he never usually cared about them either. But the heart-shaped wad of paper in his hands made him all the more conscious and vulnerable. If somebody were to see it, what would they think?
Normally, Clay didn’t give two shits about what others thought. He was very much an independent and quite head-strong, bitter in his ways and attitude towards others. However…this note…this simple piece of folded paper…it had punched a hole in his universe.
It meant somebody liked him. And not just liked him as a means of pleasantries, or even so far as friendship – no, it meant that somewhere in the confines of the school building, someone held feelings for the boy that he had never known were possible.
That was it.
It wasn’t possible for anyone to like him. In fact, it was downright insane that somebody could harbor anything other than resentment for him. True, in the past few months he had become…well, allies with Mike Nelson and Joel Robinson (though he still considered the latter a rival), but even with those two (and Frank) standing by his side (sort of), he was still very much a lonely person.
“Hey Steve!” Frank’s voice shouted suddenly. Clay, startled, slammed his head against the locker door, note dropping to the floor.
“God dammit – crap! Frank!”
“Ah – ah! Sorry! You okay?”
Clay rubbed his right temple, bumping his glasses in the process. Frank stared at – of all things – his hair, seemingly intrigued.
“Hey Steve –” (Clay still wasn’t sure why Frank called him this) “- I’ve been meaning to ask…what’s with the white streak?”
After a moment’s pause, Clay combed his bangs with his fingers, lifting up the streak of white hair that stood in sharp contrast to the brown strands. “This? I was hit by lightning.”
Frank’s eyes shot open, his mouth agape. “Whaaaaaat?”
“Yeah. And you ever notice how here –” he pointed to a patch of white on the left side of his thin mustache, “- and here –” he rubbed a line down to the even thinner beard that framed his jaw, white whisps glinting in the light, “- there’s white?”
“…No, I tend to not stare at your face.”
Clay rolled his eyes with a shrug, dropping his arm to his side. “Whatever…Seventh grade, I was hit by lightning while outside messing around with an experiment…”
“And you didn’t…die?”
“…Frank. Listen to yourself sometime, okay? But yeah…nothing happened, I was grounded so I didn’t die, but…this is what happened to my hair.”
“Uh…huh…Oh hey Steve, what’s that?” Frank pointed to the heart-note on the ground, causing Clay to scramble and pick it up before cramming it in his jeans pocket.
“N-nothing, it’s –”
“Awww, Clay!” Frank cooed with a playful grin, wagging his finger. “Confessing your looooove? Ooh ooh, to who? Oh, lemme guess, that one chick in study hall, the –”
“WRONG,” Clay slammed, balling his hands into fists. “It’s not mine. We-well, it is mine, but not written by me, I mean – it was in my locker, okay?!”
“Ooooooooh!” Frank’s eyes danced in amusement. “From who?!”
“I dunno.”
“…Don’t you want to know?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Clay withdrew the note from his pocket, holding it up to his eye-level. “It’s…interesting, not knowing what’s on the inside…”
“But that’s…”
“I’ll open it when I deem fit.”
“But – but Clay! What if whoever-gave-it-to-you is waiting for you to open and it and passes by you in the hallway all the time and you don’t respond and they then think you don’t like them even though you read the note but you haven’t but they think you have and –”
“Oh my God Frank, shut up!” Clay shoved the note back in his pocket, kicking shut his locker door. “I’ll read it when I want to, and if I have any response, the sender will find out soon enough. Besides – say I did like them. I’d want more time than the damn passing period to talk to them about it.”
“…Oh. I see. Makes sense.”
“Exactly. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
Clay maneuvered his way out of the tangled mess of lockers and bodies, giving way to annoyance and forcibly shouldering people out of his way. Up and down the hallway, the spirit of the holiday was in full swing, as couples had hands (and lips) locked. Teachers on morning hallway patrol seemed to ignore the “no PDA” rule, instead smiling at those they saw. The more and more Clay saw, the more he felt the note burning a hole in his pocket. It was so tempting to open…but there was somebody he had to consult with first.
Feet hurriedly punching down the stairs, Clay swung a right on the landing, crossing another hallway before shooting down another flight of stairs and ending on the ground floor of the commons, where the lunch tables were set up for students to hang out at in the morning. He made a bee-line for the table of his search…but was more than surprised to see that the person he was looking for wasn’t there.
“Where’s Robinson?” Clay demanded of a boy sitting at the table, hunched over a textbook and hurriedly writing down geometry problems. When no response came, he tapped his shoulder, causing the boy to whip around as if frightened at being disturbed.
“Ah – oh – ah! F-Forrester, what –”
Taking in a breath to make his tone of voice a bit friendlier, Clay asked, “Hey, do you know where Robinson is?”
“Oh – music room.”
“The band room?” (It held many names.) “The hell is he doing there?”
“I dunno. Nelson took him there.”
“Ah…Okay, thanks.”
To the band room Clay went, winding out from the maze of tables and slipping through the doors to the back staircase, located near the gym. After shooting up the stairs, dodging out of the way of more romance, he slipped into the second-floor hallway where the freshmen were located. Always a fun group, the younger kids, but with his appearance and height (a healthy six feet one inch), a path was soon cleared.
Clay was greeted to the noise of a dramatic brass chord when he opened the door to the music room. Around the corner of the entryway he spotted a group of students (plus the teachers) seated around a large table. Papers and binders were strewn about its surface, along with the student’s belongings (such as purses, backpacks, and breakfast items). The object of his search, however, was reclining in a black chair, feet propped on the table.
“Robinson,” Clay called out, making his way towards the table. Several glances were shot his way, with the band director deciding to give a greeting.
“Heeeey Forrester,” he jabbered, leaning his head over the back of his chair. “Wuss goin’ on this fine day of romance and intrigue?”
“Ah…Well, that’s kind of the reason I came here…”
“I see I see! Something you need?”
“N-no…well…maybe…I…need to speak to Robinson.”
Joel perked up, straightening up in his seat. “What is it Forrester?”
Clay looked at him before taking a sweep of the group – all of whom were staring at him. He was used to these people, oddly enough. He had been making consistent visits to this room in the morning for a while now, and even though he had no involvement in the fine arts department, he felt rather comfortable around these people. Never did he think he would say that…but hanging around Nelson had that effect.
It was because of that reason did Clay pull out the note, posing it between his fingers like a shuriken. “This.”
A senior girl with blonde hair in a ponytail – Jazz – shot up from the table and attempted to snatch it from his hands, but with her being a good ten inches shorter than him, it didn’t work. “Holy crap, is that a note of LOOOVE?” she asked with a laugh, eyes tracing the heart shape. “From you or –”
“Somebody else.”
“You’re kidding.” Jazz stared at the paper, clearly shocked. “Well, it proves someone out there is more than mental…”
Clay stuck his tongue out before quickly slipping the note back into his pocket. “And as I’m sure we’re well aware, Robinson is used to these kinds of things...”
In an instant, Joel’s face was red, once again showing that the boy was in fact capable of emotions – even if they were a bit diluted. “W-well, I…”
“Oh pleeeease,” Jazz chorused out, twisting in her spot on the table. Her boyfriend, a junior named Jordan, had his arms around her waist, but quickly flung them off at her movement. “The Joel Robinson fan club? Man, I don’t get you! You’re not involved in anything, but you’ve got this legion of girls who –”
“Hey hey, let the man be a pimp in peace,” Jordan reasoned, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms out. “Besides, Joel does do something – he techs.”
