Untitled Chapter 10 (Indifference)

    Michael had sworn himself to protect me and keep me alive. It turns out that it means practically every second of everyday. “Invasion of privacy” is an understatement. For the next week, I’m lucky to be able to go to the bathroom by myself.
    He doesn’t necessarily hang out with me--or talking to me--but he’s always there, almost always less than twenty feet away--even in my bedroom. And if he’s out of sight, like when Amy picks me up for school, I know he’s close.
    And strangely enough, I believe everything Michael had. I really do believe he’s trying to protect me. I do feel safer.
     I study him throughout the days, I realize and take note of a lot of things about him. His voice is smooth and whispery, even when speaking at a normal volume. Like when he talks, he either looks directly in your eyes, or not at all. The way he’s always alert and on guard--they way a soldier might be. How he seems to never have any expression on his face--maybe he comes off as callous--but sometimes during class, I see him zoning out like he always does and a sad, tortured look comes across his face and I wonder what he’s thinking. His eyes are always intense, but I can never seem to read them.
    Oddly, I want to hang around him…get to know him--crack that shell of indifference and find out what’s on the inside.
    Even if he is on Amy’s blacklist, which she reminds me of after a week of Michael always lurking without saying anything.
    “It’s fine Amy.” I say. “I talked to him.”
    “Aaand?”
    “And there’s nothing to worry about.” I reply.
    “Look, Lia, I know you like this guy--”
    “I don’t like him.” I snap.
    “Oh please.” She says. “You totally do or else you wouldn’t be eye stalking him all day and he wouldn’t be giving you a ride home from school today on the back of his motorcycle.”
    So I’ll admit it. I’ve always had a weakness for guys with motorcycles.
    “Well, he wouldn’t have to give me a ride home if you’d just skip softball practice.”
    “Well I wouldn’t have to reject giving you a ride if you hadn’t totaled your car.” She retorts and I give up, grudgingly.
    “Well, I don’t like him.” I repeat, although I’m seriously starting to have my doubts as I glance over at Michael sitting at his usual morning table in the courtyard. I pull out my phone and text him, Stop staring. It’ creepy. Yur already on Amy’s bad side.
    “Who are you texting?” Amy asks, knowing fully well that I rarely text anyone except her, during non-school school hours.
    “Jas.” I lie.
    At least it’s a believable lie. Jas and I have stuck together as much as possible in classes since the beginning of Freshman year. She’s one of the few who‘s still as close to me as she was before, even after finding out everything. She’s also bitched out Sage Thompson for saying s**t about people who get abortions.
    "Are you still going to do my makeup for prom?" Amy asks.
    Usually, her boy cousin turned girl does our makeup for school dances, but he/she had moved to Vegas, so since I'm the second best makeup artist and we have no desire to pay to get our make up done...
    The bell rings and pick up my purse from the table beside me. “I’ll see you at recess.”
    When I get to class, Michael says hello in his usual smooth, whispery voice that makes my heart jump and then, like always, his quiet for the rest of the period. But instead of just walking near me on the way to class, he actually walks with me.
    During Biology, Melony flirts with him and I wonder why it bothers me so much. I’d never taken notice how they flirt with him before, but as the day goes on, it seems that a lot of girls--or the unabashed girls, anyway--do.
    It isn’t easy to forget how good looking Michael is. Not at all delicate--more interesting. His icy blue, almost grey eyes--eyes that are looking right at me.
    “Is something wrong?” He asks quietly.
    “No.” I say, feeling my face flush as I turn away.
    When the day is over, I follow Michael out to the parking lot and watch as he attaches my gym bag to onto the back of the giant piece of metal, feeling a little bit afraid. It’s always been on my list of things to do before I die--riding on the back of a motorcycle with a guy that is, I’d just never imagined it’d be under these circumstances.
    Michael straddles the bike and hold out a black helmet to me.
    I hesitate before taking it from him and slipping it over my head. He reaches a hand back over his shoulder to help me on the seat behind him and I realize how insecure I feel with a narrow strip of seat beneath me.    
    There isn’t exactly a lot of space on the seat and it’s tilted forward so that my body presses up against his.
    “Is it hard to drive?” I ask, leaning back, trying to touch him as least as possible.
    “No.” Michael says as he zips up his black leather jacket. “You’re tense. Relax.”
    I’m guessing that’s the closest thing to comfort I’m ever going to get.
    “Hold on tight.”
    I wrap my arms around him and my grip only tightens when the explosion of movement startles me. My thighs squeeze round him as he accelerates down the street. I hope I’m the only one who notices.
    When we reach the park, Michael eases the bike up to the sidewalk.
    I remove the helmet and slip, not too gracefully, off the bike and hand him the helmet.
    “I’ll see you at six.” He says, pushing the helmet over his own head.
    “Wrong.” I say. “I’ll see you at six. You’ll see me the entire time I’m chasing after and yelling at kids. Stalker.” I add in at the end with a smile.
    “All the same.” He replies indifferently and then takes off down the street.