Chapter Three

Sometimes, when people learned that my dad was in a coma, hooked up to a monitor and had tubes stuck into his arms and face, they would look at me with pity. I didn't mind; I thought it was pretty pitiful, sitting there telling a stranger that your dad was in a coma anyway, but what I couldn't handle was when they smiled tightly and said: "I'm sorry."

It didn't make sense to me, why they would be sorry. It wasn't their fault. It was mine. I should be sorry. And I was. The guilt crawled up my spine and impaled itself in the back of my head everyday right after I woke up and blinked back the sleep from my eyes and it would all come rushing back to me, everything fresh again, as I stared up at the ceiling and let it claw at my insides for the rest of the day.

I would nod at them, these overly sympathetic people, who were "there" for me, but not really because they had to go to their son's soccer game the next day in between forgetting my name and buying coffee and a donut for brunch. But they insist that I can talk to them and I insist that I'm fine when really I'm not but I would rather walk on nails than share my feelings because no one understood and no one would ever understand because I was too guilty and pathetic to explain any of it.

Instead I convinced myself that I'm fine and for the most part, I am. As much as I could be, considering the situation and the situation is that I am basically the reason my dad is in a coma but I tried not to think about it.

"Hellooo." A voice brought me back to the world of the living. I blinked to Nadia waving a manicured hand in front of me face. "Are you in there?"

In the front of the class, I see my teacher look up from her phone and scowl in our general direction. I wait for her to go back to furiously texting -- most likely her ex whom she frequently complains about because the poor soul accidentally forgot her birthday and now he was sending her roses and chocolate while she sent him mixed signals.

"Sorry." I apologised. "I was thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Ha ha." I rolled my eyes, before turning to her. "Did you need something?"

"Today I heard something interesting." Nadia grinned.

I tried to keep my face indifferent upon hearing this. I wasn't deaf to the rumours being distributed about me, especially after that confrontation with Cody or Cade or whatever his name was. The school was a giant pot and the students dumped crap into is and stirred it by spreading it around the entire building. ("What news of the outside world?", asks Frodo, "tell me everything!" Gandalf stares into the distance."The world is shit," he says, solemnly.)

"I heard..." Nadia was saying, pausing for some kind of dramatic effect that was working because I was nearly on the edge of my seat. "...that Hailey Brown kinda likes you."

I blinked. Who?

"Oh my God," My sister interrupted, "I heard that too, like a week ago. I thought it was the stupidest thing ever. Like who would like you?"

"I feel so loved." I said, sarcastically.

"She's obviously blind." Salma went on, ignoring me.

"Poor girl." Nadia shook her head dramatically, eyes closed. "She can do better."

"Aw, are you jealous?" I teased.

"Don't make me laugh."

"Don't worry," I fluttered my eyelashes at her. "You're the only one for me."

"Gross!" Nadia laughed and I resisted the urge to close my eyes and let the sound overtake me.

We fell silent as the teacher walked by, scanning out assignments which we sort of started to make it look like we were working. In reality, we were mostly goofing off and occasionally passing snacks whenever the teacher wasn't looking. I loved the easy mood this class in this room and I wished every class could be the same. Maybe it was just because of Nadia. Whenever I was near her it was like everything inside me became calm.

It ended too soon.

The rest of the day dragged on, and I barely made it through History. Cody -- I'll just refer to him as so, because I really couldn't be bothered to find out his actual name -- ignored me entirely. He didn't have to pay me attention, not with the wild rumours that were being spread about my involvement with terrorist groups. He was sitting back and watching, because why would he get up and kick me when my reputation already was?

I almost wept in relief when the lunch bell rang, and I quickly made my way outside. I'd learned to give up eating in the cafeteria, after experiencing first hand the feeling of everyone's eyes on you. It was unbelievable, the effect of Cody's lies on the student body. Suddenly, people were inching away if I stood near them and casting suspicious glances at my backpack.

I sat down against a tree, near the school's parking lot and pulled out my sandwich. I was halfway done and staring at nothing in particular when two neon blue shoes entered into the edges of my peripheral vision. I looked up to a skinny, blond boy staring down at me with large green eyes. He looked familiar.

"You're sitting in my spot." He said and his voice was high and slightly feminine.

I remembered now, where I'd seen the kid before. He was a freshman and often the brunt of people's jokes. I'd seen him once or twice in the hallways, always ducking his head as people snickered when he passed by. Some people thought he was gay, others thought he had autism. I couldn't care less what other people thought because, well, people were screwed up.

