one

Luca

~

You know that awkward moment in class when everyone finishes their test and there's only one person left trying to complete it? It's like a rush, especially for that one person who is trying so hard to quickly finish before the bell rings. I've always wondered what it's like to be on the other side for once, but unfortunately, that's never been me.

I'm always the second person done.

The sound of Anderson's shoe tapping the concrete floor pulls me away from my thoughts. I can see him sweating a bit, watching him wipe his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. I've told him countless times that our Calculus test was today.

He would either act like he wasn't listening or focus more on the newest Call of Duty beta.

I somewhat don't feel bad about his lack of motivation. This is the thanks I get for trying to help him out, obviously, he would much rather fail than give me a chance.

What are friends for?

I stayed up past midnight going over quadratic equations and functions until my brain couldn't process them anymore.

•Functions

•Derivatives

•Integrals

•Infinites

I'm sure those four words will live rent-free in my head for the next couple of weeks—maybe even months.

The tapping of his feet stops once he notices me staring at him. A quick nervous smile spreads across his lips as he turns his test over and leans back, letting out a deep breath. It doesn't stop there though—as he glances around the room, he spots Brittney Lemons still hunched over her test. Beads of sweat start to form around her forehead. When she looks up, Anderson quickly flips his test back over to second-guess his answers.

The anxiety this kid has...

If I could give him a Xanax, I would.

The final bell interrupts the classroom making our teacher, Mr. Walts, take the papers from our hands to dismiss us for the day. The hall fills with students heading outside toward the buses. Once I step outside and welcome the cold California air, I hear my name getting called out from behind me.

"Hey Luca, wait up," Anderson speed walks beside me, following me as I head for my truck. "How do you think you did?"

He does this every time. I think he wants me to agree with him that I wasn't sure about my answers. Instead, I shrug and say, "Piece of cake."

That obviously wasn't the answer he was requesting. He runs a hand through his ashy blonde hair. "Yeah, I totally agree."

I let out a laugh. "Right, because the uncontrollable leg shaking helped you ease through it?"

"Hey," he holds up his hands in defense. "It works for some people."

"Should have taken me up on my offer."

He rolls his eyes. "I don't always need your help."

"Oh yeah?" I quirk up a brow. "Then you sure as hell don't need my Microsoft points."

"W-wait."

I shake my head and toss my backpack in the bed of my black, 2009 single-cab F150, while he follows and jumps inside the passenger seat.

"Any luck on your car?" I ask him as I start the engine and we head onto the highway.

His car was a present from his grandparents when he turned seventeen. The only problem is that it's a piece of junk and basically lives in the body shop. Beggars can't be choosers, though.

"Will be another two weeks until it's ready. Something to do with the transmission and it won't stop leaking oil."

"Sounds pricey."

My hand reaches for the radio, turning it up midway, welcoming my favorite song.

My Body Is a Cage by Arcade Fire.

He laughs. "Luckily, it's my cousins' shop so he's giving me a huge discount."

I glance at him as I quirk up a brow. Word gets around in this small school and I have heard so many bad things about his cousin, Drew. I've only been around the guy a handful of times, but I could tell by his personality that all he cares about is business.

Family or not, he will cost you a fortune.

Last summer he charged someone eighty dollars for an oil change.

An oil change.

My head moves back toward the highway. "He better buy you dinner for screwing you over so many times."

Now he's looking at me. "Luca, I don't have any other choice." He frowns and increases the volume on the radio. Basically, letting me know he doesn't want to talk about this anymore.

I can understand why.

About ten minutes later I pull up into an apartment complex where he and his mom are staying. It's not the best in town, but it's the only thing Ms. Jenna can afford right now. Just the feeling I get when I drive down here sends a shiver down my spine. You can tell the building is behind on remodeling. Someone must have started replacing the shingle roof because half of it isn't even finished.

A few windows have been broken into, which is why tarps are blowing even while bricks try to hold them together. The main room I'm concerned about is his... and there, the wooden door is barely hanging onto the hinges.

"Thanks again for helping me out while my car is getting fixed. I appreciate it." Anderson abruptly climbs out, grabbing his backpack from the bed of my truck.

It's hard to find the words I want to say when it comes to him. I feel guilty every time I drop him off. Like there's something I should do for them. But there's nothing I can do.

"Anytime, man."

My truck runs for a minute or two while I watch him walk into the building and up to the top floor. He's been my best friend since elementary and the fact that they live here really stresses me out. This part of town is full of criminal records and weird psychopaths. I always worry about him and his mother, more than I probably should. It doesn't help that his dad is in prison either...

With a deep sigh, I backed out of the complex. My shift at the diner doesn't start until tomorrow night. So, when I arrive home I take my plate of supper off the table and into my bedroom. My English exam is Friday and the notes I have written down are scattered across my desk. This is going to take all night.

After what seems like thirty minutes of studying and making new flashcards, I eat the rest of my spaghetti and place my plate in the kitchen sink. A picture of my parents is sitting in the window—I have my mother's brown eyes. My dad is smiling with his hands wrapped around me on his hip.

I was seven then.

Yeah, I was a little too old to be basically in his lap, but it was always my favorite thing he did. He would tell me I'm never too old for hugs. It didn't matter what kind of hugs either.

Looking down, I realize I'm still holding onto the now-rinsed spaghetti plate. I find myself staring at the picture often lately. I think it's because their anniversary is coming up... that's probably just an excuse, though. I miss them terribly.

As I walk back to my room, I peep around the corner of the hallway. My grandma is sleeping peacefully in her queen-sized bed. An ocean wave machine gently plays on the opposite side of the room and her tortoise-framed glasses are resting on the nightstand where her lamp sits.

I kiss the top of her head before turning off her lamp, making the room go dark. When I get back to my room, I lay flat on my bed as my eyes stare up at the ceiling. I do this every night. It's the same routine. My mind wanders more than I want it to.

Will I ever stop doing this? Checking up on her in the middle of the night? If anything happens to her... I couldn't live with myself.

She's all I have.

She's all I have left.

• • •

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