I sat under a big tree; a browning evergreen. From my pocket, I pulled out a paperback copy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's 12 Cuentos Peregrinos. My spanish isn't very good, but reading always seemed easier than talking. As I read about the president, the afternoon air brushed against me. I knew it would be dark soon, but it was already too dark to read. I ran my fingers along the spine of my now closed book. It had my name, Eliott, written in obnoxiously big letters. I don't know why I wrote it on, I really didn't. See here's the thing, i didn’t get bullied, per say, but I didn't exactly have friends who’d return it, either.

“Finally.'' I whispered under my breath as I waltzed into my room and collapsed into the comfort of my bed. Days like today felt like forever. I guess today was a slightly above average day. Not precisely because anything good happened, but at least nothing bad did. I gotten to enjoy life's simple pleasures; what's more beautiful than that? Books, sunsets, art, music. I needed them all just as much as they didn't need me. It's a bit depressing to think about, the way I just go on, one day, just like the last. In the end, it's all I've ever known.

Days went on as they usually did; uneventful and long. As I was walking out of English class, I felt a rough hand grip my shoulder 

“Eliott,” called out my teacher, mr yorke. “How’d you like to get some extracurriculars in?” As soon as he said that, he lost my interest. I pushed the door open and began to march into the hall. “It’s a chess tournament,” I met his eyes. “A-and there’s a prize. Winner gets first pick for next semester's classes.” As soon as Mr Yorke had said that, I found two parts of me debating whether or not to join, while a third part I didn't even know existed agreeing to everything. “Great, so tomorrow at three.” Finished my teacher

 “I-I’ll see you there.” 

And so I saw him there. When I walked into the room, I saw the type of people I always tried to avoid. The ones who seem to care too much about everything. As I scanned the room for a familiar face, my gaze fixed on Mr. Yorke. he greeted me with a smile, and I walked over to him, my sneakers pressing sharply against the floor's cream coloured tiles.

 “Eliott,” greeted Mr Yorke. “ I'm glad you could make it.” He stretched his arm out for a handshake, but I ignored his offer, still taking in my new surroundings. 

“I'm glad to be here.” I said, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets.

“Today,” he straightened his shirt, “You will go up against Clara.” The way Mr. York said it made it seem like I should know her, but I'd never met this girl in my life. When I saw her in a dress shirt, with her red hair pulled back tightly, I suddenly felt under dressed. I was wearing a grey T-shirt with a flannel overtop and some ratty cargo pants. I hadn’t even bothered to brush my hair. As I began to feel embarrassed, I remembered these people's opinion of me was already set in stone, and to be honest, so was my impression of them. I wasn’t about to start caring what some pretentious snobs thought of me.

When I sat down, the girl immediately moved her piece. I appreciated the lack of dialogue, but it was pretty awkward. I looked down at the board, as if to analyse it. I wish I could tell you that I was planning some kind of mastermind play, but the truth is, I didn't know what most pieces were even called. I blindly moved them around using my extremely loose understanding of the rules, and only stopped when a bewildered look met Claras face and a man I hadn't even noticed was there declared me the winner. 

Mr Yorke caught me on my way out. He seemed to have a knack for doing that. 

“Hey! Congrats champ, nice game you put up back there.¨ everything about his voice made me uncomfortable. “so, you'll have matches every lunch for the rest of the week, for today, you can cap it off early. Go enjoy your lunch.¨ I forced a smile and power-walked out. I headed over to the cafeteria, hoping to settle down into my seat, only to find it taken. I went and sat down next to the two girls, trying to not make them too uncomfortable. I guess I didn't have much to worry about, because they both looked over with a smile,  almost creepily. almost.

“Hi, I'm Rachel, she's nicky.” she spoke sweetly, not too forced. I could have even though she was being genuine- if i didn't know any better, of course. 

“I-I’m Eliott.” I hesitated. 

“I know.” Rachel answered as Nicky began to lose interest.

“Sorry,” she laughed gently

”I'm not some weird kind of stocker, I just sit behind you in maths.” I felt myself getting flustered. I always took pride in being aware of everything and everyone around me, but still I'd never noticed her. I guess I must have looked deeply embarrassed, because she started to apologise again.

“I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable, it's a big group, it makes sense you've never seen me.”

“You say sorry a lot.”

“Sorry.”

I started talking to Rachel pretty much everyday after chess. I guess it was nice to feel less alone. I didn't consider myself much of a routine person, but seeing her just kinda became my norm. Kinda. That's exactly the type of word I would have made fun of people for using, but it was a Rachel word, and I guess it rubbed off on me. As I thought about all of this, moving slowly through the lunch line, I realised it was my turn. I picked up some food and headed over to my seat. The girls both greeted me, but Nicky quickly looked away, like she checked me off her to-do list, and had to move on to something more important. 

“So,” Rachel began, looking over.

“I've got this thing on friday.” she added

“A thing?”