“He techs.”
“Yeah.”
“He practically does that on his own, it doesn’t count.”
“It so does,” Jordan mocked before Jazz slapped him across the face – a grin showing the playfulness that made this behavior routine and oddly normal.
“Right…so…” Clay cleared his throat and was about to speak before he realized something. “Hey, where’s…where’s Nelson?”
“He ah…” A freshman – some boy whose name Clay still couldn’t remember – looked around, perplexed. “He…isn’t…here...He was here, right?”
“Yeah…Uh…OH!” Jazz leapt from the table and bolted across the room, stopping just short of the closed doors of the instrument room. She looked back to the group and motioned for them to be quiet before her hand slowly drifted to the handle. Confirming her grip, she stole another glance to the collection at the table, who were all intently staring, eyebrows raised, before looking back at the door, taking a breath, and yanking it open.
“BOO!” she screamed, which was followed by a pair of shouts – both of them rather angry, but in different octaves. Jazz held a grin on her face before a cog clicked into place, her look of amusement snapping into one of shock.
“Jazz, what –”
The short blonde whipped around, her ponytail flying, before she scrambled back to the group, a bizarre look of surprise and humor mixed on her face.
“Mike – and – and Beth –”
The band director quickly caught on (as was his way). “OOOOOOOOOOOH!” he wailed out, a huge grin crossing his face. “And band creates yet another happy couple!” He pointed a finger accusingly at the chorale director, who was much too busy holding back his laughter. “Take that!”
Clay’s eyes screwed up in thought as the table began to give their own comments on what had transpired. Nelson? Oh come on! That dumb twit had already found success while all he had was a retarded note in hand? Infuriated, he ripped it from his pocket and tore it open, causing the group to stir.
“Who’s it from, who’s it from?!” Jazz wondered, attempting to peer up and over the paper – which Clay just held higher up. His eyes quickly scanned the lines, his cheeks becoming flushed with each passing word, until finally his whole face was burning.
“…Oh woooow,” Joel murmured, a bemused look on his face upon observing the scientist. “How raunchy did they get?”
“N-n-n-not at all,” Clay answered truthfully, lowering the paper and allowing Jazz to snatch it from his limp fingertips. “It’s…just…”
She made quick work of the note, the smile on her face growing wider and wider with each passing moment. Finally, she looked up at him, a bright grin on her face. “AWWWWWWW! Claaaaaay, that’s soooo cuuuute!” She re-read the note before another gear shifted into place, her eyes widening. “…Ha. Ahaha. Hahahaha.” Jazz pivoted on her heel and slammed her head into Jordan’s chest, laughing. “Oh my God I know who this is from! AHAAAAA!”
It seemed as if the whole table lurched up in surprise as Clay leapt and grabbed Jazz’s shoulders. “Who?! Who is it?!”
She continued laughing, turning around and wiping her eyes. “Ahhh…I’m not going to tell you – wait wait, I have a reason!” She took in a deep breath, hiccupping a laugh halfway through. “I know the person. Lemme just say that she really likes you, but I never imagined her to have the guts to actually do this.”
Clay stared at her, eyebrows drawn tight. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“It’s a girl thing.”
“Yeah, girls are weird,” Jordan added. “They tell each other to ‘go for it’ but then they don’t what the object of the affections to actually know. It’s a game with them. Then they get mad at you for not figuring out because they keep forgetting we’re kinda stupid even though they say we are all the time.”
And that’s when the panic set in.
“Shiiii – shitake mushrooms,” Clay avoided swearing as the band and chorale directors stared at him. “Frank…Agh, dammit he was right!”
“Was right about what?”
“It’s – he said that if I didn’t open the note and find out who it was from that I might’ve ended up crushing this – this girl, whoever she is – because I wouldn’t acknowledge her in the halls, but now this is even worse because I really don’t know who they are!” He paused before shooting his glance towards Joel. “Robinson, this is why I need….” He swallowed his pride, “…your help.”
Joel raised his eyebrows. “What…do you need me for?”
“You’re used to this kinda stuff, right?”
“W-well…”
“He is, and stop denying it,” Jazz cut in, annoyed. “C’mon Joel, just answer his stupid question and maybe he’ll leave faster.”
Joel sighed, his washed-out chagrined look deepening. “Okay, well…Yeah, I am, I’m used to getting those kinds of things.”
“So how do you figure out who it is?”
“Well…do you know anyone who might –”
“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be wasting my time here.”
“Fair enough. Uh…I’d just say…uh…watch people, watch their faces…?”
Clay sighed, snatching the note from Jazz, folding it into a square and shoving it back in his pocket. “This is gonna be a long day, isn’t it?”
“Only if you make it a long day,” the chorale director said in a chipper tone. “You can’t wait for things to happen young man, you have to MAKE them happen!”
The scientist raised an eyebrow but nodded, feeling like he had heard that line from somewhere before. He was making his way towards the door when suddenly he bolted to the instrument room, ripping the door open.
For a second, he did, in fact, see Nelson, leaning down about half a foot in order to reach the lips of the girl…Then they took notice of the disturbance, parted ways, and shot Clay death glares.
And he was even more determined to find out who the hell wrote the note.
---
First hour went by without any luck – it was AP physics, and most of the people in there already had relationships going on in their lives…Wait, scratch that. Everyone did. Clay spent most of the hour studying the note, trying to dissect it apart. First was the handwriting – it held neither a strongly male nor female styling, having more of a stilted look rather than bubbly or chicken scratch. Some of the letters were hard to distinguish apart (a versus c was the most common), but overall it was oddly legible.
The paper was possibly the biggest clue, as it was a bit thick for being computer paper. Careful scrutinizing revealed an embossed ‘Canson’ logo. Only from hanging around art kids did Clay know that Canson was a brand of drawing paper.
So this…person. This admirer…they were an art kid. Okay. He could live with that, no problem. But it was their words that confused him the most.
To Clay – first off, not many people called him “Clay”. Well, some did. Actually…all the girls did. They thought it was “cute”. I know you know me, whether you know me or not. What the hell did that mean? I’m kinda weirded out that I’m actually writing this down, but I’m tired of being afraid of my own emotions. The fact that she went from odd to waxing poetic in the span of one sentence meant she was either a brilliant or terrible writer. Others may not see it, but I’ve found myself to be rather comfortable around you. That had to be a lie – who in the world was ever around him?
But despite all the doubts, he kept on going. Unfortunately for you, you’re going to have to figure out who this is on your own. Ugh, girls and their mind games. And anyways, that might be a good idea – because for all you or I know, you might be absolutely terrified at who this ends up being. He would only be terrified if it was Frank, and he was way too busy with his own fruitless pursuits to pull this elaborate of a joke. See ya at the end of the day. ♥
That heart…Was it weird for him to be embarrassed by that?
Clayton Forrester wasn’t one for that spectrum of emotions. He tended to stay in the area of anger and (snide) humor, occasionally dipping into the neutral territory. Rarely would he ever define himself as “happy”, and hardly did the word “love” ever really enter his thoughts. But now…
The bell only briefly interrupted his thoughts as the group shuffled out the door and towards second hour. Clay kept fingering the note in his pocket as his eyes made quick work of everyone around him. Not a sign of any emotional change from anyone was noticed.
