NaNoWriMo Excerpt XXII

Super long section - almost two thousand words - but it all goes together, so you'll just have to bear with me.

Jess needs work. She's just a shell right now. She'll get a HUGE makeover while I'm editing.

Word count at this point: 13668. Somewhere between days ten and eleven.

Harry got off the bus in better shape than he had expected he would. He'd woken up late, unaccustomed to his alarm, and his body seemed to still be tired, as if it hadn't gotten much rest. After he'd stumbled to the bathroom and taken a shower, he dried off with his towel, which had been hanging on a hook on the back of his door. He'd quickly brushed his teeth, then gone back to his room, nervously checking the hallway for any passersby before realising just how ridiculous this would look in his own home. He'd gotten dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt he'd found in his dresser, then repacked his backpack with the things he'd taken out the previous night, fervently hoping he would have everything he needed for the day. All the essentials covered, he had walked out the front door, breathed deeply, looked down the street, and sprinted madly for the road as he noticed the bus that would have passed him by if he hadn't hurried.

Harry was also happy that he was even still there. Whatever doubts he'd had had been entirely erased, and now he was sure he'd be staying for good. This was a huge burden lifted off of his shoulders, and it cheered him greatly. All things considered, he was in a pretty damn good shape for his second day at the job that most people called 'life'. Thus, he didn't really expect the gigantic slap in the face he received upon walking into the cafeteria.

As someone's hand connected with Harry's cheek, his thought process terminated, and he went into instinct mode. He grabbed the hand before it left his general area and held it, tightly, as he got a good look at who'd attacked him.

She was a girl, he noticed, from both the size of the wrist and the feminine appearance. A moderately attractive girl, but one that Harry would not have been particularly drawn to. She was shorter than Harry, though she wore shoes that added to her height, and of average weight. She had black hair that looked dyed, stormy grey eyes, and lips that were just thin enough that they were almost unpleasant. The colour scheme was matched in her clothing- it was all dark, aside from the neon outlines on a shirt that proclaimed loudly the name of what Harry assumed was her favourite band. Though he didn't approve much of her attire - the clothing was far too gothic, in Harry's opinion - he did like her shoes. They were a bright neon purple that Harry quite enjoyed, peeking out from under the hems of her skinny jeans.

"How could you?!" she yelled. Luckily, it was hidden under the noise of the cafeteria in its full morning rush. Harry didn't want to make a scene, least of all before he knew just exactly where he was and where the exits were. She wrenched her hand out of his grasp and stood pointedly forward, her temper visibly at a full roiling boil. Her eyes could now rightfully be called stormy, as they seemed to crackle and simmer like lightning striking amidst clouds.

After everything had processed and Harry's brain had caught up, he found himself with a conundrum. She had been the offender in this situation - generally when one slaps another, the blame is put upon the first - yet, she seemed to be blaming him. What could he possibly have done in the time he'd been here? It had been less than twenty hours, and yet he was already in trouble.

Incredulity seemed the only appropriate response. "What did I do?!" he asked, rubbing his cheek and sounding hurt, quite truthfully. He was bewildered and rather outclassed in attitude and confidence. She had taken him quite successfully by surprise.

She was quite obviously ready for this question. She shifted her stance to be even more aggressive, which, if Harry had been thinking about it, he would have thought impossible. "You stood me up; that's what you did!" she shouted, though they luckily avoided widespread attention once more. "I waited at that stupid theatre for more than a half hour for you," she continued. She stopped Harry as he began to protest, holding her finger authoritatively in the air. "And this is the third time you've done this to me!" Finished, she angrily threw it back against her side.

A puzzled look covered Harry's face until he understood; then he froze, horrified. He was dating this girl? Harry's ratings of the previous Harry Blain's taste plummeted in freefall, now at less than half of what they had been before. His music had been fine - there were a few edgy bands, but a lot of jazz, and some great classics - but his taste in girls had apparently been horrible. Harry would never look twice at this girl; she was not his type, he not hers, and the type of girl that this was and the type of guy that Harry was lived completely separate and wonderfully happy lives, entirely apart from one another. Perhaps he'd been dared to ask her out?

