"You're not sitting with us today, are you?" she said while wiggling her eyebrows. Normally, this would have really upset Jessica, but I think she was feeling so validated by the idea of Mike liking her and the hour-long process I went through to describe that to her, that she didn't even care where I sat today. In fact, I think she wanted me gone so she could have some privacy with Mike. It was like my dream come true.
"I don't think so". I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't disappear inconveniently again. But then I remembered the promise he had delivered to me, and remembered how much I trusted him to fill it...
But outside the door to our Spanish class, leaning against the wall—looking more like a Greek god than anyone had a right to225—Fredward was waiting for me. Jessica took one look, rolled her eyes, and darted off towards the lunch room, probably to find her gay-horse boyfriend.
"See you later, Bella," she said, after she was already halfway down the hallway. Her voice was thick with implications.
"Hello," His voice was amused, irritated, and thick at the same time. He had been listening; it was obvious.
"Hi."
I couldn't think of anything else to say, and he didn't speak—biding his time, I presumed—so it was a quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Fredward through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here: everyone stared.
"You walk really fast, Fredward." I observed. It came out more like a criticism than I had intended it.
"Sorry." He replied, firmly. "But relationships are all about compromise." He reminded me. I shut my mouth.
He led the way all the way to the food line, still not speaking, though his eyes returned to my face like birds fly South every winter, their expression speculative. It seemed to me that irritation was winning out over amusement as the dominant emotion in his face.226 I fidgeted nervously with the zipper on my jacket.
He stepped up the counter and filled a tray with food.
"What are you doing?" I objected. "You're not getting all that for me?" I asked, remembering that Fredward doesn't eat food. I leaned forward towards him, craning my neck into an uncomfortable position. "Fredward!" I whispered into his ear. "You don't eat food." I reminded him.
He shook his head at me condescendingly, stepping forward to buy the food.
"I'm a gentleman." He clarified.
I raised one of my average eyebrows.
225. Fredward probably isn't even Greek.
226. Fredward's face is an emotional boxing ring.