I know he’s not interested in talking, but turning the radio on would still feel like telling him to shut up.
I could think of a thousand things to say if left to my own devices - but my body has felt like one big system error for the last five years.
I have a thousand things I want to say and I don’t feel like saying any of them, staring at the back of his curly head as he studies his scrawny arm resting on the windowsill, with something like stubborn pride that unsettles me.
“How do you calculate the length of the hypotenuse?” I blurt brusquely, like it’s a dare.
“I don’t need you to quiz me, Lady Licorice,” He doesn’t turn his gaze from his arm, rolling down his sleeve until it hides his bloodless hands.
“Excuse me for trying to keep you out of summer school,” I sniff with more than genuine vehemence. “Remind me who got a ‘D’ on their last test?”
“I didn’t study for that one. I studied for this one,” he says in an exasperated monotone, crossing his arms over his chest - leaning forward against the seat belt like he’s a ragdoll just barely being kept upright.
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