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“Shit, shit!”
The frantic voice, trailing up at pitch near the end and shaky with desperation stopped John in his tracks. He glanced around for the source, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. It was late in the day, the startings of sunset radiating golden light through the large cafeteria windows. He’d have thought he’d be alone, having stayed several hours after school had ended. Obviously, this was not the case.
“God damn it…”
He was prepared this time and caught the defeated voice carrying softly down a nearby hallway. For a moment John considered leaving anyways, glanced longingly through the glass at the outdoors. Curiosity got the better of him however, so he obliged and wandered off down the empty halls, hoisting his backpack into a more comfortable position as he walked.
John had just commented to himself that he was heading toward the office when he rounded the corner and almost tripped over the voice he was searching for. With a startled cry he stumbled backwards, boots skidding on the tiled ground as he tried to regain his balance.
“Shit- ah fuck, I’m sorry!” The voice scrambles to his feet, hands reaching out and pausing mid air as if he’d been about to try and help and thought better of it. John blinked at them, disoriented, and the long fingers hung in the air, unsure of what to do. The boy cleared his throat and pulled them back, awkwardly scrubbing at his hair. John stares at him for a long moment before turning his attention to their surroundings.
Behind the other student stretched the school’s lost and found, a collection of old plastic tubs covered in scribbled out sharpie that bulged with jackets and scuffed water bottles.
“Did you lose something?” John asked, watching the other out of the corner of his eye as he scanned over the piles for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing but some expensive gloves and a couple brightly colored hair ties really stood out.
“Um…” The student glanced away for a second. Embarrassment? No, he just looked uncomfortable. “I guess you could say that.” His skin and face clearly showed Asian descent, dark chocolate eyes and raven hair. His voice however sounded American enough, with perhaps a touch of something else. A bit of Canadian twang.
John spun on his heel to face the other head on. “And ‘I guess’ that’s why you were swearing like you busted your Dad’s car on a joyride.” Normally he wouldn't care, but for a split second he’s almost worried the sarcasm is poorly timed. Then the surprise faded from the boy’s expression and he laughed, a short, startled sound. John grinned, and the other offered a hesitant smile back.
“You need help?” John offered, already turning to dig through the pile despite having no clue what he was looking for. He plopped his backpack down beside him and knelt on the cold tile, pulling the nearest box closer. The damn thing was heavy.
“Uh…” The boy responded eloquently from behind him, and John can hear his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway as he drew closer. “I guess.” There’s a pause. “I’m Evan.”
John glances to the side as Evan sits down beside him and crawls forward to drag another box over, with considerably less difficulty then John himself. John hadn't paid any attention to how buff the awkward kid was. Though he wasn’t even sure if ‘kid’ was an appropriate title. The other was easily his same age. Evan glanced meaningfully over at him and John realized he hadn't offered up any introduction of himself.
“Name’s John,” He could practically see Evan roll the name around in his head before the Canadian (and John was sure of it now,) nodded and turned back to his box of lost things.
“We’re ah, looking for skate guards. Hockey ones.”
Ah. Hockey. That explained the muscles. John obediently started to pull jackets and sweatshirts out of the bulging tubs, shaking each one out to see if the missing guards would tumble into his lap. They fell into silence, broken only by the rustling of fabric or the clunk of a water bottle being set on the floor. The building was still and empty, void of it’s usual bustle, enhanced by the dimmed lighting and shadowed classrooms. John could feel each time Evan’s gaze drifted over to him curiously, could sense those intelligent eyes trying to puzzle him out. He ignored it, shoving his items back into the emptied box and kicking it away, reaching for another one.
“Are you an artist?”
Out of all things John had expected to break the silence, those words coming out of Evan’s mouth had not been it. He looked up at the other sharply, gaze sweeping across his expression to try and guess what had provoked such a question.
“What makes you say that?” The words came out more defensive then John had intended and he almost wished he could take them back when he saw Evan’s walls begin to rise once more.
“Just a guess is all,” The hockey player muttered, fingers raking briefly through his tousled hair before he began to paw through his bin once more.
“I mean...you’re right,” John conceded, trying to gauge the others reaction. “I was just curious what clued you in.”
Evan’s head swung to face John once more and after a second a devious little smirk settled on his lips, his eyes gleaming with mischief that John hadn’t anticipated. “You know, the shoulder length platinum blonde hair, the dyed nails, the fifteen bajillion rings, the coordinated outfit-”
“Alright, alright!” John laughed, a hand flying up in a mock gesture of surrender. “Clinging to stereotypes a bit here, aren’t you?” Evan shrugged and returned to his box, but his searching seemed half hearted at best, less distraction and more something to do with his hands.
“Stereotypes have to exist for a reason.”
“You don’t follow them.” The words slipped out before John could stop them, an accusation and a compliment wrapped in one. John wasn’t sure which was really his intent. Evan didn’t answer, passing a pale green fleece back and forth in his hands. His face was blank and his lips curled into a frown as he drifted, lost in thought. He was annoyingly hard to read.
With a curl of disappointment, John returned to the lost and found. Now the silence felt wrong, oppressive, and he didn’t like it. He lost himself in the colored fabric and shitty zippers until Evan’s voice startled him back to reality.
“You know, you’re the first person to think that.”
For a second John had to struggle to remember what they've been talking about. Then he fully turned until he was facing the Canadian, cheeks heated in the surprise he was sure he radiated.
“You’re kidding!”
Evan blinked at him, surprised, then began to laugh.
“You’re the furthest thing from a stereotypical jock I’ve ever seen!” John’s voice had risen with indignant outrage and Evan nearly choked on an inhale as he continued to giggle, eyes shining with mirth. John didn’t even realize he was smiling until Evan returned the gesture, his whole face softening. John had no idea what the hell had happened, but all he really wanted to do right then was to keep Evan laughing.
Instead, Evan glanced back at his third box and let out a triumphant yell, tugging two long sticks of black rubber free. The skate guards were scuffed and worn, but Evan smiled at the things like they were precious, so John was willing to bet they were, even if it was only that way to the hockey player. Evan kicked his pile of discarded clothes half heartedly into the lost and found as he stood up. John did the same, wiping his dusty fingers off on his jeans.
“Thanks man,” Evan offered, his free hand flying up to ruffle his hair in what John now saw as a nervous habit.
“No problem,” John responded automatically, glancing around to see where he’d shoved his backpack off to during the search.
“No, seriously- thank you,” The genuine words caught John off guard and he turned to stare at Evan, who watched him back solemnly. John had no idea what the hell was so special about the rubber guards, but he wasn’t the athlete here, so who was he to judge.
“And seriously- it was no problem,” He promised, and Evan smiled gratefully. John turned and finally spotted his bag, swinging it up and over his shoulders with a grunt. He glanced up again to meet Evan’s amused gaze. “You want me to carry that for you?”
“Oh fuck off, shorty” John scoffed and Evan pouted at him. “You’re only what, an inch or two taller than me?”
“Hey, an inch goes a long way,” John laughed and Evan began to groan, his nose scrunching up. “You didn’t just make a dick joke.”
“Oh but I did.”
“Just go,” Evan begged, making shooing motions with his hands as he backed away. John found himself laughing again as he turned and headed off down the hall. He was nearly to the end when Evan’s shout of, “SIZE ISN’T EVERYTHING!” followed by the male’s laughter filled his ears. John flipped him off over his shoulder and walked away grinning like a loon.
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The next day when John glanced down at the history notes he’d been idly doodling over, he saw a raven haired boy grinning triumphantly back, old rubber skate guards clenched in his hand like a trophy.