"P-pen? Sure." I turned back in my chair and yanked one out of my case, slamming it on his desk before turning back. Flames felt like they were licking my face, and I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.
Because why did I always stutter around him?
And why did I sound so mad just then?
And, most importantly... why is he in colour?
Perhaps it's a side effect of the gene mutation therapy, my brain whispered.
A side effect occurring two years on? I pondered back. Highly unlikely. And, also, if it for some reason is, why would he be causing the side effect?
My heart was thudding in my chest as Miss Fitzgerald started the lesson. But none of her words were sinking in, the world seeming to plunge into the depths of an ocean with sound becoming a voiceless hollow. The floor seemed to be taking me consciously, but physically I remained for everyone to stare at.
Or, at least, assume I was being stared at. My eyes were turned to my desk as I avoided looking at anyone or anything as I tried to ease my heart and cool my face.
"Indigo? Indigo!" someone calling my name pulled me back to reality. Head whipping up, I frantically searched the room for the source of the voice.
My teacher stood in front of my desk, concern marring her expression.
"You okay?" she questioned.
"Y-yeah," I muttered back, nose pinching as I realised I was stuttering again.
Is this another side effect of him? A bad case of the stutters? How cliche.
"Do you need to go get a drink?" the teacher then softly asked as she crouched down by my desk.
"What? A drink? No..." My brows knotted together as I began to wonder if my face had gone red like the books always say it does. Did I look that flushed? That overheated?
"The bathroom then?" she added.
I shook my head, but the teacher leaned closer.
"It's just, you look like you could use some fresh air... Did you have a rough weekend?"
Gaze snapping back to my teacher's, reality finally set in. Was she offering me an out from the embarrassment that was evident on my face? Or was I just looking that distraught?
Numbly, I gave her a slow nod, so she grabbed my diary and filled it in for me. "Don't take too long."
And, with that, I left the room, slipping my sunglasses on as I exited and forwarded off to the bathroom.
I took five minutes to splash my face and take deep breaths, pep-talking myself about how my reaction was simply because I was really enjoying the colour and not the boy...
Feeling slightly calmer, I walked back to the classroom and did everything in my power to not look his way.
And, just like last Monday, when the teacher dismissed us at the end of the lesson, I took off. Despite his calls after me about returning my pen...
•❃°•°❀°•°❃•
"He's still in colour," I muttered to Carys as the teacher turned her back during science in the following period.
"What?" she said back, barely glancing at me as she took her notes.
"Harley," I whispered. "He's still in colour."
From the corner of my eye, I watched Carys's pen slip across her page before her head whipped around to me. "Seriously?" she barked.
The teacher turned on us, a displeased crease already marking her forehead. "Carys and Indigo, class time is for learning, not talking."
"Sorry miss," we both muttered in unison, ducking our heads.
But, as she turned back around to the board to write, Carys ever so quietly whispered to me, "I'm going to need every detail at lunch, but my gosh this is so exciting."
I merely responded with an eyeroll.
•❃°•°❀°•°❃•
"Still in colour?" she was quick to demand as we exited the classroom. I hadn't even gotten to my bag to put my things away.
"Yeah," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks beginning to heat again.
"That is so... peculiar. Did you two talk at all?"
"Same thing. He just asked for a pen." I slipped my belongings into my bag and took a seat at the bench nearby—Carys and I didn't have to go far from our science room for our usual lunch seat.
"Is it because he's gorgeous?"
"I have no clue... it's not like I haven't seen or spoken to attractive people before though. Like, why him of all people?"
"Maybe because he's your age and in reaching distance? Like you think there's a chance."
I barked a laugh as I started to unwrap my sandwich. "A chance? I'm a vision-impaired, homeschooled, never-been-kissed girl who has only exchanged stutters as he's asked me for a pen. I highly doubt our interactions leave much for me to hope for. Besides... you said he was bad news. So... where's any hope there?"
"Then it has to be because he's cute."
Heaving a groan, I said, "Why can't I see actors I find cute in colour in that case? It would be much more useful." Immediately Timothée Chalamet sprung to mind, tugging a small smile onto my face.
"Ahh, indeed... but alas, Harley is the only one for you."
I heaved a sigh and rested my head against the pole behind me. "Why him?"
Carys gave me a small shrug. "A part of me wants to encourage you to find out... but, also, as your self-appointed best friend, it's my job to look after you. And I know, if you were to get involved with him, things wouldn't end well. So I strongly recommend that you live your life never knowing."
My brows knotted together as I tried to process her advice, but my heart glowed with glee to hear her call me her best friend... "Well, considering I struggle to even get my pen back from him without becoming Professor Quirrell—or Porky Pig, take your pick—then I don't think we're ever going to reach dangerous territory. I'm just mostly curious about how long this phenomenon will last. And... why him."
She pressed her lips together, the joy dropping from her face as her gaze searched me. "Just, be careful, Indi. If you do end up talking to him, remember you can never fall for him. And never even be his friend."
"That's a bit much isn't it?"
But she shook her head. "Trust me, Indi. Trust me."
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