Better Than This

Chapter 3

Got to be shitting me.

I've never said a word to the boy, and now we're expected to team up? Like, enough that we have to put together an assignment? A couple-weeks-long assignment? I sink farther into my chair, trying to figure out what to do. Maybe I can just do it myself. Maybe I'll write the whole thing and slap his name on it. It'd be better than actually acknowledging each other.

"As a treat," Mr. Mitchell smiles, "you have the next ten minutes to get things started. I'll be coming around to drop off your card which has the information about your life situation and current conflict. But don't depend on class time to get this done. You'll be allotted the last fifteen minutes only, so that means they'll be some outside of school time required."

Great.

More flipping good news.

Maybe I can still change Mr. Mitchell's mind. If I talked to him, explained the situation...maybe he'd give us a break or allow us to switch partners or something.

Desks shift around me. My heart drums as I watch people pair off, already talking about how much the paper is going to suck. I don't move. By the sound of it, neither does Alex. I so should have ditched today. I could be home with Savvy right now, eating ice-cream and painting, having a much better time than the one I have coming. But I have to do something. I can't just sit here, ignoring this. I can't keep hiding from him.

Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

And turn.

Alex doesn't move.

Like, an inch.

I grab the empty desk in front of his and scoot it around so that the front of them touch, and so that I am as far from him as possible. I sit down and wait. Head still on the desk, his hood obstructs his eyes - he could be sleeping for all I know. After a long moment of nothing, Mr. Mitchell finally makes his way over with a card.

"Alex, you're - head off the desk, son. You're going to have to participate in this one."

He sits up and leans back, eyes on the table. So, he is awake. It must appease Mr. Mitchell enough because he goes on.

"Alex, you're an aspiring musician who can't hold down a job. Autumn, you work as a waitress making minimum wage, and the two of you share a one-bedroom apartment. Your conflict." He turns to me. "Autumn, you just found out you're pregnant. How are you going to make this baby fit into an already crowded home?" Our teacher places the card on the desk, smiling at the both of us. "I look forward to seeing what you two come up with."

Alex and I stare at the card.

So, not only are we paired together, we have to talk about our unplanned pregnancy and his lack of career stability? I close my eyes and cringe. How did I get into this mess? Sure, I could talk to Mr. Mitchell about switching partners, but I already know he's going to say no. There was something devious in his eye just now that said he paired us for a reason. He wants to see how this plays out and there's nothing I can do to change his mind.

Alex still hasn't moved.

Great.

Swiping the card from the desk, I read over it one more time. It's a s**t situation, both on the card and in real life. But maybe if we focus on the fake, it will distract from the real.

I pull my notebook closer. I write my name at the top, followed by spelling out the date - anything to prolong the having to talk to one another. When I've run out of things to write, I tap my pen on the spiral ring, staring at it. "So...where do you want to start?"

He shrugs.

"We could...talk about how much you bring in...how much I bring in." I risk a glance, but he's still staring at the desk. "Get a starting budget?"

Alex shrugs again.

I grab my pen and write his name on the paper, already irritated. Looks like I'm doing this one on my own as well. "So, you're an aspiring musician - " I stop, addressing the first question. "What instrument do you play?"

Alex pops his shoulders for the third time. This is going to be a long assignment if he's going to be as non-communicative as possible. I mean yeah, I know it's super awkward right now, but there's nothing we can do about it. Mr. Mitchell isn't going to let us switch partners just because it's weird being around one another. But that doesn't give Alex the excuse to dip out on the work.

"You don't care?"

He shakes his head.

"Fine." I draw a line under his name. If he wants me to do all the work, I will. "You can play the accordion."

"Not accordion."

I look up, surprised. "You didn't care a second ago."

Alex peeks from beneath the gray hood. "Not accordion."

He's still not giving me an answer, just telling me what he doesn't like. He can't be choosy if he's not willing to put in any effort. "Fine. You can play the harp."

He shakes his head.

"Tuba?"

Another shake.

"Triangle? Oboe? I know - the kazoo!"

"You're giving me stupid instruments." He sits up and shakes his head again, his focus on the desk. "Pick something cool."

"Pick it yourself."

"Fine. Guitar."

I roll my eyes. "Everyone says guitar."

"Not everyone can play it."

"Can you?"

Alex looks at me and like always, my heart stops. "Yeah. I can."