"Sorry." I grumbled, and made to get up.

"No, it's okay." He chirped, "I'll sit beside you."

I had no time to object because he immediately dropped to the ground pulled out a lunch box, a pudding cup, three candy bars and a thermos. My eyebrows were up there in the clouds as he continued to reach into his backpack to add more packaged food to the freaking picnic he'd arranged in front of me. As he finally concluded by placing his last food item -- a tray of Lunchables -- to his five course meal, he snapped his lunch box open, and the scent of instant noodles shot up my nose. He looked up at me as his slurped his noodles.

"I think I've seen you before." He said, addressing me as if he hasn't just spent the last six minutes setting up a buffet.

I looked around me. It wasn't that I was embarrassed to be talking to a kid this unpopular. It was that I wasn't looking for a conversation right then. I looked back at him and his round, curious eyes. I gave up, and nodded slowly.

"Yeah?" I asked, and added bitterly: "Most of the time people recognise me as the kid with the good grades."

And the dad in a come and recently, the terrorist, I added silently. The kid nodded and then grinned.

"You're Salma's brother!" He declared, reaching for a candy bar.

"Uh, yeah." I mumbled. "You know her?"

"She's in my Homeroom." He nodded.

"Oh." I said and then asked: "what's your name?"

"Ian Calder Smith. My grandma named me after my grandpa. They met in France and moved to America after they married." He announced and I wondered when I'd asked him to recount his ancestry.

"Abdullah." I offered my name. "Nice to meet you."

"It is nice." He nodded, seriously and I was caught between laughing and staring incredulously. "You seem like a good egg."

Egg? What the heck.

Ian was incredibly...simple. But not in a bad way. He was like an oblivious little newborn, with wide eyes and an innocent, expressive face. It made me want to protect him from the difficulties of the world, keep him oblivious to the horrors on the planet. I studied him and noticed for the first time that the kid was wearing patterned pyjamas. I shook my head in amusement.

"Why are there dinosaurs on your pants?" I asked, pointing at his pyjamas. Honestly, was the kid asking to be bullied?

"Why not?"

I stared at him. "Are you like five?"

"For having blood thirsty animals the size of small buildings on my PJs?" He blinked, pausing from shovelling pudding into his mouth.

I sat back, unable to think of a good response to that. "Good point."

He grinned, and went back to inhaling his pudding cup while I went back to finishing my sandwich, thinking I might have jumped to conclusions thinking the kid was simple. He was simply strange, that's what he was.

"You're lucky." He said suddenly and I stared at him, confused by his outburst. "You're like super smart and you have good grades. You could get into anything you want after you graduate."

"I guess..." I shrug.

"So, what do you want to go into?" He asked like he was my freaking guidance counsellor.

"I don't know yet." I answer, scowling.

I don't know because I haven't given it much thought. I don't know because for the last month and a half my dad has been in a coma, my family was drifting apart and my classmates weren't helping any, the way they were prancing around and spreading rumours about my pitiful home life.

Ian nodded and turned his eyes towards the school and stared off into space, a twizzler hanging out of the side of his mouth, while I thought that maybe I didn't mind sharing my lunch hour with him, even though he was irritatingly blunt and asked questions that I didn't want to think about. Other than that, he wasn't terrible company. There weren't many people I knew who made silence feel comfortable.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of the glorious free hour, Ian packed up his leftovers -- which could probably last a couple of days -- and stood up. He brushed himself off before straightening and flashing me a wide smile.

"So, see you tomorrow?" He asked, hopefully.

"Sure." I nodded, and he beamed.

I waved him goodbye and turned, making my way back to school to endure further legalised torture. I have two more classes before I can stumble out of the student infested school, into an evening filled with more homework and tears. Oh, joy.

And so the day ensued and I miraculously survived but not without Ian's probing question repeating itself in my mind. It bothered me because it's the same question my dad continuously asked and I always spent unhealthy periods of time trying so hard to figure it out.

What do I want to go into?

It's pathetic because I don't know. It's pathetic because I lie in bed that night, the house silent and disturbed only by a cricket's chirping or a strong gust of wind that makes the curtains flutter wildly and soon it's 3 AM and birds are singing their lungs out right outside the window while I stare at the ceiling, eyes burning every time I blink and all I think is: why does it even matter?

Why does anything even matter?

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New character! Yay :) 

Votes, comments and ice cream (because it is super hot today like omg) is appreciated!