"What are you just standing there for?" she demanded. Though she'd quieted down a little as she'd spoken the second time, she easily reached the level of 'shout' again. "Say something!" Harry had the sudden urge to cover his ears, but assumed correctly that this would probably have been a bad idea. (He wasn't eager to imagine the possible consequences, but before he could completely shut them out of his mind, he figured out that all of them involved him lying in pieces on the floor. Harry did not deal well with dismemberment.)

Harry stuttered, stalling for time. "I- I just- I guess I was-..." Harry knew that if he mentioned the word 'forgot', his fate would be the same as if he'd covered his ears in a trice. "My dad wouldn't let me out. He made me do my homework." Where exactly Harry pulled this excuse from, he wasn't sure - and if this girl knew his father remotely, or his homework situation - she'd see right through it. He hadn't had much the night before, and certainly not enough to warrant a lockdown.

Luckily, she wasn't aware of this, or wasn't smart enough to tell that he was lying, or perhaps was too mad to care. She seemed to soften a bit, though her face was still ugly with anger. "You didn't call, or anything," she said, still angry, but no longer at ear-splitting volume.

That's because I don't know your number, thought Harry, indignant at how unfair the entire thing was. Of course he hadn't shown up- he hadn't even known she existed until her hand had made sharp contact with his face. "I'm sorry," placated Harry. "My dad took my phone away, too."

Her face darkened again, and Harry feared the worst. Now where had he misstepped? "You don't even have a phone, you liar," she snapped, punctuating the last word with a punch to his shoulder that Harry rolled away from. She made an unhappy noise as her fist barely made contact.

"Hey; quit it with the abuse, okay?" said Harry defensively. She really was quite the abrasive character. Harry didn't like it much at all; he hoped that she wouldn't continue to be like this. "I meant the line in my room." Harry didn't know- this might have been true, though he hadn't seen a phone anywhere in his room the night before. "My dad practically locked me in there, and without my phone or my computer. I couldn't get to you. I'm sorry," Harry tried again.

She seemed to have finally burned down a little. "Fine," she relented. "But I'm still mad," she threatened, looking darkly upwards at Harry.

"Jeez," muttered Harry, to himself. The girl, whose name he should probably learn fairly soon, if she really was his girlfriend, did not seem to understand the 'to himself' part of the muttering.

"What was that?" she said, sharply.

Harry was a little fed up with the whole thing. "I said 'jeez'," said Harry. "I was- I am feeling a little like I'm under assault here. I said I'm sorry, and I meant it," lied Harry, though as he came to understand the situation more, he really was feeling guilty.

She took a quick breath in and looked directly at him, obviously about to retort angrily, but bit her lip and let the breath out, looking down. She flicked her eyes back up. "I'm still mad, and I mean that," she said carefully, watching her figurative moral step. "But I can tell that you're sorry for real. And I'm sorry for yelling." Harry let out a breath, then couldn't take another one in to make more amends, because she was kissing him.

Harry had never stayed in one place long enough to participate in that particular activity before. He got the general idea from seeing it done, but remained woefully ignorant to the nuances. Caught off guard, he could only hope that Harry Blain hadn't been a particularly good kisser, either. He closed his eyes, which was the one thing that he had picked up on that one was generally supposed to do while kissing.

When the synapses in his brain started firing again, he realised that they were in the middle of the hallway, blocking everyone's way, and moreover, they were in the middle of the hallway, in the centre of the school. Surrounded by people. Harry opened his eyes in a panic, then realised that it wasn't really an odd thing to see in a high school. It still made him uncomfortable, though, especially because some people had noticed in the table closest to them, and were chuckling embarrassingly to themselves.

Harry wasn't sure why, but his eyes stayed open, and wandered to the right- where they found Kate. Kate, who was sitting in a booth. Kate, who might have looked like she was waiting for someone, had she not had a heartbreakingly distraught look on her face that very quickly disappeared when she noticed him watching. She broke the eye contact abruptly, staring down at something she had on the table. Harry felt burningly uncomfortable, suddenly.