He says it almost meanly, but when his words settle, I realize I wasn't expecting them. So, Alex plays the guitar. Why is that shocking? I don't know anything other than that I'm not allowed to look at him, and he might have been obsessed with me. Once. There's no reason I'd know what he does outside of school.

"Are you any good?"

"Not really."

"Maybe that's why we're struggling." I smirk, writing the instrument under his name. At least he's participating now, even if it is only a few words at a time. But it's better than sitting across from someone choosing to stay mute.

"I mean, I'm - I'm not terrible." He shifts forward again, his focus back on the desk. "I'm... decent."

I should let it go, but Alex has been glaring at me for years - why should I make this easy for him? "Yeah, well, 'decent' doesn't sell out concert halls and we got a baby on the way, so," I write a number sign next to the word guitarist, "how much do you make from playing?"

Another shrug.

"Well...how much do you charge a show?"

"Ten."

I wait for him to go on and when he doesn't, I look up, startled to see his eyes on mine. It distracts me until I remember his response. "Ten? Ten dollars?"

He nods.

"You can't only be charging ten a show. How many are you going on - fifty a week?"

"My income doesn't come from playing." He snaps the card off the table and reads it. "It just says I can't hold down a job."

"Still." I make a face, my pen hovering over the paper. "So, what's your band's name?"

"What?"

"You said you played guitar."

Alex looks confused. Like, really confused. Like, I know something I shouldn't. I give it a moment to sink in, finally prompting him with a reminder. "Because you didn't want to play the accordion or harp - "

"Right. Yeah. My band's name. Uh...I don't know. You can make something up."

He's being weird about this. Maybe he didn't envision himself as part of a group. "Unless you're a solo artist?"

He shrugs.

I write a question mark next to the word band and move on. "We'll come back to that. So how often - "

"What about you?"

"Me?"

Alex shifts forward, pegging me a new expression, mostly because it's not filled with hatred. It's something else. Interest. Genuine interest in this - what we're talking about. "Let's say I bring in around...five hundred a week plus another...fifty for shows. Now," he makes it a point to tap my paper, "what about you?"

I scan our scenario, just as disappointed with the information as the first two times. "Let's see...it says I make minimum wage...doesn't mention anything about tips." I shrug and place the card back on the desk. "I must be a terrible waitress."

"You probably drop a lot of stuff."

"Maybe."

"And mess up orders."

I glare at him, daring him to say something else. When he doesn't, I write my name on the right side of the notebook and scribble the word waitress underneath. I put a money sign next to it and pause. "Maybe...four hundred a week?"

"Yeah. If it's the busy season at Cracker Barrel."

"I'm not working at Cracker Barrel."

His brows pinch. "Why?"

"I don't like their uniform."

"So?"

"So...I don't want to wear it."

"You know this is all pretend, right? You don't actually have to wear it. All that matters is that you make minimum wage and we," he reads the card again, confirming it, "live in a one-bedroom apartment. Even with our combined wages, we're barely making it." Alex sits back and crosses his arms, shaking his head. "I don't see how we're going to afford this baby."

"Great pep-talk."

He pegs me with a look.

"Really. You should take it on tour."

Rolling his eyes, he reaches for his notebook and copies the information from mine into his, his focus back on the paper. "We'll come back to your income."

"Fine."

"I guess...the next thing...is baby costs."

"You've got the food," I extend my fingers one by one, using them to count, "and the diapers, and the crib and changing table, and the all the new-born checkups and stuff." I look at Alex, seriously considering our options. He's not going to like it, but it's the only way we can make this work. "You're going to have to hold onto a job. Maybe get two."

"Why do I have to get two?"

"You want me to work two jobs while I'm pregnant?"

"No, I'll just work two and play shows."

"You're only bringing in ten dollars a show. Is it even worth it?"

"I have to play - I'm an aspiring musician! It's on - " he picks up the card and scans it quickly, " - it's on the card! That's part of our lifestyle."

"Fine." I give in, aware we've drawn attention. He must sense it too because he sinks back into his seat and tugs the hoodie strings, shrinking the space for his face. Obviously, I crossed a line by questioning the musician thing. Noted. Glancing over my notes, I try to get us back on track. "We'll just...both have to get better jobs."

"Don't forget," Mr. Mitchell reminds, "you'll only have the last fifteen minutes of class to work on this. I'd suggest exchanging contact information now so you can plan to work after school or on the weekends."

Alex and I stare at each other.