Matters of the Hart

Chapter 8 - Yeah and if I had fins I'd be a fish.

One week.

Seven days.

That is one hundred and sixty eight hours.

That is also sixty multiplied by one hundred and sixty eight minutes and if you multiply this value by another sixty, then a week consists of those number of seconds.

Last time I checked, there was no such rule that allowed a student to only hate trigonometry. We were perfectly capable of detesting everything 'mathematics' under the sun. Humongous calculations just happened to be one of those. Sorry to disappoint, but I wasn't taking the efforts to calculate that.

Co-incidentally, it had been one week since that party where my life took more turns than a racing go-kart. I was so pathetic, sitting in a World History class on a Friday morning and thinking about the different ways in which I could express my love for Math in order to stop from over-thinking. Please, please note the sarcasm.

Mrs. White had projected on screen a black and white documentary about the repercussions of World War I and how it led to the rise of League of Nations and everything else I was totally not interested in. The characters speaking animatedly the whole time, pretending to not know that the camera was around was depressing. I yawned, resting my chin on the palm of one hand as my elbow rested on the desk.

Unfortunately (I told you, I had the worst luck in the history of luck), the desk to my right was occupied by my recent and not-so-obedient student, Noah Stark, the boy who, in his free time threw paper-balls on unassuming students interested in learning. I only fit into the 'unassuming' criteria; I didn't vouch for the latter half of that statement.

Being good at basketball came in handy, since his paper-balls hit the girl on the first bench, right on target at the back of her head every two minutes.

"This is not even your seat," I pointed out, whispering in the dark. The lights were switched off and the only light that reflected was the small beam of light from the projector hitting white screen, which was not much. I wondered how he could aim so well in the dark too.

"I know. I traded mine with that geeky kid," Noah's proud voice answered back, trying to point out at said 'geeky kid'. Obviously, he could see, but I couldn't make out anything at all due to the lack of better lighting. Would Noah ever think with his brain? Don't waste your time looking for an answer: the answer was No.

"What an achievement, Noah," I rolled my eyes at his stupid behaviour. Mrs White made sure that troublesome Noah always occupied a desk in the first row, right beneath her nose so she could keep a check on his childish antiques that disrupted her class. Noah being Noah, took advantage of the opportunities that came his way (like now), which somehow almost always landed him beside me every class this semester. Ugh.

"Rude," his jaw dropped in mock surprise and he 'tsk-ed' with a dramatic shake of his head. Why was Lia my twin and not his?

I rolled my eyes, before directing my focus back on the projected work of cinematography from 1930s; Mrs. White's little snippets of explanation cutting through the movie time every two minutes. Oh, who was I kidding? I wasn't paying attention!

Somewhere around boring o'clock my eyelids felt heavy and head unsteady, ready to hit it on the brown mahogany desk, chin-first. But, as is so obvious, it didn't exactly play out that way.

"Can I borrow a pencil?"

Sigh.

If there were a Lord of Face-palm up in the heavens, I'd be his number one disciple -with the amount of times I've repeated the action because of the annoying pest, Noah Stark. Can someone get me a Noah-repellant cream, please?

"No," I whispered haughtily, leaning back into my chair. The back-rest wasn't very tall for my height so I couldn't exactly rest my head and doze off then and there. Might as well throw some free attitude to people who disrupted my precious few minutes so heartlessly. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and held them there, looking in the front in hopes that he'd take a hint.

"No you don't have a pencil or no I can't borrow it?"

False hopes, I tell you.

"Both of the above," I muttered uninterestedly. Not much could hold my attention these days and my virtual tampon was always lit. Mind you, it's not the 'lit' one could use to describe Lia's party outfits. It's the lit used to describe a house after the microwave is kept for heating and forgotten. Brutal.

"But I can see a pencil, right there." I could barely make out the vague outline of his hand, showing me where my pencil was kept. I knew where it was, Doofus. It was the third time I was rolling my eyes. I mean, what part of 'I don't want to talk right now so leave me alone' could he not grasp?

"There, now you can't see it," I not-so-subtly swiped my pencil away, throwing it loosely in my VS bag kept on the floor. I was totally aware of how rude I was being, but if a girl didn't want to talk, one should just take a hint and fix it in their head like a lesson from the Pope.

"Well. Can I borrow the pencil I can't see?"

Oh. My. God.

"No," I just couldn't hold it in and I snapped back, angrily leaning forward in my seat, glaring at nothingness in the dark. No, I wasn't bitten by Noah to lose all of my common sense. I was trying to figure out where his eyes were looking back at me, so I could openly glare at them without a care. Maybe even accidentally land a punch on his moronic face since darkness was a good excuse for all things heinous. In my defence, he was really asking for it now.

"Why not?" Noah tried to whine within a whisper. I say try, because let me tell you - Noah Stark didn't actually end up whining.

He screeched; and it was reason enough to make me grimace. I think I even moved one or two centimetres away to lessen the impact on my sensitive ear drums.