He did, however, have to jerk to a halt when he noticed Frank standing by a locker that was definitely not his. Slipping to the right with the stream of traffic, Clay managed to shimmy on over and attempt to satisfy his confusion.
“Frank, what are you doing here?”
“Ah – ah! Steve! I’m –”
“Are you…” Memories of Valentine’s Day past were flooding him. For as long as Frank had been his lackey (“friend” wasn’t exactly the appropriate word) which, admittedly, was only since sophomore year, he had harbored an odd, stalker-flavored crush on a girl. “Flavored” was really the best way to put it, since it Frank’s activities involved observing her whenever he could and leaving her anonymous gifts at the designated times of the year. In all honesty, it drove Clay crazy.
“Get over her,” Clay snapped as Frank quickly taped the long-stemmed rose he held in his hands to the locker.
“But – but she –” As soon as the last piece was placed, the scientist grabbed the lackey’s arm, dragging him far away down the hallway.
“It’s unhealthy and Goddamn creepy, okay?” Clay stormed when the two stopped in front of the water fountains between the bathrooms. “Why do you even bother? She’s never going to notice you.”
“A man can dream, dammit,” Frank insisted. “A-and besides, there’s always hope.”
Clay sighed and stared down at the boy, a feeling of pity coming over him. Poor guy was simply trying…though trying a bit too hard…but his heart was in the right place.
Sort of.
It was all very stupid.
“…Whatever,” Clay finally breathed, walking away from him and heading towards his locker. A few seconds later, Frank jogged to his side, suddenly interested in a topic shift.
“Didja open that note yet?”
“Yes. Yes I did.”
“And and and and and –”
“She’s playing a game with me,” Clay huffed, dropped his materials in front of his locker as he twisted out the combination. “And it’s so casually written, not like….not like a l…a l…a lo…” He could not, for the life of him, say the word. It brought a spasm to his throat every time a letter tried to pass through. “Not like this type of note should be written.”
“…Can I see it?”
With a sigh, the scientist fished out the note and handed it over. The momentary break allowed him to swap out the physics textbook for his statistics one and slam the locker shut before Frank decided to speak again.
“…I know who this is.”
“WHAT?!”
What the hell was with everybody knowing?! Clay simply stared at the note when Frank presented it to him, his face in a clear gawking expression.
“Why – who?! Tell me!”
“W-well, why…should I? It says you’re gonna find out before the e –”
“Because then this Goddamn game will be over with!”
“But if I tell you…that’d be cheating, wouldn’t it?” There was an oddly genuine look of guilt in Frank’s eyes when he said those words. So stupid, so naïve…
“…Fine,” Clay spat, swiping the note back and shoving it in his pocket. “I’ll figure it out myself. First the midget blonde, now you…who else knows besides me?”
“Actually, uh…” Frank scratched the back of his head, somewhat amused, somewhat perplexed. “I know you know her. I’m…surprised you…” His eyes suddenly shot to the clock that hung in the hallway. “Ohhhhhsnap – get goin’ Steve, you’re gonna be late!” He pushed Clay in the opposite direction before bolting down the hallway and shooting into a classroom, leaving the scientist to stand, alone and confused.
Not like he didn’t feel that way already.
---
Second hour statistics, nothing. Third hour family living, even more nothing (which, given it was a required class, meant Clay landed in the group of stoners and those likely to be found on street corners in a few months). Fourth hour, AP English, which was busily spent analyzing an essay about lying before a casual comment led them off-topic and talking about how the teacher witnessed a “drive-by muffing”.
Then it was lunch. Clay attributed a lot of his success to lunch, even if his weren’t the healthiest on the planet. He always bought the same thing, occasionally switching it up a bit but sticking to the basic outline – fries, a cookie, and a slice of cheesecake, along with a drink that varied day by day. Today it was lemonade.
“I don’t see how you can eat that way,” a girl with short brown hair (nicknamed Kat) said as he sat down. “You’re gonna have a heart attack.”
“Naaah,” Clay brushed off, cracking open the can of lemonade. “I’ve been eating this kind of lunch for two years. Not dead yet.”
“That’s an accomplishment,” she muttered, shaking her head. The two ate in silence until Mike slid into his standard spot on the opposite side of the table, a euphoric look dancing on his face.
“Done sucking face?” Clay shot out as Mike unwrapped the bacon cheeseburger he had bought. He just danced in his seat for a few seconds before giving a response.
“I tell ya, nothing quite like knowing who you love…speaking of which…” He looked at Clay, a malicious grin on his face. “Found out your secret person, Dr. F?”
“UGH, shut up,” Clay seethed, feeling his face burning. “B-besides, how do you know –”
“Oh God, Jazz can’t keep her mouth shut about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole school knows that somebody has a crush on you, Forrester.” Mike took a huge bite from the burger, dancing slightly while he chewed and swallowed. “We’re trying to figure out how, though. Lobotomy and drugs are competing for top spot.”
“I’d say lobotomy,” Kat said, ducking to avoid a sweeping arm-blow from Clay. She grinned before taking a bite from the bagel in her hand.
“Is it really that hard to believe?” Clay muttered – and the instant he said it, he knew the answer.
“Um, very much yes,” Mike replied, propping his head on his hand.
“Grant it, we’ve seen much improvement in you in recent months, Mister Clayton Forrester,” Kat said, quickly swiping Clay’s glasses and placing them on her face. “Before the, ahem, parking lot incident, you were a loner, a stoic, and quite a bit of a jerk. However, now you have actual social interaction and – hey, I wasn’t done using those!”
Clay plucked the glasses from her face and set them back on his own, sighing and rolling his eyes. “Why do I even bother…”
“…Because you’re bad at maaath?” Beth’s voice suddenly chorused as she set down her lunch tray in the spot next to Mike. He perked up when she sat down, giving her a quick peck on the cheek – which, in turn, caused Clay and Kat to start gagging.
“Get a room you two,” Kat muttered.
“They had one this morning,” Clay couldn’t help but snipe. “Unfortunately, it was one of public access and – hey!”
Beth threw a fry at him, irked. “You’re – nevermind! Besides, how’s your little note quest going?”
“DOES EVERYBODY KNOW?!” the scientist couldn’t help but scream, slamming his head on his lunchtray. “Good God I am going to kill that midget…”
“Wait, me?! Oh come on, it’s not my fault you can’t figure it out –”
“Not you, the other midget, the one with blonde hair – you know, the one that is distinctly female –”
“Ugh, you’re such an ass!” Kat smacked Clay’s forearm, miffed. “Can’t believe I bother interacting with you.”
“Masochism at its finest,” Beth snickered, which received wide-eyed death glares from the two bickering.
“Go eat Mike’s roast-face, okay?! God!”
“It tastes like bacon, thank you very much!”
Clay snickered into his lemonade while Mike’s face shot beet red. Kat groaned while Beth laughed manically, which in turn caused Joel to stop dead in his tracks when he came upon the table.
“Do I want to sit here?” he asked slowly, carefully setting down his lunch tray. Mike suddenly snapped to attention, a grin on his face.
“How’s your day been going, oh fanclub boy?”
Now it was time for Joel’s face to turn red once again. “Uhh, well…It’s…been going.”
“Uh-huh. How much stuff?”
“Uh, well, not a lot…Just, you know – why are we talking about this?! What bout you?” Joel looked at Clay as he peeled the plastic wrap off the turkey sandwich on his tray.
