Lessons On Procrastination. 003. The Heart

CALLIE ANN:
i.
My knees hurt. My heart hurts also. Not in a heartache kind of way, but in the whatever it is that is keeping me alive sort of thing. It doesn't ache, but it is there, and sometimes it's like you can feel it there, even if that's absurd because you're just sitting in class and it's dull. It's not like I'm really happy or really sad or really anything. I'm just really sitting and it's really dull. I could even fall asleep on my ass right here, if I just rest my head on the desk, if I just close my eyes, I just...

ii.
Jeremy is giggling and I hate it. It's the only thing I can hear even though everyone else in the hallway is way louder than Jeremy could ever be. Fuck, it's not like it's that embarrassing.
"Shut up!", if I had an infuriated look, this would be the right time to use it, I'm sure. "Just, shut up. It isn't that funny."
Jeremy laughs. "You should-" I hate him, "Seriously, you should have seen your face."
I roll my eyes because I do have a rolling-eyes look and my mastered art tells me this is the perfect time for it. "Yeah, like you never fell asleep in class."
Jeremy puts on his vintage sunglasses as we approach the exit, the process forcing him to balance his books he never uses on his unoccupied arm. "But I do it with style, baby", he tells me and, okay, he probably does, I can not argue with Jeremy's sense of poise, even if it is falling asleep we're talking about.
So, and because, technically, he won his right to forever mock him, I punch him lightly on the arm, say, "Fucker!", lose my balance, ouch!, run into someone, someone familiar, avoid the brown eyes, avoid the brown eyes, avoid the brown eyes.
"Hi."
"Hey, Robbie." Avoid the... what? "... brown eyes. Fuck! I'm mad at you." Now this is embarrassing. Not like Robert's never seen me pee on the beach, anyway.
He smirks, the pale prick. "I know. I brought you your English book, just like I said I would." He hands me the book. I hold it like I've never seen it before and fight back the urge to rip off every single page of it and use said pages to paper-cut Robert's fingers, one by one, all ten of them.
I'm not sadistic, I swear.
"Thanks." I'm not really thankful, and Robert's not really as nonchalant as he now looks, but he wants to look it because that's how it works. I hate him.
The tall, pale figure walks away distractedly, eloquently even, his jeans loose and his t-shirt white and immaculate; hair messy, perfectly messy.
"I hate him", I murmur even when he's past the point of out of earshot and I know Jeremy is the only one who can hear me. Sometimes I wonder if Jeremy really is the only one who can hear me, like, all the time, even if he giggles and his purple vest is the most atrocious thing ever.
"Should grow some fucking balls", he says as we walk towards the regular coffee shop, hands in pockets or fumbling for cigarettes on bags.
I make a squealing noise trying not to get run over by a car on our way across the street. "I know! I'm so pissed at him."
Jeremy eyes me slightly superiorly, and maybe he's the only one I'll ever allow that.
"I meant you, sweetie."

iii.
Let me tell you something about Billie Jean. Billie Jean is my best friend, alright? She is probably the best specimen of the female population, I'll be the first to admit, and the girl has more talent in her middle finger than I have in my entire body.
Billie Jean is, also, one stubborn son of bitch.
That's why, of course, she's ignoring the hell out of me, when it's obvious she can't even remember why she's mad at me anymore. As if Robert wasn't trouble enough.
"Billie, can you pass me the sugar?"
"... so they had a good point, with the whole riot girrrl thing, but I just don't think you can just shove that shit down people's throats and expect them to listen to you right away. You really can't," she's telling Jeremy, who's listening to her intently as they both ignore my plea for sugar. Damn it, they know I can't drink my coffee sugarless.
They also know I hate it when they keep intelligent conversations I cannot participate in and make me feel small and dumb, but they do it anyway.
Ian distractedly passes me the sugar and I thank god for innocent bystanders.
"But on the other hand," Billie Jean keeps going, "they had to make a statement, and that was really the only way. It wasn't those women's fault if all the punk rock fuckers had decided to go macho man on their skinny asses. That's why I don't even listen to most 80's bands."
Jeremy hums agreeably. A dog could bite my butt cheek if I even know what they're talking about. Some ancient shit. As far as I'm concerned, The Doors and The Beatles are good music (Jeremy disagrees with the latter, says it was all about selling songs and not making them) and Nirvana is good music, Led Zeppelin is good music, etcetera, etcetera. I don't care what they stood for, as long as they sound good. All this punk rock and indie culture talk is bullshit to me.
Billie Jean would smack me on the forehead if I ever said this aloud.
"So Billie, are you going to give me a ride today after school?" I ask just for the sake of it. She's either going to yell at me or reluctantly say yes: either option is better than the ignoring option in my book.
She chews uninterestedly on her cheesecake. "Why? Are you going to apologize to me for being a stinky asshole?"
I blink. I seriously have no idea what I've done to her this time, and I feel like this is one of those moments where Billie started a fight without me (usually, she finishes them without my awareness or consent as well). I put on my traumatized face.
"BJ honey, Robert the drama queen is being a whiny bitch again, I'm sad and need a friendly shoulder to cry on. So if you'd be so kind as to forget whatever it was I said and, or did, loan me your cigarettes and take me places, that would be awesome." I finish with a pout. This is so going to work.
"Hey, what's my job in this environment, then?" Jeremy asks semi-offended, but I willingly ignore him and smile sadly at Billie. She ponders.
"Does that mean you miss me and admit I'm the best person you've ever met in your sad, pathetic life?" she asks, waving her fork in the air in my general direction, almost hitting Ian, innocent bystander Ian, in the eye.
I chuckle mockingly and she aims some cheesecake at my head, which I take proudly, smiling wide.