"Because I need it to stab you in the heart, vampire style," I retorted back, narrowing my eyes. Now I couldn't see his face, but 'evil narrowing of the eyes' was making me feel like I was in control of this petty argument and I would have smiled to myself about it, but that would just kill the evil vibe. Nope, self-instigated bad vibes were precious entities.

"Well, shit." I heard him curse lightly under his breath.

"Yes, well, you will be in deep s**t if-"

"Shut up."

I pray to the heavens above to help his poor soul after I get my hands on his neck after class is over.

"Ex-cuse me?" I scoffed, clearly offended at his choice of words. My tolerance was left way behind on Jupiter and I was almost at Saturn now. That's how mad I was and that's how misplaced my anger was.

And that's how, I realised that I should've just handed him that pencil.

I hate karma.

**********

"Yo, Thea."

"Go away!"

"Theeeee-aaaaa," Noah stretched out each syllable of my name, holding his chuckles back as I desperately tried to dodge his stupid mockery. School had ended twenty minutes ago and I was rushing past the soccer field, making a bee-line towards the dorms. Needless to say, I was done for the day. Look, I even rhymed, but that wasn't the point. I just wanted to hit my head on the pillow and then hit the pillow with my head.

"I can't believe you got me a lunch-detention. Noah. A detention, again." I shook my head with pure outrage, pulling my hair back in one swift motion.

Stupid Noah and 'smart-but-sometimes-stupid' me were caught 'being nuisances' in World History and were directly thrown, without a warning, into a lunch-hour detention. Yay moment for me, I snorted.

I didn't blame it on him, really. It was partly my fault too, with more emphasis on the word 'partly'. I was being a stubborn pain in the butt and now I shall forget I ever used the words 'pain in the butt' to describe myself. That's what a hungry, food-deprived version of me looked like. Lunch detentions are so pointless. This is not military school.

"Hey, don't blame me. All you had to do was give me a pencil," Noah's yell came from a few metres behind me, with him pouting childishly. I almost wanted to agree to that, I really did. But in my mind I had already proclaimed him stupid and I was too deep into this blame-game to take it all back now.

I rolled my eyes, turning around, instantly wishing that I had a fast-forward button on me: and not because of Noah.

It happened in a matter of few seconds, like a stroke of lightning. My tired gaze met its dead-end as it collided with a heated one, emitted by a pair of stormy grey eyes that can be made out from halfway across the soccer field.

Please do keep in mind that this was the hungry version of me talking - hungry for food to be clear. Whatever I was about to say next could not be, under any circumstances, held against my garbled senses.

Nathaniel Knight, standing in a soccer field in a sweaty soccer jersey that clung to his torso like second skin, hands resting on his hips and one studded foot bent at the knee as he took position to aim the ball into the net was the sexiest thing I had seen in a long, long time. The way his eyes watched me as he halted mid-action, like a tornado of unspoken words that was about to wash away my city of unspoken doubts was pulling something inside me.

His stance spoke for itself - steady - and his gaze hot, calculating and watchful like a hawk for a few minutes at stretch, before he turned the other way, kicking the ball forcefully and meticulously as it banged against the net. One last look and he was exiting the field.

Sigh.

Ever since I could remember, Nathaniel Knight had only one true love - soccer. If Roger Federer was a legend of tennis, then, in St. Theodore's Nathaniel Knight was the God of soccer.

Calling him great at the game would just not do any justice to his skills, talent and hard work. Back then, he spent every free minute on the field, shooting balls into the net one by one, from one end, right into the net on the other side. His feet were light and I swear they held magic, his body as agile as a cheetah. Nothing under the sun could take away his focus and that was easily one of his most admirable qualities. That's what everyone thought. So it wasn't just me.

He was like a flash; you wouldn't know how it came and went, but it left you stunned. Every time.

"So much tension in the air," Noah's thick voice broke my hunger-spun thread of thought as his sturdy arm came around my shoulders, putting all the weight on it.

"Now I get it," he mused.

"Get what?" I spat, removing his arm from around me. Nonchalance wasn't going to help much, but one could only try.

Noah only smirked; his smirk slowly growing by the second and eyes twinkling with untold mischief. Three point one seconds later, I had already started regretting the unfortunate moment I took to ask him that.

"Why you've been acting like someone pissed in your cereal every morning this whole week."

Oh snap!

"I've not been acting like anything," I flung back in defence. The frown on my face must have deepened significantly since Noah only response was a loud, annoying chuckle.

"I know things...." he trailed off bobbing his brainless head, looking into the distance as he walked in front with me carefully following suit, one step at a time. I had no idea if we were even going in the right direction. My focus was on him and his was on making me borderline miserable.

"What things?" I asked in haste, taking two direct steps to block him from evading my question again.

"Now, now, Princess," he tsk-ed slowly, running his free hand through his shaggy hair. "I can't break the bro-code."

WHAT?!

"Noah..." My tone grew serious, a thousand questions running through my mind like a Nigerian who was running a marathon. Did Nate tell Noah what happened? Could he?

Would he?

"Thea..." Noah's fake-seriousness was getting to me and I opened my mouth again but I didn't sound like me.

"Noah." I sounded like an underage biker-boy.