“It’s going – unsuccessfully, but it’s going.”
“Is it really that hard?” Kat asked, her fingers tapping against the chocolate milk carton she held. “I mean, how many people would give you that kinda thing?”
“One, apparently,” Clay replied. “But you know what pisses me off?”
“Everything?”
“Besides – ugh, shut up – besides that. It’s – it’s the fact that everybody seems to know who it is except me.”
“It means you’re dumb, okay?”
Clay sighed. He really, really wanted this day to be over.
---
Sixth hour, gym. Still nothing – which wasn’t surprising, as it was an all-boys class. Seventh hour, study hall, and oh how glorious that was.
Sitting in his usual spot, Clay tore through the physics and stats homework he had, in hopes that, if he got those out of the way, he could use the time to try and figure out the note some more. But as he chugged along, scribbling answers down, he became less and less enthused about the task he had prepared for himself.
It had been over five hours since he had received the note, and the fact that he hadn’t figured out who it was from just brought him down more and more. He looked around the room and sighed before slamming his head on the open textbook. This sucked.
There was Robinson, playing pimp (as Jordan had so eloquently put it) to a trio of girls – not exactly intentionally, though, as they were hanging around him rather than the opposite. Mike was in his corner, wistfully staring out the window, while Frank was sleeping with an oddly happy look on his face. But there he was, all alone –
Wait.
He couldn’t believe it. He could not believe he was thinking like this. He, Clayton Forrester, was thinking about how lonely he was, particularly on this day of cheesy romance and stupid presents. Why? Just a year ago, he was perfectly content with the relationships he had – which totaled zero. But now…
It was all their fault.
Having friends (he couldn’t deny it) had ruined his life. In the beginning, it was because he had to, but that begrudging feeling soon gave way to habit. Out of habit, Clay had begun to hang around Nelson and Robinson, and because of that, he had gained a comfort zone. There were people he could talk to, places he could hang around, things he could do…
He was still an oddity, there was no doubt. He would never be able to cast off the alter-ego of being “Dr. Forrester” – it was way too much ingrained into him. But being around people had revealed he was more than just a harsh bastard with a stoic life.
Now he was greeted in the hallway. Now he had people to eat lunch with. Now he had people to work with. And now, he had somebody who liked him.
It was odd.
“…Hey Steve?” Frank’s voice asked sleepily. “You figure it out yet…?”
Clay sighed, the air from his nostrils whistling slightly. “No…”
“Think you will…?”
“I have to.”
“Ahhh…that’s good. I didn’t want you to have to break out the cheat codes…”
Frank – for once – was right. He was almost there…almost. He could feel it. If everybody knew the answer, that must mean he knew it too…As the bell rang, concluding study hall, his thoughts raced. There was less than an hour now to figure out who wrote that stupid note and figure out who had caused him the mental torment for the whole day.
Time for AP chemistry – and with the teacher out, that meant watching a crummy video that was at least ten years out of date. So with the lights out and old VCR whirring, Clay was allowed time to sit…and think.
Neutral-gendered handwriting. That didn’t exactly mean a whole lot, but it pointed to the fact that the sender wasn’t the girly-type. Artist paper. This one held some clues, as not everyone had access to the art room. It was the type available only to those who ordered it from a catalogue, not something you’d be able to pick up at the store. And everybody knew who sent it.
It was a friend of Jazz’s, which was the first hint. The problem was she knew many people…however, she insisted that he knew who it was, and their lists of known people didn’t exactly intersect that much. Frank knew who it was…but that meant even less than Jazz, as he somehow held an immense social network (well, of people he knew, at least). But that left him with...a whole list of people.
Why couldn’t he figure it out?
“It means you’re dumb, okay?”
That was it. He knew who it was. And, shocked as he might’ve been, he was more annoyed with the fact that he hadn’t figured it out sooner. It was so obvious…and that’s why the note suddenly made sense. “I know you know me, whether you know me or not,” one of the lines had read. It wasn’t the fact that he didn’t know them, it was the fact that he overlooked them.
The video droned on and on, its tracking occasionally slipping up and causing screeched static to fill the room. Clay did his best to watch it and kill time, but the wait proved deadly. His feet tapped impatiently, his fingers twitched, and his eyes kept darting to the clock. Never before in his life had he wanted it to be 2:30 more than he did now.
…But what would he do?
Now that he knew, what was he going to say to them? He liked the girl, sure, but did he like her like that? If he was unsure…he didn’t want to tell her…and end up being hated. Maybe he could’ve dealt with that before, but not anymore. No, now that would’ve really sucked. It would mean torment from more than one place, and that wasn’t exactly something he needed.
He could always take a chance.
That’s was science was – taking a chance and seeing if a hypothesis worked. And here, it felt like maybe it could. At the first decibel of the bell, Clay was up and out of his seat, tearing down the halls as fast as he could, heart and mind racing.
"This is ridiculous," he thought to himself with a smile, tearing around corners, dodging and weaving his way through the student traffic. He might’ve been yelled at to slow down, but he wasn’t exactly paying attention. Through freshmen he maneuvered, bumping one or two along the way, before swimming through the current that was emerging from the music room.
Band was held the last hour of the day, and a decent chunk of juniors and seniors hung around afterwards, chatting it up and hanging out for a bit longer. Out of breath, Clay nearly collapsed as he stumbled in and supported himself on the garbage can before quickly looking around.
“Hey, it’s Dr. F,” said Kat, who was fishing out her car keys from her bag. What’s up with you?”
“Did you figure out who wrote the note?” Jazz asked, swinging the case of her flute around in her hand. “’cause otherwise –”
“I did, midget,” Clay said on a breath, making an effort to stand up fully. “And…and you were right, unfortunately. I do know who they are.”
“Are you suuuuure?” she teased, wiggling around as Jordan came up from behind and clamped onto her shoulders. “Could be wrong. You could be making a total idiot of yourself.”
“He does that enough, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary,” Kat giggled. “So c’mon, tell us – who is it?”
Clay looked up, heaved in one final breath and said, with an exhausted grin, “It’s you.”
“Excellent job, maestro.”
Jazz burst out laughing. “Seeeee?! I told you! Ahh, it’s so cute – and Kat, you’re such a dork!”
“Wait what?! How and why does this constitute me as a dork?!”
“It’s Dr. effing Forrester, come on!”
“S-so?! You and your monkey there –”
“Heeey, if you’re gonna call me that, at least give me a banana.”
Clay stumbled off the wall and towards the trio, brushing the hair away from his face. Taking in another breath, he slapped a hand onto Kat’s shoulder – which was hard, considering how much shorter than him she was.
“…You’re not going to punch me, are you?” he asked, causing her to quirk an eyebrow.
“Not likely…um, may I ask why?”
“Because when I was really little, like, in pre-school, I got my first kiss over a Matchbox car…then she punched me…”
“Do you see a Matchbox car?”
“No.”
“Then that part’s not going to happen.”
Warning: This is effing long. I'm debating putting this on my domain and linking to it, but for now...eh. When it's all formatted as it is, MS Word says fourteen pages. Also, it starts off well, then goes down a very steep hill and crashes and burns. Then it gets rescued before being in another accident while still in the full body cast.
Anyways.
-------------------------------------
Clayton Forrester looked carefully at the note that had dropped from the inside of his locker door. It was a plain sheet of paper, folded in a way that resembled an angular heart. He blinked, rotating the shape in his fingers, a deluge of emotions overwhelming him – confusion, frustration, anger, and…
…Happiness.
