Chapter Eleven: I Love Ignoring the Problem
“No way, man!”
“I swear!”
“That’s epic, dude!”
“I know, right?”
“She’s so hot!”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’re so lucky!”
“Totally!”
“Hey, Liv?” Preston nudged me, thankfully being able to draw my ears away from the relentless dialogue to which they were being exposed.
Most of the time, I could drain everything out around me pretty well. It was one of my few talents. That being said, in those times I usually had my notebook in hand as a means to distract me. Currently, due to the environment in which I was in, I was denied access to my beloved book by my best friend, whose reasoning for taking it away from me was that I needed to be “more social and loosen up.” He was obviously forgetting that I didn’t do the whole “social” thing.
Piper had been whisked away by one of her many other friends, and had asked me if I wanted to sit with them during lunch, but I declined, remembering back to my most recent encounter with her group of friends. They didn’t like me. Obviously.
Now, Piper was one of the nicest people I had ever met, and she had a capability that truly boggled my mind: she didn’t judge people. Sure, when she had first heard about a certain boy named Luke Daniels interacting with me, she had instantly become overly alarmed, but there were always exceptions. For the most part, she did her best to not judge and accept everyone for who they were—which was one of the main staples of our friendship, and why she hadn’t broken ties with me when we were eight and she discovered that I didn’t like things that most little girls attending private school did. Piper didn’t judge.
Her friends, on the other hand, were the complete opposites. They were merciless and picked apart even the tiniest of flaws in people. I didn’t know them by name, but rather by face and fashion sensibility. Glossed lips, shiny hair, smooth skin, and not an ounce of care. There were quite a few of them, and I tried to avoid mixing with them at all costs for three rational reasons: 1) They were them. 2) They were people. 3) I didn’t like people. When we were younger, these were the type of girls who ridiculed me for no valid reason other than I was “weird.”
A few months ago, the same situation had surfaced. One of Piper’s friends had asked her to sit with them during lunch, and Piper—not having the ability to say no to people—accepted. She dragged me along, and I experienced the singlehandedly worst lunch incident of my life. That was coming from a girl who had once spilt all her apple juice on her pants in third grade, and whose parents were too busy working to come and drop off a new change of clothes, so she was stuck in the stained pants all day. The limit of times a single question or joke could be made in the span of an hour was tested after that fateful lunch, as every kid in my class came up to me and asked, “Did you wet your pants?” Suffice to say it was a very traumatic day for me. Alas, this particular lunch that occurred in my junior year of high school was much, much worse than the apple juice.
When I arrived at the lunch table that was inhabited by the type of girls whose life forces relied on gossip and shopping to sustain all basic forms of existence, I immediately felt out of place. They were all looking me up and down, as if to see whether or not I was “worthy” of sitting with them. After noticing my apprehension, Piper assured me that they were “nice” and a really “great” group of girls.
I remained quiet during the thirty-five minute period, trying to overlook the glares that expressed how unwelcome I truly was by the said “nice” individuals at the table. Besides being subjected to a mind-numbingly dumb conversation surrounding who hooked up with whom and whose daddy bought them a Porsche and whatnot, the vibe I was getting from the girls just wasn’t a good one. They kept whispering secretly to one another and indiscreetly pointing at me. I already knew that I didn’t belong with them, but the verification of the fact by the girls themselves wasn’t exactly the best thing in the world. It felt like I was back in middle school, and brought back all the memories, therefor bumping the apple juice incident down a notch on the list of Worst Lunches Ever.
Thus, I was seated with Preston and his less than scholarly friends today. I had wanted to eat in solitude, but Preston wouldn’t allow it, claiming that for my first day “back,” I should sit with him…and his friends. On a scale of one to unbearable, Piper’s friends broke the gage of intolerability—Preston’s friends coming in a close second. All they talked about were cars, sports, and girls. It was like torment listening to them. On the upside, though, they were actually nice.