Hold up. Ten seconds ago, my voice was alright. I cleared my throat again, but sooner than later I realised that I didn't need to.

Good news first or bad news?

Good news? Alright.

Good news was - my voice was perfectly alright and very much feminine.

Bad news - the underage biker-boy was sunshine thief, Caleb Ridgewood, who now stood right behind me. So close I could feel his proximity and I hated this feeling.

"Hey man," Noah nodded at him and I unlovingly cursed this day under my breath.

"You seem busy, too busy to know that you're called to the office," said Caleb suggestively.

My back was thankfully still facing Caleb so I wouldn't know if he was being serious or just going heavy on the sarcasm. Judging by only his voice and his 'Thea is bad for health' nature, I had already guessed I'd be binge-eating tonight, with the most depressing episodes of One Tree Hill on repeat.

Noah's eyes widened, flickering to me and then back to Caleb and then back again to me. This cycle went on for about a minute before Noah pointedly looked at Caleb, vocally asking him to behave himself before shooting me a tight, unsure smile.

Alas! It was time to turn around and face the demon (singular) of my past. Actually, even demons probably didn't want Caleb in their community.

"Caleb?" I raised my eyebrow, his attention now on me. Yay. Not.

Among all the fibre-rich foods that were difficult for the human body to digest, the best one yet was the smile Caleb was giving me. In all honesty, a girl who couldn't tell vodka from sprite would not know how to read a smiling Caleb from a sign of apocalypse.

"I seem to have a problem, Thea," he said, taking a step closer to me and I unconsciously backtracked. I didn't know if he noticed my little move but his smile didn't waver either way. Subtle suspicion mixed with a hint of grimace was plastered on my face as my frown deepened.

"What...problem?" I treaded slowly and carefully.

The unimaginable happened.

Caleb laughed, like a full-blown, teeth showing, mouth opening, monster laugh.

"You want to know what my problem is? Then get a f*****g mirror, Thea!"

The cool facade was long gone and the creepy laugh was now replaced by a full-blown display of anger and untamed hatred for me that I could only roll my eyes at. That laugh was not even genuine to begin with so taking an offence would be stupid. Caleb and polite don't go in the same sentence, at least not in this update of good vocabulary.

"Look at you! Rolling your eyes at the bad-boy without a care in the world," he sneered, breathing deeply. His dark green shirt outlined his upper body perfectly and he looked like hulk had had a deficit of growth hormone.

"Bad-boy, yeah right," I muttered, tapping my foot impatiently on the ground. All I had wanted ever since the beginning of the day was for school to end so I could go back to my room and sleep for fifty years till my surface depression wore out. But of course, to the heavens above it was too much to ask for.

"I want you to stay away from Noah." His eyes turned a deeper shade of blue that resembled the colour of an angry ocean.

"Yeah and if I had fins, I'd be a fish," I barked back sarcastically, even faking a sincere smile to go with the trend. My back, perfectly erect and fists clenched so tightly that I feared scarring my palms with my own nails.

"No," he chuckled darkly. "You'd still be a big, ugly leech that doesn't know when to stop feeding on other people's pity."

Ouch. I sucked in a deep breath - a bitter feeling washing over me. How things played out in the last five minutes exactly reminded me of the last time I had a full blown encounter with the likes of Caleb. Let me tell you, it wasn't pretty. Words were flying around and my heart was the dart-board where he was pinning all of his uncalled hate.

"Caleb…" my voice came out in a soft, painful whisper as I closed my eyes tightly, trying to have control over my mind and silently begging him to stop before it's too late.

"Didn't you learn from your past run-ins with us?" came his sneering voice again, oblivious of the effect it was having on me. Even if it were obvious to him, it wasn't like he would care. Caleb was incapable of harbouring sentiments, especially ones of mercy and guilt. His words were a little louder and clearer. I opened my eyes, realising that he had been inching towards me, one intimidating step by another.

"Tutoring Noah, really?" he spat in my face, so closely that his cinnamon breath almost mingled with mine. At that point, I couldn't look elsewhere but my feet. I was rooted on one spot, too pained to move out or even move away. Things were getting out of hand and so was my will to not break down.

"Did you run out of ideas to want the attention?"

"He came to me, asking for help," I gritted my teeth, looking up at him through the glass-thick tear-film in front of my irises. In no way was I going to burden my conscience with his false and baseless assumptions, I kept chanting in my head. It didn't matter because my resolve kept crumbling anyway.

"Like I would believe anything that comes out of your mouth," he snorted, grimacing as if I were the scum he found on a homeless beggar's dirt-laden shirt.

"You are an attention-seeker," his voice boomed and my breathing picked up pace, a single tear falling put from the side of my face. "You love attracting people using your slimy little f****d-up family's sorry excuse for a story."

"Caleb, stop." My poor heart was breaking at his words, each one hitting harder than the previous one. I was unwillingly time-travelling, back to this exact unsuspecting moment when it had hurt most.

"Oh wait, did I say family? I meant mother. Your sorry excuse of a w***e mother that left you here to become a little sl-"