Secretly delighted was probably the best way to sum it all up. Clay looked to his left and right, scrutinizing the actions of the students around him. They couldn’t care less about what he was doing, as they were all off in their own worlds – their own bubbles of girlfriends and boyfriends, of chocolates and roses, of romance and stupidity. Even if it wasn’t the fabled Valentine’s Day, they still wouldn’t care about him.
In fact, he never usually cared about them either. But the heart-shaped wad of paper in his hands made him all the more conscious and vulnerable. If somebody were to see it, what would they think?
Normally, Clay didn’t give two shits about what others thought. He was very much an independent and quite head-strong, bitter in his ways and attitude towards others. However…this note…this simple piece of folded paper…it had punched a hole in his universe.
It meant somebody liked him. And not just liked him as a means of pleasantries, or even so far as friendship – no, it meant that somewhere in the confines of the school building, someone held feelings for the boy that he had never known were possible.
That was it.
It wasn’t possible for anyone to like him. In fact, it was downright insane that somebody could harbor anything other than resentment for him. True, in the past few months he had become…well, allies with Mike Nelson and Joel Robinson (though he still considered the latter a rival), but even with those two (and Frank) standing by his side (sort of), he was still very much a lonely person.
“Hey Steve!” Frank’s voice shouted suddenly. Clay, startled, slammed his head against the locker door, note dropping to the floor.
“God dammit – crap! Frank!”
“Ah – ah! Sorry! You okay?”
Clay rubbed his right temple, bumping his glasses in the process. Frank stared at – of all things – his hair, seemingly intrigued.
“Hey Steve –” (Clay still wasn’t sure why Frank called him this) “- I’ve been meaning to ask…what’s with the white streak?”
After a moment’s pause, Clay combed his bangs with his fingers, lifting up the streak of white hair that stood in sharp contrast to the brown strands. “This? I was hit by lightning.”
Frank’s eyes shot open, his mouth agape. “Whaaaaaat?”
“Yeah. And you ever notice how here –” he pointed to a patch of white on the left side of his thin mustache, “- and here –” he rubbed a line down to the even thinner beard that framed his jaw, white whisps glinting in the light, “- there’s white?”
“…No, I tend to not stare at your face.”
Clay rolled his eyes with a shrug, dropping his arm to his side. “Whatever…Seventh grade, I was hit by lightning while outside messing around with an experiment…”
“And you didn’t…die?”
“…Frank. Listen to yourself sometime, okay? But yeah…nothing happened, I was grounded so I didn’t die, but…this is what happened to my hair.”
“Uh…huh…Oh hey Steve, what’s that?” Frank pointed to the heart-note on the ground, causing Clay to scramble and pick it up before cramming it in his jeans pocket.
“N-nothing, it’s –”
“Awww, Clay!” Frank cooed with a playful grin, wagging his finger. “Confessing your looooove? Ooh ooh, to who? Oh, lemme guess, that one chick in study hall, the –”
“WRONG,” Clay slammed, balling his hands into fists. “It’s not mine. We-well, it is mine, but not written by me, I mean – it was in my locker, okay?!”
“Ooooooooh!” Frank’s eyes danced in amusement. “From who?!”
“I dunno.”
“…Don’t you want to know?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Clay withdrew the note from his pocket, holding it up to his eye-level. “It’s…interesting, not knowing what’s on the inside…”
“But that’s…”
“I’ll open it when I deem fit.”
“But – but Clay! What if whoever-gave-it-to-you is waiting for you to open and it and passes by you in the hallway all the time and you don’t respond and they then think you don’t like them even though you read the note but you haven’t but they think you have and –”
“Oh my God Frank, shut up!” Clay shoved the note back in his pocket, kicking shut his locker door. “I’ll read it when I want to, and if I have any response, the sender will find out soon enough. Besides – say I did like them. I’d want more time than the damn passing period to talk to them about it.”
“…Oh. I see. Makes sense.”
“Exactly. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
Clay maneuvered his way out of the tangled mess of lockers and bodies, giving way to annoyance and forcibly shouldering people out of his way. Up and down the hallway, the spirit of the holiday was in full swing, as couples had hands (and lips) locked. Teachers on morning hallway patrol seemed to ignore the “no PDA” rule, instead smiling at those they saw. The more and more Clay saw, the more he felt the note burning a hole in his pocket. It was so tempting to open…but there was somebody he had to consult with first.
Feet hurriedly punching down the stairs, Clay swung a right on the landing, crossing another hallway before shooting down another flight of stairs and ending on the ground floor of the commons, where the lunch tables were set up for students to hang out at in the morning. He made a bee-line for the table of his search…but was more than surprised to see that the person he was looking for wasn’t there.
“Where’s Robinson?” Clay demanded of a boy sitting at the table, hunched over a textbook and hurriedly writing down geometry problems. When no response came, he tapped his shoulder, causing the boy to whip around as if frightened at being disturbed.
“Ah – oh – ah! F-Forrester, what –”
Taking in a breath to make his tone of voice a bit friendlier, Clay asked, “Hey, do you know where Robinson is?”
“Oh – music room.”
“The band room?” (It held many names.) “The hell is he doing there?”
“I dunno. Nelson took him there.”
“Ah…Okay, thanks.”
To the band room Clay went, winding out from the maze of tables and slipping through the doors to the back staircase, located near the gym. After shooting up the stairs, dodging out of the way of more romance, he slipped into the second-floor hallway where the freshmen were located. Always a fun group, the younger kids, but with his appearance and height (a healthy six feet one inch), a path was soon cleared.
Clay was greeted to the noise of a dramatic brass chord when he opened the door to the music room. Around the corner of the entryway he spotted a group of students (plus the teachers) seated around a large table. Papers and binders were strewn about its surface, along with the student’s belongings (such as purses, backpacks, and breakfast items). The object of his search, however, was reclining in a black chair, feet propped on the table.
“Robinson,” Clay called out, making his way towards the table. Several glances were shot his way, with the band director deciding to give a greeting.
“Heeeey Forrester,” he jabbered, leaning his head over the back of his chair. “Wuss goin’ on this fine day of romance and intrigue?”
“Ah…Well, that’s kind of the reason I came here…”
“I see I see! Something you need?”
“N-no…well…maybe…I…need to speak to Robinson.”
Joel perked up, straightening up in his seat. “What is it Forrester?”
Clay looked at him before taking a sweep of the group – all of whom were staring at him. He was used to these people, oddly enough. He had been making consistent visits to this room in the morning for a while now, and even though he had no involvement in the fine arts department, he felt rather comfortable around these people. Never did he think he would say that…but hanging around Nelson had that effect.
It was because of that reason did Clay pull out the note, posing it between his fingers like a shuriken. “This.”
A senior girl with blonde hair in a ponytail – Jazz – shot up from the table and attempted to snatch it from his hands, but with her being a good ten inches shorter than him, it didn’t work. “Holy crap, is that a note of LOOOVE?” she asked with a laugh, eyes tracing the heart shape. “From you or –”
“Somebody else.”
“You’re kidding.” Jazz stared at the paper, clearly shocked. “Well, it proves someone out there is more than mental…”
Clay stuck his tongue out before quickly slipping the note back into his pocket. “And as I’m sure we’re well aware, Robinson is used to these kinds of things...”