I was now sitting between Preston and one of his friends who I had gone to school with since freshman year, but had yet to acquire his name. He had dark hair that wasn’t quite black but it clearly wasn’t what one would expect brown to look like, either. It was straight and shaggy and kind of long for a boy, but not really. He was also pretty tall and, from what I had gathered, possessed the intellectual capability of a dead snail. Nevertheless, I didn’t really mind him because he wasn’t a jerk—stupid, but in the friendly way.
Preston was eating some form of meat that he couldn’t obtain in his home due to his mother’s persistent war against once-living creatures being digested, so sought refuge at the school cafeteria. It was brown and juicy, and looked edible enough, but not so much so that I would go out of my way to eat it. The guy next to me was in the midst of stomaching an overly greasy piece of pepperoni pizza, and I had pasta with red sauce and cheese on it. I had barely touched my lunch, for I was neither hungry nor fully content.
Twisting my head from the yellowy swirls of cooked carbohydrates stained with mashed up tomatoes, I glanced at Preston. “Yeah?” I finally answered.
“So, are we just going to completely ignore what the hell happened English, or what?” he attempted to commence a conversation relating to what had occurred about three periods earlier.
“Seriously, Prest?” I laughed. “How long have you known me?”
He bit on the edge of his lip silently counting with the aid of his fingers, up until he figured out that his hand didn’t possess enough digits to accurately access my question. After a few minutes of painful-to-watch deliberating by my dear friend, he finally came to a conclusion. “Fifteen years!”
With a deep sigh, I contemplated how the boy had made it past first grade without failing. “Preston,” I began calmly, “how old are we?”
“Seventeen,” he answered that one almost instantly.
“When did we meet?”
“I don’t know, when we were, like, born?” he guessed.
“So how many years have we known each other?”
An expression of recognition flashed across face as he, hopefully, realized the overly simple explanation. “Sixteen years!” he said confidently, crushing all of my previous optimism. So, maybe Preston just wasn’t born to be a rocket scientist—most people weren’t, either.
“Preston, we’ve known each other for seventeen years,” I exhaled slowly, “in that time span, when have you ever known me to ‘process’ events?”
“Oh.” That question he understood the underlying rhetorical tone, so wasn’t as confused. “You like ignoring the problem.”
“No,” I denied with a shake of my head, “I love ignoring the problem.”
“Well, I don’t, so we’re going to talk about it,” he proclaimed. “Livy, it was weird as shit. Like, actually. Why the hell was he there?”
“Apparently, he had a free period and chose to interfere with my ‘learning’ environment for the fun of it,” I said, thinking back to the unbearable class.
Normally, I loved English. It was my favorite and best subject, and I actually paid attention in addition to participated in the class. Today, however, Mr. Luke Daniels decided to pop up and distract me the entire time. I was barely able to follow what we were doing or what was going on due to Luke’s persistent need to distract others around him—namely, me. It was probably the worst class I had encountered all year. Instead of facing Luke afterwards, I just got out of the room as soon as possible, for I lacked energy and a momentary confrontational drive. Essentially, the “problem” had yet to be addressed in full.
“Oh, c’mon Olivia, I wasn’t ‘interfering with you learning environment for the fun of it.’ I was just asking a few questions,” someone said from behind us in an entertained tone.
Instantly, I whipped my head to stare at the leather jacket-clad boy with a bemused smirk etched onto his lips, my thoughts moving a million miles per second. “Seriously, Luke, if you keep this up, I’m actually going to file a restraining order on you,” I threatened.
“That’s cute, Liv,” he said condescendingly, approaching the table where we were.
“Her mom’s a lawyer—it wouldn’t be that hard,” I heard Preston mutter.
“Did you enjoy your nap in English, Kent?” Luke turned his interest to the boy who had just spoken. I attempted the best I could to stifle the smile that was creeping its way to the surface from the comment. Occasionally—okay, okay, more than occasionally, Preston had a tendency to doze off during English. Dr. G. couldn’t care less, so he somehow always got away with it—today being no exception.
