That question should be branded across my forehead. What’s people’s definition of ‘okay’ anyway? And are they asking because they’re genuinely concerned or is it something you ask just to be polite? I always assume it’s the latter. I don’t think people want to hear you answer any other way than optimistically because it saves them the trouble of actually caring.
Taking my bags from her, I force myself to smile. “Thanks, Mal. And yes, I’m okay.”
“I was so worried! I had to postpone my after-class talk with Hammond just so I could run after you. God, did you see him today?” And that is essentially the end of her concern. Once again putting the art of selective hearing to good use, I tune her out and find my mind drifting to the brief interaction with Maddox. His words, just like the last time, have an impact. They stay with me, playing over and over inside my head, while imprinting themselves inside my memory bank to scrutinize later.
***
Astronomy is my last class of the day. It’s also one of my favorite classes. But Mr. Solomon has a tendency to ramble and given my short attention span, I only listen with half an ear while he talks about the latest induction of Pluto as a planet again. What I’m really focused on is the front entrance of the classroom and how I find myself staring almost too neurotically at it. I know it’s stupid of me to think he’ll actually do something completely unexpected and show up to class but I can’t help the small surge of hope that keeps me tethered with futile expectation. I wait and wait the stretch of a small eternity only to end up with my hopes curdling inside me like blood from a fresh wound. Forty-five minutes into our fifty-five minute class and I’m forced to pay attention when Mr. Solomon gives us our latest assignment. Group project. Fun.
Luckily he splits the class into groups of two. Whoever you’re seated with is your partner. The girl who usually sits next to me, Mina, has been out sick since last week. I don’t have a partner. But that’s nothing new considering I do most of the work when I do end up partnered with someone in class. The bell rings and everyone picks up their things to leave. I trail behind. When I walk by Mr. Solomon’s desk, I stop. He’s hunched over a pile of papers, his red grading marker moving like a sword down the sheet in front of him, leaving a trail of bloody X’s behind.
“Mr. Solomon.” He stops grading and looks up with curious, teary hazel eyes.
“Yes, Aylee?”
I want to ask if I can bring the packet that outlines our project to Mina’s house and see if I can work on our assignment with her. What comes out of my mouth is something completely different. “I’d like to have Maddox as my partner…if that’s okay, I mean…” I trail off, my burst of impulse dying with my sentence.
Bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows shoot up to a receding hairline in obvious surprise. And I’m thinking we’re sporting the same expression because even I can’t believe what I just said.
“You do realize Maddox Moore hasn’t shown up to class since the beginning of the year, yes? We’re now nearing October and he’s missed a lot of assignments.”
I nod in agreement ready to tell him I agree and that this is a bad idea and that he should just forget it because I’m a crazy person. And crazy people generally don’t think things through. “I know, but I was thinking I’d be his partner for this assignment and that maybe if he was willing, I’d help him catch up with everything else he’s missed so far.” See, crazy talk from an extremely unstable girl.
Leaning back into his chair, he says, “Can I ask why the sudden interest in wanting to help Maddox?”
I shrug, unsure of how to reply. “I want to ask him to pose for me for my portfolio and I kind of figured if I help him he’d be more inclined to say yes.” That’s the basic gist of it. I want to capture the aesthetics of his dark beauty to a canvas in acrylic. That’s all there is to my obsession.
At Mr. Solomon’s pointed look and wry chuckle, my cheeks unexpectedly flame. “You’re one of my best students, Aylee. You’re extremely bright and you have a lot going for you. While Maddox...that kid is on a path to destruction. I’d hate to see you get mixed up with him.”
“You’d be surprised just how much a smile can cover up,” I say, with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. There’s a pause to his expression, like he’s trying to read more into what I just said. I don’t give him the opportunity. “I’ll be fine, Mr. Solomon.” I add just enough cheer to dissuade his confusion. “If it’s okay with you, then I’ll just bring him the project outline packet…?”
Pushing his chair away from his desk, he nods slowly as he reaches down to the drawer next to his left leg. “I don’t expect much, but if he agrees to work with you, then give him this.” He hands me the twenty-page, stapled packet for our project. “I’ll even consider letting him make up what he’s missed if you can get him to come to class. Bonus points if he actually stays awake for it.”
I let out a small laugh. “I don’t make any promises.”
Chapter 8
Aylee
What the heck am I doing? This isn’t me. This is the complete opposite of me. This is me taking my stalking to a whole new, completely psychotic level. These thoughts however seem to matter very little as I continue to pedal my way to Maddox’s house. The minute track practice finished, I stopped Noah to ask him for his home address only to learn that Maddox didn’t live with him.
“He lives in the housing projects in Trenton, near the old fire station on Fletcher. Apartment 5A. Why do you want to know?” he’d asked with a frown.
“We have a project for astronomy class and he’s my partner…”
He’d laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, Aylee, but astronomy—school in general, is the last thing on Max’s mind. As you can probably tell, he’s not really focused on passing his classes, let alone working on a school project. Trust me, I think you’d be better off asking Mr. Solomon to give you another partner, or better yet, just do it alone.”
Another person discouraging me from pursuing this thing with Maddox should’ve been reason enough to have me turning around and heading back home, because clearly this is a bad idea. But despite my better judgment, I keep going. It’s nearing five o’clock when I finally arrive at his apartment building. The gravity of what I’m doing doesn’t fully settle on me until I park my bike a few feet away from the building teeming with occupants who stare at me with full knowledge that I don’t belong here. Ignoring the heavy weight of their stares is a huge task that has my hands trembling as I fasten my bike lock to the black pole of theTow-Away Zonesign.
I head inside the building nearly gagging at the terrible smell that seems to stick to my taste buds. Shallow breaths make it tolerable, but barely. There’s so much noise coming from almost every door I pass. Arguing, pounding footsteps, and the muffled wails of a baby filter in from the paper-thin walls. When I finally get to apartment 5A, I’m suddenly overtaken with the overwhelming urge to flee. But my desire to see this through is so much stronger, it’s what drives me to raise a fisted hand ready to knock. Only there’s no need. The dark brown door has been left slightly open.
Deliberating on whether to go in or stay where I am to wait, I choose the former and push the door open a little further. Before proceeding inside, I give out a call. “Hello?” Tinged with nerves, it comes out too soft.
So I’m not surprised when there’s no answer. What does however take me off guard are the laboring breaths and heavy, guttural moans and grunts from inside that sound too much like a struggle. If it were anyone else, they would’ve probably gone in the opposite direction, clearly to avoid a possibly dangerous situation. I’m hurtling toward it without even a single thought to my own safety.
But I wish I did. I wish I’d taken a moment to consider my action. To listen more carefully and realize that the sounds could be something else. If I’d put more thought into it, I would’ve spared myself the scene I’m left to witness.
Maddox and two girls. They’re at a partial angle, but Maddox has his back facing the front entrance of where I’m currently rooted. He’s naked. In fact, they’re all naked. Except it’s on Maddox that my eyes lock on. Greedily, I take him in, feast on every inch of his fully-decorated, sinewy physique. There’s a massive tattoo of a geometric stag head on his back. It’s a breathtaking piece of work. Everything from the line work of the antlers running up his shoulder blades, to the shadowed details of the face, especially the eyes, is utterly astounding. Even the three simple black triangles that form the stag’s jawbone ending at the curve of his firm buttocks is something to behold.