In an instant, Joel’s face was red, once again showing that the boy was in fact capable of emotions – even if they were a bit diluted. “W-well, I…”
“Oh pleeeease,” Jazz chorused out, twisting in her spot on the table. Her boyfriend, a junior named Jordan, had his arms around her waist, but quickly flung them off at her movement. “The Joel Robinson fan club? Man, I don’t get you! You’re not involved in anything, but you’ve got this legion of girls who –”
“Hey hey, let the man be a pimp in peace,” Jordan reasoned, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms out. “Besides, Joel does do something – he techs.”
“He techs.”
“Yeah.”
“He practically does that on his own, it doesn’t count.”
“It so does,” Jordan mocked before Jazz slapped him across the face – a grin showing the playfulness that made this behavior routine and oddly normal.
“Right…so…” Clay cleared his throat and was about to speak before he realized something. “Hey, where’s…where’s Nelson?”
“He ah…” A freshman – some boy whose name Clay still couldn’t remember – looked around, perplexed. “He…isn’t…here...He was here, right?”
“Yeah…Uh…OH!” Jazz leapt from the table and bolted across the room, stopping just short of the closed doors of the instrument room. She looked back to the group and motioned for them to be quiet before her hand slowly drifted to the handle. Confirming her grip, she stole another glance to the collection at the table, who were all intently staring, eyebrows raised, before looking back at the door, taking a breath, and yanking it open.
“BOO!” she screamed, which was followed by a pair of shouts – both of them rather angry, but in different octaves. Jazz held a grin on her face before a cog clicked into place, her look of amusement snapping into one of shock.
“Jazz, what –”
The short blonde whipped around, her ponytail flying, before she scrambled back to the group, a bizarre look of surprise and humor mixed on her face.
“Mike – and – and Beth –”
The band director quickly caught on (as was his way). “OOOOOOOOOOOH!” he wailed out, a huge grin crossing his face. “And band creates yet another happy couple!” He pointed a finger accusingly at the chorale director, who was much too busy holding back his laughter. “Take that!”
Clay’s eyes screwed up in thought as the table began to give their own comments on what had transpired. Nelson? Oh come on! That dumb twit had already found success while all he had was a retarded note in hand? Infuriated, he ripped it from his pocket and tore it open, causing the group to stir.
“Who’s it from, who’s it from?!” Jazz wondered, attempting to peer up and over the paper – which Clay just held higher up. His eyes quickly scanned the lines, his cheeks becoming flushed with each passing word, until finally his whole face was burning.
“…Oh woooow,” Joel murmured, a bemused look on his face upon observing the scientist. “How raunchy did they get?”
“N-n-n-not at all,” Clay answered truthfully, lowering the paper and allowing Jazz to snatch it from his limp fingertips. “It’s…just…”
She made quick work of the note, the smile on her face growing wider and wider with each passing moment. Finally, she looked up at him, a bright grin on her face. “AWWWWWWW! Claaaaaay, that’s soooo cuuuute!” She re-read the note before another gear shifted into place, her eyes widening. “…Ha. Ahaha. Hahahaha.” Jazz pivoted on her heel and slammed her head into Jordan’s chest, laughing. “Oh my God I know who this is from! AHAAAAA!”
It seemed as if the whole table lurched up in surprise as Clay leapt and grabbed Jazz’s shoulders. “Who?! Who is it?!”
She continued laughing, turning around and wiping her eyes. “Ahhh…I’m not going to tell you – wait wait, I have a reason!” She took in a deep breath, hiccupping a laugh halfway through. “I know the person. Lemme just say that she really likes you, but I never imagined her to have the guts to actually do this.”
Clay stared at her, eyebrows drawn tight. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“It’s a girl thing.”
“Yeah, girls are weird,” Jordan added. “They tell each other to ‘go for it’ but then they don’t what the object of the affections to actually know. It’s a game with them. Then they get mad at you for not figuring out because they keep forgetting we’re kinda stupid even though they say we are all the time.”
And that’s when the panic set in.
“Shiiii – shitake mushrooms,” Clay avoided swearing as the band and chorale directors stared at him. “Frank…Agh, dammit he was right!”
“Was right about what?”
“It’s – he said that if I didn’t open the note and find out who it was from that I might’ve ended up crushing this – this girl, whoever she is – because I wouldn’t acknowledge her in the halls, but now this is even worse because I really don’t know who they are!” He paused before shooting his glance towards Joel. “Robinson, this is why I need….” He swallowed his pride, “…your help.”
Joel raised his eyebrows. “What…do you need me for?”
“You’re used to this kinda stuff, right?”
“W-well…”
“He is, and stop denying it,” Jazz cut in, annoyed. “C’mon Joel, just answer his stupid question and maybe he’ll leave faster.”
Joel sighed, his washed-out chagrined look deepening. “Okay, well…Yeah, I am, I’m used to getting those kinds of things.”
“So how do you figure out who it is?”
“Well…do you know anyone who might –”
“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be wasting my time here.”
“Fair enough. Uh…I’d just say…uh…watch people, watch their faces…?”
Clay sighed, snatching the note from Jazz, folding it into a square and shoving it back in his pocket. “This is gonna be a long day, isn’t it?”
“Only if you make it a long day,” the chorale director said in a chipper tone. “You can’t wait for things to happen young man, you have to MAKE them happen!”
The scientist raised an eyebrow but nodded, feeling like he had heard that line from somewhere before. He was making his way towards the door when suddenly he bolted to the instrument room, ripping the door open.
For a second, he did, in fact, see Nelson, leaning down about half a foot in order to reach the lips of the girl…Then they took notice of the disturbance, parted ways, and shot Clay death glares.
And he was even more determined to find out who the hell wrote the note.
---
First hour went by without any luck – it was AP physics, and most of the people in there already had relationships going on in their lives…Wait, scratch that. Everyone did. Clay spent most of the hour studying the note, trying to dissect it apart. First was the handwriting – it held neither a strongly male nor female styling, having more of a stilted look rather than bubbly or chicken scratch. Some of the letters were hard to distinguish apart (a versus c was the most common), but overall it was oddly legible.
The paper was possibly the biggest clue, as it was a bit thick for being computer paper. Careful scrutinizing revealed an embossed ‘Canson’ logo. Only from hanging around art kids did Clay know that Canson was a brand of drawing paper.
So this…person. This admirer…they were an art kid. Okay. He could live with that, no problem. But it was their words that confused him the most.
To Clay – first off, not many people called him “Clay”. Well, some did. Actually…all the girls did. They thought it was “cute”. I know you know me, whether you know me or not. What the hell did that mean? I’m kinda weirded out that I’m actually writing this down, but I’m tired of being afraid of my own emotions. The fact that she went from odd to waxing poetic in the span of one sentence meant she was either a brilliant or terrible writer. Others may not see it, but I’ve found myself to be rather comfortable around you. That had to be a lie – who in the world was ever around him?
But despite all the doubts, he kept on going. Unfortunately for you, you’re going to have to figure out who this is on your own. Ugh, girls and their mind games. And anyways, that might be a good idea – because for all you or I know, you might be absolutely terrified at who this ends up being. He would only be terrified if it was Frank, and he was way too busy with his own fruitless pursuits to pull this elaborate of a joke. See ya at the end of the day. ♥
That heart…Was it weird for him to be embarrassed by that?