“Yeah, I did,” Preston returned confidently, “thanks for asking.”
“Course,” Luke shrugged. “Now, Ro—Olivia, do you want to go eat lunch with Harry or are you busy eating with your junior friends?”
“You eat lunch with Harry too?” I questioned in surprise, unaware that anyone besides me participated in the act.
Long ago, when I was only a mere freshman, I got into a bit of trouble. All I did was skip a few gym classes here and there because physical activity was equivalent to a form of torture, and Harry freaked out. Since it was just a minor offense and we went to a private school, therefor exempting us from the government’s oppression of X-many hours of exercise per week, Harry’s brilliant punishment was for us to have lunch together for a week.
Now, the only thing that I had against Harry was that he was in a position of authority where he was able to allot chastisement to me. Otherwise, I didn’t really mind him. He wasn’t my biggest fan, but that wasn’t news, considering the size of nonexistent fan club. We had a love/hate relationship, one would almost say.
Anyways, after the week of spending my given time to eat with Harry, I discovered that I didn’t really resent his company, whereas he did tend to dislike mine. He also had candy in his office, which was always a plus. Thus, when I was released of my five-day penalty, I made it a habit to pop in every once in a while and slightly disturb him with my presence. Harry and Olivia bonding time—always a blast.
“All the time,” Luke replied with a grin. “We’re best friends, in case you didn’t know.”
“Huh. Stay here and listen to the opposite of a thought-provoking conversation or chill with Harry…” I weighed out my options, mentally already having one in mind. “Sorry, Prest, but I’m going to have to go with Luke on this one. I haven’t see Harry in, like, two days.”
“So you’re ditching me, Livy?” Preston assessed with a sigh.
“Yeah, pretty much,” I confirmed, beginning to stand from my seat.
“Is it because you hate me?” the blonde boy pouted.
“Yes, Preston Kent, it is indeed. I hate you with all my heart and can’t even stand to sit next to you, which is obviously why I’m leaving your beautiful face,” I said sarcastically, picking up my bowl of Styrofoam that would aid in planet pollution that happened to be filled with pasta. I swung my bag over my shoulder, and then leaned down so that I was at eye level with Preston. “Bye, Prest.”
“Bye, Livy,” he said, tilting his head marginally so that his lips just barely connected with the side of my face—my cheek. I went completely red, and the evil twin laughed at the embarrassment that he knew he had caused me purposely. Rolling my eyes, I straightened out, and turned back to Luke who had watched the entire exchange unfold. He looked blank—void of all emotions, as I did the majority of the time.
“Let’s go,” Luke mumbled, latching his fingers onto my wrist and pulling me out of the busy cafeteria.
After pushing through the double doors, we had escaped the chaos of the highly inhabited area for consumption. I began to walk in the direction of Harry’s office, and Luke matched my slow but consistent pace. Considering the time of the day, the halls were fairly empty of students except for the sporadic teen attaining various things from their locker.
“So, are you and Kent dating?” Luke inquired after a few moments of awkwardness.
I almost dropped my container of starch in absolute shock, but started laughing instead. Luke shot me a dull gaze of indifference, not finding his query humorous in the least. “That, Luke Daniels,” I said after having almost sobered up completely, “would practically be incest.”
“So you two aren’t dating?” he evaluated.
“Preston and I wouldn’t date even if we were held at gunpoint,” I said instead of answering directly. “He’s my brother.”
“Oh,” was all he said.
“On a lighter note,” I began as we turned down the hallway that led to Harry’s notorious lair, “are you a lollypop guy or M&Ms?”
“Definitely M&Ms,” he nodded firmly, “I’m assuming you prefer lollypops?”
“Why would you assume something like that?” I asked defensively, though he was correct.
“Simple,” he shrugged, “I like instant gratification because I’m impulsive and hate waiting, whereas you’re willing to wait and like to stretch things out longer.”
“Despite how dumb you appear, you’re fairly wise,” I observed, his analysis seeming logical enough.
