Chapter 1: Post #2, Flash Fiction: A First Attempt

Prompt: A revenge story.
"Cold and Cool"

 I'm  not going to look at him. Not now, not ever again.
 The bus's seats are grey and wrinkled and leathery, and the houses that rush past are pretty enough to look at. Winter makes everything prettier, I think.
 When I get off it at school, he's waiting. I don't have to look at him to know; a part of me is distinctly and constantly aware of where he is. That's a problem that I'll have to correct. A flash of red and grey is all I get before pushing past him and into the throng, into the school of minnows. Dart, dart away from the shark.
 Is calling him a shark giving him too much credit? No, but giving him my mind, my attention, is. He doesn't get that. He doesn't deserve that. I deserve a muffin. It was only sixty-five cents, and I have practice today, so I can eat a little extra. I make sure that I'm talking extra loud to Katie when he walks by. He won't interrupt, I know; he's too "polite" for that.
 Bio isn't important, because he's not there, so I get to let my guard down a bit. Next is English, which is hard. He tries once or twice to talk to me.
 "I really want to talk."
 "I get that you're mad. You should be. But-"
 The teacher yells, and he's quiet for five minutes more.
 "Do you need time? That's-- that's okay. I get that. I would want time."
 To his credit, he never gets that mad. Not even frustrated. He never got frustrated, not even that time I had a flat tire on the highway. He had repeatedly told me about ignoring the flat tire sign, but I never did.
 "Dammit!!!"
  He looks over and puts a hand on my shoulder. I swat it away.
  "Not now, Andrew."
   He smiles. I can feel it, even as I stare at the stupid little yellow light and run my fingers through my hair.
  "I really don't see how this is funny."
  "It's not, not really. But it's still gonna be okay. We'll call the guy, and he'll come fix it, and...that'll be that."
  I glare at him. "Stop being so calm. It's obnoxious."
  "I thought being obnoxious was obnoxious."
  I narrow my eyes at him. He's being logical, and I don't want to be logical right now, I want to be mad at the stupid flat tire. This isn't even that old of a car.
   I call the guy from the repair service, and he says he'll be out here in twenty. I tell Andrew, and he leans over to the radio and turns it up.
   "I hate this song," he tells me, "but I think you might be able to change my mind."
   I sigh and roll my eyes, but I still lean in and kiss him.
   I leave English class. He has the sense not to follow me, which is fantastic.
   String Ensemble, then Study Hall, neither of which he's in. Also fantastic.
   Everything else flows together like the stream after a flood, filled with bits of houses and planks of wood. Also, mud. There's a lot of mud I have to wade through. Finally, I get to the end of the day, and practice. The pool feels nice after all of the dirt and grime of the school day; plus, he has musical rehearsal, so I know he can't come bother me with more logic and apologies.
  My arms burn, and my eyes burn, and I keep going. As long as I'm here, I don't have to think about second chances or first loves. At some point it ends, and I drive home. Mom talks to me for awhile in my room, and runs her fingers through my hair. It feels nice.
   I didn't look at him all day, and I'm proud of that. I bet it hurts. I bet he wishes I would look at him.
   My iPod is lying on the dresser. My room is dark, but I still manage to creep over and grab it.
   He's the wallpaper. I'm in it, too, but I didn't choose that picture to admire myself. He's got one half of our nerdy Halloween costumes from three months ago on.
   My iPod turns off, since I haven't done anything. I turn it back on, and stare at that picture for the longest time.