Clayton Forrester wasn’t one for that spectrum of emotions. He tended to stay in the area of anger and (snide) humor, occasionally dipping into the neutral territory. Rarely would he ever define himself as “happy”, and hardly did the word “love” ever really enter his thoughts. But now…
The bell only briefly interrupted his thoughts as the group shuffled out the door and towards second hour. Clay kept fingering the note in his pocket as his eyes made quick work of everyone around him. Not a sign of any emotional change from anyone was noticed.
He did, however, have to jerk to a halt when he noticed Frank standing by a locker that was definitely not his. Slipping to the right with the stream of traffic, Clay managed to shimmy on over and attempt to satisfy his confusion.
“Frank, what are you doing here?”
“Ah – ah! Steve! I’m –”
“Are you…” Memories of Valentine’s Day past were flooding him. For as long as Frank had been his lackey (“friend” wasn’t exactly the appropriate word) which, admittedly, was only since sophomore year, he had harbored an odd, stalker-flavored crush on a girl. “Flavored” was really the best way to put it, since it Frank’s activities involved observing her whenever he could and leaving her anonymous gifts at the designated times of the year. In all honesty, it drove Clay crazy.
“Get over her,” Clay snapped as Frank quickly taped the long-stemmed rose he held in his hands to the locker.
“But – but she –” As soon as the last piece was placed, the scientist grabbed the lackey’s arm, dragging him far away down the hallway.
“It’s unhealthy and Goddamn creepy, okay?” Clay stormed when the two stopped in front of the water fountains between the bathrooms. “Why do you even bother? She’s never going to notice you.”
“A man can dream, dammit,” Frank insisted. “A-and besides, there’s always hope.”
Clay sighed and stared down at the boy, a feeling of pity coming over him. Poor guy was simply trying…though trying a bit too hard…but his heart was in the right place.
Sort of.
It was all very stupid.
“…Whatever,” Clay finally breathed, walking away from him and heading towards his locker. A few seconds later, Frank jogged to his side, suddenly interested in a topic shift.
“Didja open that note yet?”
“Yes. Yes I did.”
“And and and and and –”
“She’s playing a game with me,” Clay huffed, dropped his materials in front of his locker as he twisted out the combination. “And it’s so casually written, not like….not like a l…a l…a lo…” He could not, for the life of him, say the word. It brought a spasm to his throat every time a letter tried to pass through. “Not like this type of note should be written.”
“…Can I see it?”
With a sigh, the scientist fished out the note and handed it over. The momentary break allowed him to swap out the physics textbook for his statistics one and slam the locker shut before Frank decided to speak again.
“…I know who this is.”
“WHAT?!”
What the hell was with everybody knowing?! Clay simply stared at the note when Frank presented it to him, his face in a clear gawking expression.
“Why – who?! Tell me!”
“W-well, why…should I? It says you’re gonna find out before the e –”
“Because then this Goddamn game will be over with!”
“But if I tell you…that’d be cheating, wouldn’t it?” There was an oddly genuine look of guilt in Frank’s eyes when he said those words. So stupid, so naïve…
“…Fine,” Clay spat, swiping the note back and shoving it in his pocket. “I’ll figure it out myself. First the midget blonde, now you…who else knows besides me?”
“Actually, uh…” Frank scratched the back of his head, somewhat amused, somewhat perplexed. “I know you know her. I’m…surprised you…” His eyes suddenly shot to the clock that hung in the hallway. “Ohhhhhsnap – get goin’ Steve, you’re gonna be late!” He pushed Clay in the opposite direction before bolting down the hallway and shooting into a classroom, leaving the scientist to stand, alone and confused.
Not like he didn’t feel that way already.
---
Second hour statistics, nothing. Third hour family living, even more nothing (which, given it was a required class, meant Clay landed in the group of stoners and those likely to be found on street corners in a few months). Fourth hour, AP English, which was busily spent analyzing an essay about lying before a casual comment led them off-topic and talking about how the teacher witnessed a “drive-by muffing”.
Then it was lunch. Clay attributed a lot of his success to lunch, even if his weren’t the healthiest on the planet. He always bought the same thing, occasionally switching it up a bit but sticking to the basic outline – fries, a cookie, and a slice of cheesecake, along with a drink that varied day by day. Today it was lemonade.
“I don’t see how you can eat that way,” a girl with short brown hair (nicknamed Kat) said as he sat down. “You’re gonna have a heart attack.”
“Naaah,” Clay brushed off, cracking open the can of lemonade. “I’ve been eating this kind of lunch for two years. Not dead yet.”
“That’s an accomplishment,” she muttered, shaking her head. The two ate in silence until Mike slid into his standard spot on the opposite side of the table, a euphoric look dancing on his face.
“Done sucking face?” Clay shot out as Mike unwrapped the bacon cheeseburger he had bought. He just danced in his seat for a few seconds before giving a response.
“I tell ya, nothing quite like knowing who you love…speaking of which…” He looked at Clay, a malicious grin on his face. “Found out your secret person, Dr. F?”
“UGH, shut up,” Clay seethed, feeling his face burning. “B-besides, how do you know –”
“Oh God, Jazz can’t keep her mouth shut about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole school knows that somebody has a crush on you, Forrester.” Mike took a huge bite from the burger, dancing slightly while he chewed and swallowed. “We’re trying to figure out how, though. Lobotomy and drugs are competing for top spot.”
“I’d say lobotomy,” Kat said, ducking to avoid a sweeping arm-blow from Clay. She grinned before taking a bite from the bagel in her hand.
“Is it really that hard to believe?” Clay muttered – and the instant he said it, he knew the answer.
“Um, very much yes,” Mike replied, propping his head on his hand.
“Grant it, we’ve seen much improvement in you in recent months, Mister Clayton Forrester,” Kat said, quickly swiping Clay’s glasses and placing them on her face. “Before the, ahem, parking lot incident, you were a loner, a stoic, and quite a bit of a jerk. However, now you have actual social interaction and – hey, I wasn’t done using those!”
Clay plucked the glasses from her face and set them back on his own, sighing and rolling his eyes. “Why do I even bother…”
“…Because you’re bad at maaath?” Beth’s voice suddenly chorused as she set down her lunch tray in the spot next to Mike. He perked up when she sat down, giving her a quick peck on the cheek – which, in turn, caused Clay and Kat to start gagging.
“Get a room you two,” Kat muttered.
“They had one this morning,” Clay couldn’t help but snipe. “Unfortunately, it was one of public access and – hey!”
Beth threw a fry at him, irked. “You’re – nevermind! Besides, how’s your little note quest going?”
“DOES EVERYBODY KNOW?!” the scientist couldn’t help but scream, slamming his head on his lunchtray. “Good God I am going to kill that midget…”
“Wait, me?! Oh come on, it’s not my fault you can’t figure it out –”
“Not you, the other midget, the one with blonde hair – you know, the one that is distinctly female –”
“Ugh, you’re such an ass!” Kat smacked Clay’s forearm, miffed. “Can’t believe I bother interacting with you.”
“Masochism at its finest,” Beth snickered, which received wide-eyed death glares from the two bickering.
“Go eat Mike’s roast-face, okay?! God!”
“It tastes like bacon, thank you very much!”
Clay snickered into his lemonade while Mike’s face shot beet red. Kat groaned while Beth laughed manically, which in turn caused Joel to stop dead in his tracks when he came upon the table.
