Capítulo 8: Mental Health Morning |Rosette|
"So... what happens—what do we do now?" Scott asked; each word accompanied by a small white cloud as he pulled his scarf over his face.
We stood on the across the street from the school watching our uniform clad peers make their way towards the building.
The first few weeks of October passed by and the bite of winter drew closer every day. It was much colder than I would like it to be.
Everyone, save for those insensitive towards cold, wore thicker jackets, sweaters, and scarves.
It was cold enough for gloves too, but I'd forgotten to bring a pair. Even though my whole body was encased in a toasty shell of fabric, I could only focus on the unpleasant numbing that ran through my fingers.
I cupped my hands in front of my face and breathed warm air on them.
"All we have to is not go. That's how ditching works." I said.
"Y-yeah. I know... but."
"You seem hesitant."
Scott shifted his weight from each foot. He did that a lot, standing or sitting still seemed difficult for him and he felt more comfortable moving or fidgeting about.
"I wouldn't say I'm hesitant, just sceptical." He said.
"Of what?"
"Of how easy this is. I'm half expecting someone to pop out of the bushes and drag us to class."
"That's just anxiety talking."
"Anxiety talks to me a lot."
I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked, Scott followed.
"In that case, you need this morning respite. If anyone asks we're taking a mental health morning—in fact school's and work places should have things like that."
"Some of them do."
I kicked a rock.
"Yeah, but not enough. School, work, and life gets too stressful, you know? Doesn't hurt to want a break from it occasionally."
Scott caught up. His nose was bright red from the cold—it reminded me of a Christmas light.
Cute.
"So," Scott started.
"Is that why you do this?"
I shook my head.
"Oh, no I'm just a delinquent."
Scott laughed.
"You have a nonconformist thing going on, but I wouldn't peg you as a delinquent. Almost seems too mainstream for you."
"I think I am. I mean I skip class, I smoke, I hate people my age—I'd say I fit the minimum requirements."
Scott raised an eyebrow.
"That mean you hate me too?" He was joking, but I heard a pang of worry in his voice.
"Nah. You're cool. Even if you weren't I'd still keep you around. A person can say they hate people all they want, but we all need at least one friend."
Scott's face turned red, I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or if he flushed.
Probably both.
"Where are we going exactly?" Scott asked.
"Oh yeah, I haven't told you. There's a nice pancake place not too far from here. I thought we'd eat there then walk around. We'll be back before second block starts."
Scott smiled.
"Sounds good."
***
Food and conversation go hand in hand. If you're with a complete stranger or a person who you don't like, you're more likely to open up if each of you have a plate in front of you. How much more when you're with someone who you already enjoy talking to?
While there was a brief bit of silence so we could enjoy most of our pancakes and eggs while they were still hot, Scott and I seldom took a bite without saying something to each other.
"We should make them a thing." I said, taking a sip of orange juice.
"Make what a thing?" Scott asked.
"Mental health mornings. I think it'll help a lot of people out you know? I mean how good do you feel skipping class and having pancakes with me?"
"Not gonna lie, pretty great."
"And now you can go about the rest of your day relaxed and happy. Everyone needs to do this because I know for a fact as preppy and fake people at our school are they're all miserable and stressed and low key want to die."
"That's dark."
"Am I wrong?"
"... No. But how would go about it though? I mean there will be people who'd abuse it and never go to class in the morning."
"Regulate it. Everyone gets a certain number of them a semester. Before you go you submit a form explaining why you need it and exactly where you're going and what you'll be doing. Maybe talk to the guidance counsellor if things are terrible."
I leaned back in my chair.
"And bonus: we can do this anytime we want without worrying about getting in trouble."
Scott chuckled.
"Wouldn't we technically be abusing the privilege then?"
"Nah, we'd be relaxing as much as everyone else. Expect we'd be relaxing with permission. Worse comes to worse principle rejects our pitch and we still ditch first block sometimes and be quiet about it."
Scott titled his head, still not convinced.
"I'm not sure. What if the principle rejects the idea and suspects something? Next time we ditch she might really crack down on us. It'd suck if we could never do this ever again. More so for you, Rosette since this started off as your thing."
I sighed.
"Figured you might say that."
"Well, that's too bad cause Cecile might be into this thing."
Scott perked up.
"Don't use Cecile as a bargaining chip."
"I'm not I'm just saying she'd probably want to be a part of this too—when was the last time you talked to her?"
Scott planted his face against the table.
"Not since I threw up in Mr. Cuffington's room."
I grimaced and sucked my teeth.
"Not good. Now do you want Cecile to think of you as that guy who barfed in Mr. Cuffington's room? Or would you rather her think of you as a guy who decided to so something and make a difference at our school?"
I ran my finger around the rim of my empty glass.
"Your choice, Scottie. I can't tell you what to do."
Scott looked up.
"You really suck you know that?"
He sat up and sighed.
"Fine. I'm in but you're paying for my breakfast."
I shrugged.
"Fair enough."
***
A faint crunching sound followed us as we walked a path of dried leaves. More leaves showered us. Some red like Scott's hair, others brown and green like his eyes. There weren't any birds out, but watching the leaves float toward to the ground was just as pleasant.
"It's almost nine thirty," Scott said.
"We should head back."
I nodded and breathed on my hands.
"Your hands cold?" He asked.
"Yeah, but I'm fine."
Scott scoffed. Not in a conceded way, more in a "I know you're lying and I find that cute" way.
"The tips of your fingers are white—here."
He took my hands in his gloved ones and rubbed them for a while until they got warm before sliding his gloves into my hands. He did this quickly, so I had no time to protest.
"Better?" He asked.
"Better."
Something odd happened as we walked back to school. Not my face had warmed up along with my hands.
I convinced myself it was because I was warm—even though I knew otherwise.
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