“An art gallery. I'd really like you to come.” She gestured at nicky. “Both of you.”

“I've been working on it for a really long time, and it's kinda a big deal that they are featuring me. It's very important, and it would be nice if you guys came.”

“I’ll be there. I promise.” as I said it, Nicky nodded in agreement.

“Hey, kid! Come help me with these boxes.'' I flinched. Mr. Yorke was really starting to get on my nerves. 

I instinctively went over and picked up a box. 

“W-where too?”  I don't know why, but I was really on edge. I felt something nagging me, but I was up to date with everything. Everything important, that is. I knew I had to see Rachel at the gallery later that afternoon, and I knew that for once, I had something to look forward to.

 Soon enough, me and Mr. Yorke were in some empty storage room I'd never seen before. He stretched and sat on the floor, for reasons far beyond me.

“I used to play chess too, you know.” Why was he telling me this?

“That's cool.” I answered, not sure how to respond. I sat down, hesitantly. I didn't really know Mr. Yorke, but I wasn't sure if I cared too. Nevertheless, it seemed like he'd already made that decision for me. I always prided myself on being a good listener, but I didn't  pay attention to a single word my teacher said.

 “-And that's how I ended up teaching.” he finished. 

“That's cool.” I checked the time. 8:19. Crap. I had to meet Rachel at 7:00. Be on time, she said.

I ran into the art gallery at school, hands on my knees, out of breath.

“Rachel-” 

“Was this all some cruel joke to you?” She cut me off. I could see her hands trembling. I didn't know what to say. She ment too much. But I couldn't turn back; not now. 

“You- you really thought I cared about this?” I straightened my shirt and swallowed. I didn't know what I was saying. I didn't know why. 

“That's cute.” Her eyes widened in shock. For the first time ever, I stared into her eyes and saw no spark. She looked morbid and pale.

“O-okay. Don't look for me again. Ever.” She looked ready to storm off, but the bell rang, seemingly taking her by surprise. We locked eyes one last time as she left.

I was in over my head. Each day I would win at chess. At first it meant nothing to me. It never had. But now, I was enjoying it way too much. The crushed look of my opponents when they lose. Winning felt great. It was all like some sick thrill for me, but I knew it had to stop. I felt filthy. The kind of filth that can't be washed off by a shower. What had I done? I messed up the only good thing that had ever happened to me, and I knew it was too late to take it back. She would never forgive me. I couldn't blame her, I wouldn't forgive me either.

I walked over to my bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I couldn't recognise myself. It sounds cliche, but I really couldn't. I was pale and skinny. It made sense. Those days, I hardly ate; much less went outside. For a moment, I thought of how I'd go outside after class, to catch those last few minutes of sunlight. My eyes looked wild, like a horse that had just been sedated. I looked down at my hands, they were starting to shake. 

I woke up on the bathroom floor that morning, with sluggish thoughts. I felt strange. I felt something I’ve never felt before. It was like I wasn't in my body, like I was looking down at myself, absolutely repulsed by what I saw. I was sick of the feeling. I wanted to snap out of it, but my mind felt numb. I could hardly form a complete thought. But I managed. I need to tell him I'm through with chess. I need to tell her I'm sorry. 

I finally took a shower and put on a fresh set of clothes. I shut the door to my dorm as I walked out, catching one last glimpse of my mortal possessions shoved into a 12 by 12 room. I drifted through my classes, with nothing on my mind. I always thought of the saying mornings can just drag on forever as some cheesy phrase you hear an old man say on friends or seinfeld, but for once, I truly understood what they meant. 

Soon enough, it was lunch. I looked over at Rachel and found her in her normal spot, chatting with Nicky. I briefly met her gaze, and she looked down quickly. I walked over and forced a smile to greet Nicky, but, understandably, she didn't smile back.

“Look, Rachel-”

“Don´t.” she wouldn't meet my eyes.

“I'm sorry. I messed up. Big time. I should have been there. I don't expect you to forgive me, just know, if I could go back I'd change everything. A-also, I’m through with chess. I don't care what happens. I already left him a letter about how this isn't for me.” I saw the beginnings of a smile gently tugging at her face, like a child eager to show something to a friend. She looked down and broke into a small chuckle. I knew that I'd gotten through to her. 

“A letter?” she repeated incredulously, the youthful spark newly inhabiting her eyes.

“You-you know I don't do well with conversions.” I said, as I too began to smile. I guess that's the effect Rachel had on people. It's funny, you know. I always convinced myself to live by a no friends policy. It seemed easy to think that by letting someone get close, you're just making it easier for them to stab you in the back; and it had always been impossible for me to fathom the thought of anyone having intentions different to those. Until I met Rachel, that was. I knew we hadn’t been friends for that long, but I'd never been able to refer to anyone as that before.

“I'm sorry I was such an awful friend.” friend. The word lingered on my tongue. As I said that, I knew it would all be alright.