“Do I want to sit here?” he asked slowly, carefully setting down his lunch tray. Mike suddenly snapped to attention, a grin on his face.
“How’s your day been going, oh fanclub boy?”
Now it was time for Joel’s face to turn red once again. “Uhh, well…It’s…been going.”
“Uh-huh. How much stuff?”
“Uh, well, not a lot…Just, you know – why are we talking about this?! What bout you?” Joel looked at Clay as he peeled the plastic wrap off the turkey sandwich on his tray.
“It’s going – unsuccessfully, but it’s going.”
“Is it really that hard?” Kat asked, her fingers tapping against the chocolate milk carton she held. “I mean, how many people would give you that kinda thing?”
“One, apparently,” Clay replied. “But you know what pisses me off?”
“Everything?”
“Besides – ugh, shut up – besides that. It’s – it’s the fact that everybody seems to know who it is except me.”
“It means you’re dumb, okay?”
Clay sighed. He really, really wanted this day to be over.
---
Sixth hour, gym. Still nothing – which wasn’t surprising, as it was an all-boys class. Seventh hour, study hall, and oh how glorious that was.
Sitting in his usual spot, Clay tore through the physics and stats homework he had, in hopes that, if he got those out of the way, he could use the time to try and figure out the note some more. But as he chugged along, scribbling answers down, he became less and less enthused about the task he had prepared for himself.
It had been over five hours since he had received the note, and the fact that he hadn’t figured out who it was from just brought him down more and more. He looked around the room and sighed before slamming his head on the open textbook. This sucked.
There was Robinson, playing pimp (as Jordan had so eloquently put it) to a trio of girls – not exactly intentionally, though, as they were hanging around him rather than the opposite. Mike was in his corner, wistfully staring out the window, while Frank was sleeping with an oddly happy look on his face. But there he was, all alone –
Wait.
He couldn’t believe it. He could not believe he was thinking like this. He, Clayton Forrester, was thinking about how lonely he was, particularly on this day of cheesy romance and stupid presents. Why? Just a year ago, he was perfectly content with the relationships he had – which totaled zero. But now…
It was all their fault.
Having friends (he couldn’t deny it) had ruined his life. In the beginning, it was because he had to, but that begrudging feeling soon gave way to habit. Out of habit, Clay had begun to hang around Nelson and Robinson, and because of that, he had gained a comfort zone. There were people he could talk to, places he could hang around, things he could do…
He was still an oddity, there was no doubt. He would never be able to cast off the alter-ego of being “Dr. Forrester” – it was way too much ingrained into him. But being around people had revealed he was more than just a harsh bastard with a stoic life.
Now he was greeted in the hallway. Now he had people to eat lunch with. Now he had people to work with. And now, he had somebody who liked him.
It was odd.
“…Hey Steve?” Frank’s voice asked sleepily. “You figure it out yet…?”
Clay sighed, the air from his nostrils whistling slightly. “No…”
“Think you will…?”
“I have to.”
“Ahhh…that’s good. I didn’t want you to have to break out the cheat codes…”
Frank – for once – was right. He was almost there…almost. He could feel it. If everybody knew the answer, that must mean he knew it too…As the bell rang, concluding study hall, his thoughts raced. There was less than an hour now to figure out who wrote that stupid note and figure out who had caused him the mental torment for the whole day.
Time for AP chemistry – and with the teacher out, that meant watching a crummy video that was at least ten years out of date. So with the lights out and old VCR whirring, Clay was allowed time to sit…and think.
Neutral-gendered handwriting. That didn’t exactly mean a whole lot, but it pointed to the fact that the sender wasn’t the girly-type. Artist paper. This one held some clues, as not everyone had access to the art room. It was the type available only to those who ordered it from a catalogue, not something you’d be able to pick up at the store. And everybody knew who sent it.
It was a friend of Jazz’s, which was the first hint. The problem was she knew many people…however, she insisted that he knew who it was, and their lists of known people didn’t exactly intersect that much. Frank knew who it was…but that meant even less than Jazz, as he somehow held an immense social network (well, of people he knew, at least). But that left him with...a whole list of people.
Why couldn’t he figure it out?
“It means you’re dumb, okay?”
That was it. He knew who it was. And, shocked as he might’ve been, he was more annoyed with the fact that he hadn’t figured it out sooner. It was so obvious…and that’s why the note suddenly made sense. “I know you know me, whether you know me or not,” one of the lines had read. It wasn’t the fact that he didn’t know them, it was the fact that he overlooked them.
The video droned on and on, its tracking occasionally slipping up and causing screeched static to fill the room. Clay did his best to watch it and kill time, but the wait proved deadly. His feet tapped impatiently, his fingers twitched, and his eyes kept darting to the clock. Never before in his life had he wanted it to be 2:30 more than he did now.
…But what would he do?
Now that he knew, what was he going to say to them? He liked the girl, sure, but did he like her like that? If he was unsure…he didn’t want to tell her…and end up being hated. Maybe he could’ve dealt with that before, but not anymore. No, now that would’ve really sucked. It would mean torment from more than one place, and that wasn’t exactly something he needed.
He could always take a chance.
That’s was science was – taking a chance and seeing if a hypothesis worked. And here, it felt like maybe it could. At the first decibel of the bell, Clay was up and out of his seat, tearing down the halls as fast as he could, heart and mind racing.
"This is ridiculous," he thought to himself with a smile, tearing around corners, dodging and weaving his way through the student traffic. He might’ve been yelled at to slow down, but he wasn’t exactly paying attention. Through freshmen he maneuvered, bumping one or two along the way, before swimming through the current that was emerging from the music room.
Band was held the last hour of the day, and a decent chunk of juniors and seniors hung around afterwards, chatting it up and hanging out for a bit longer. Out of breath, Clay nearly collapsed as he stumbled in and supported himself on the garbage can before quickly looking around.
“Hey, it’s Dr. F,” said Kat, who was fishing out her car keys from her bag. What’s up with you?”
“Did you figure out who wrote the note?” Jazz asked, swinging the case of her flute around in her hand. “’cause otherwise –”
“I did, midget,” Clay said on a breath, making an effort to stand up fully. “And…and you were right, unfortunately. I do know who they are.”
“Are you suuuuure?” she teased, wiggling around as Jordan came up from behind and clamped onto her shoulders. “Could be wrong. You could be making a total idiot of yourself.”
“He does that enough, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary,” Kat giggled. “So c’mon, tell us – who is it?”
Clay looked up, heaved in one final breath and said, with an exhausted grin, “It’s you.”
“Excellent job, maestro.”
Jazz burst out laughing. “Seeeee?! I told you! Ahh, it’s so cute – and Kat, you’re such a dork!”
“Wait what?! How and why does this constitute me as a dork?!”
“It’s Dr. effing Forrester, come on!”
“S-so?! You and your monkey there –”
“Heeey, if you’re gonna call me that, at least give me a banana.”
Clay stumbled off the wall and towards the trio, brushing the hair away from his face. Taking in another breath, he slapped a hand onto Kat’s shoulder – which was hard, considering how much shorter than him she was.
“…You’re not going to punch me, are you?” he asked, causing her to quirk an eyebrow.
“Not likely…um, may I ask why?”
“Because when I was really little, like, in pre-school, I got my first kiss over a Matchbox car…then she punched me…”
“Do you see a Matchbox car?”
“No.”
“Then that part’s not going to happen.”
Well done! 