“I look dumb?”
“Yeah, the whole ‘bad boy’ thing really decreases your intelligence a great deal,” I explained as the destined office came into view. There it was. Door closed and not a sole in sight.
“Well, looks can be deceiving,” he uttered one of my favorite adages.
“That they can,” I agreed. We walked in silence up to Harry’s shut door, knowing that he was in the room due to the light being on and the slight hum of verbal sounds coming from where we stood. Without knocking, I twisted the knob, letting myself into the office with Luke following behind.
As rooms in the building went, I liked Harry’s office. It was simple and clean. Sure, it gave off the impression that the school was a place built for rich kids that we to be shipped off to the Ivy Leagues after graduating, but it was still nice. He always sat behind a large mahogany desk that had only a few miscellaneous objects placed about on it, ranging from a glass elk (Theodore Hendricks ELKS Academy) to a small cactus that was oddly out of place, but a sign of his roots from Arizona or something. There were a few matching chairs placed about, keeping with the dark wood theme, and also various nature scenes spread around the four walls. But the most prominent facets, in my opinion, were the two large glass jars of candy on a coffee table in the corner.
“Hey, Harry!” I greeted with a smile as I realized that he was on the phone with someone. He put a single finger to his lips, shushing me, and then a look of panic emerged when Luke filed into the room a second later.
“H-Dog!” Luke addressed our dear principal. Harry gestured to the two seats on the other side of his desk, indicating that we should sit as he continued to talk on the phone in a franticly frazzled manner.
Instead of doing as requested, Luke and I both made our ways over to the corner of the room. Luke took the lid off of one of the containers, and then stuffed his hand in (yes, there was a sanitary issue with the act—clearly, it had yet to come to Harry’s attention), extracting M&Ms. I copied what he had done, but applied it to the other vessel, retrieving a red lollypop that was of the cherry variety—my favorite.
I took off the wrapper, stuffing it in the back pocket of my ripped jeans, and then inserted the sphere of sugar into my mouth. Yum. I wasn’t the type to continuously lick, for that took too much effort, nor was I one who enjoyed chopping on the candy and devouring it in a matter of seconds, for it felt too intrusive for me, and the whole effort thing. My preferred method of finishing a lollypop was just sticking it in my mouth and leaving it. Simple and easy.
“Ms. Ross and Mr. Daniels,” Harry cleared his throat as he put down his phone, “how can I help you two besides being the victim of a candy raid?”
“We missed you, Hare Bear!” I said with another large grin, a white stick of condensed paper sticking out of my mouth.
“We?” the man repeated warily. “Oh no. Olivia, the last time we had lunch together didn’t you tell me that you hated everyone at this school?”
“Minus Preston, Piper, and Dr. G.,” I confirmed with a nod.
“So then why are you hanging out with him,” he pointed at Luke, who was already onto his third handful of the small colored chocolates.
“Oh!” Luke exclaimed. “I get it! Olivia, he’s scared!”
“What do you mean?” I asked slowly.
“Harry thinks that we aren’t a good pairing—which he’s probably right about,” he elaborated. “What, Harry, are you afraid that we’re going to burn the school down or something?”
“Frankly,” Harry looked from Luke to me, “yes, yes I am.”
“I’m not a pyromaniac,” I advocated for myself.
“Yeah, me neither. I don’t like fire,” Luke added.
“I just don’t think this is a particularly…smart friendship,” Harry expressed. “You two both cause quite a bit of trouble separately, so together I can’t imagine anything good will form.” His eyebrows were creased together, highlighting the wrinkles on his aging face even more.
“So,” I said as an idea began to formulate in my mind, “do you think that Elle would approve of our ‘friendship’?”
“Elle? Your mother?” Harry all but laughed. “No. Absolutely not.”
And there it was. The exact confirmation I had been seeking. A mischievous smirk took over my face as I turned to Luke, asking a question that I never thought would ever come out of my mouth. “Luke Daniels, how would you like to have dinner with the Ross Family?”