All of this should be helping dampen my feelings for him. No such luck. I look at him and still my chest feels hollow, and I get lost for a moment. So much so I miss when the two of them have their man make-up. It only consisted of a few grunts and everything seemed to go back to normal. Berkley grabs my hand and brings me back to reality.
“I’m gonna piss. Can I leave without you two breaking shit? I rather enjoy the game room,” Davis asks. They all give each other that man chin nod I’ll never understand.
“Your hand okay?” I look down at his hand grabbing mine, remembering how he’d snapped the mechanical pencil like it was nothing. Not that they are hard to break but hard enough I would think you’d have to know you were doing it. He doesn't answer me. His finger drifts back and forth across my wrist.
“Your skin is always so soft.”
Now it’s me that does not respond.
“Lotion?”
What is going on here? I swallow, feeling my heart start to pound harder.
“Were you kissing Davis?”
“What!” I half shout, pulling my hand harder this time, making him let it go. I know half the school thinks Davis and I are together, but it seems that Berkley thinks that too. How? He’s around us all the time. He should know better.
“Never mind.”
“Yeah, never mind is right.” I turn away from him, going back over to where everyone is sitting. I grab my notebook to sit back down. I try to follow along and get as much work done as I can, but every time I let my eyes drift over to Berkley, he’s staring at me. I try not to fidget. I also try not to drive myself insane.
“I’m beat.” Davis falls over on the sofa behind me. He actually does look beat. Not any more so then when he plays four quarters of a game. I look over his work for him. When I finally get done, he’s actually snoring.
“I’ve never met anyone who can do that. He can pass out on the bus home from a game with everyone cheering,” Mike says. It is an impressive skill. One I wish I had. I’ve been sleeping like crap lately.
Any other day I’d let him sleep and hang out, but I have no intentions of hanging out with only Berkley. With how Mike and Syracuse are packing up, they are about to bounce out.
“You still want me to check out your computer tomorrow?” Syracuse asks, catching me off guard. My whole face flushes. Not because of Syracuse but because he brought up the whole embarrassing moment of my life again with Berkley standing right there.
“I’ll look at it,” Berkley grits out before I can respond. I watch his hand ball into a fist. I’m just happy he isn't holding another pencil. I think this pandemic is starting to get to him as much as it is Davis.
“I’ll text you later?”
“Yeah, sure.” Syracuse looks as confused as I am about Berkley’s tone, but it’s not completely abnormal for him. What's more abnormal if you ask me is the amount he is talking at all.
“You don’t need to text him. I said I’ll fix it.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, not wanting to fight with him in front of everyone. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. When I get a look at my red face in the bathroom mirror I know I have to get out of here. I’ll ask Syracuse and Mike if I can ride with them. I decide this before I exit the bathroom, but they are already gone.
“I’ll take you home,” Berkley says as we stand alone in his game room except for one snoring Davis, who is dead to the world again. I should have listened to myself. Yep, this was a bad idea. I was setting myself up for more heartbreak.Chapter NineBerkley“Why am I fixing this?” I grumble as I wiggle a few cables inside the massive hard drive that is Chandler’s busted computer. I don’t know shit about computers, but I wasn’t about to let Syracuse have some alone time with Chandler. The only solo time she spends is going to be with me, which is why I’m here at her kitchen table while she’s making dinner.
“Because it’s your fault that it broke,” she retorts.
I bend over the computer to hide my confusion. I don’t remember causing this, but it’s possible. I think back to our past conversations, trying to pinpoint the moment that I had done something to cause her to knock her computer over and ruin it. And if I was at fault, why didn’t she accept the laptop? Her responses baffle me a lot. “There are some loose cords, but it’s still not responding. I think it’s busted.”