Bab 3: Three – Calvin
It's only a matter of minutes before I want to be on the road so I can go to the library. I couldn't tell you what made yesterday the best day I've had in a while. Maybe it was denying social standards or getting away with it or finding someone who cares as little as I do who played along. Or maybe it was just finding someone I could actually feel like I got along with. Nothing about Oliver makes me want to forget him, unlike my 'friends' that each have their individual qualities.
I've been trying not to let my mind wander off, but in the last few moments of school, there's no way I have enough energy to actually pay attention to whatever we're meant to be learning. I take note of my surroundings. The teacher is too busy to notice if I laze off, no one I know is around to annoy me, and there is literally nothing in this boring, cookie cutter classroom that can keep me entertained. So, I let my mind drift off.
I don't know what Oliver made of me talking to him at first, but I think he understood I wasn't a threat towards the end of our conversation. No Lower-class deserves to be treated like they have no right when faced by an Upper-class, so I'm always as nice as possible. Most don't take it too well. But he did.
He was refreshing. He was like no one I've talked to recently. In fact, I would say he was like no one I've talked to ever. No Upper-class or Lower-class I've ever come across has been so simple and non-judging. Most of society lost that trait since the zones were introduced, but I guess I don't know what it was like back then.
Maybe the reason he seems to be so different is because I'm used to sadistic popular kids as friends, which is what comes with being a part of an extremely wealthy family. Or maybe it's because I don't feel like I have to act around him? What am I saying? I don't even know him. We talked for a few minutes, I can't act like we're friends, or like he would actually care about talking to me. I don't even think we can be friends.
The bell interrupts the crisis that I was unwillingly pulled into. Quickly, I scribble down the homework, even though I probably won't do it anyway, and dash out the door. I slip out into the hall and jog through the people, hoping no one I know catches me before I can make it out the door. Skipping down the stairs and I still haven't seen anyone. I came to the door and burst through, into the carpark. It's not long before I locate my metallic-white Mercedes amongst the other student's cars, get in and start the drive to the Middle.
I've lived in the divided city of Highland my entire life. Born in Upper-class to the disgustingly wealthy Wood family. Not my choice but it never is. I hate Upper-class, but I've been assured Lower-class isn't any better, and sadly, I'm probably going to be stuck as an Upperclass for the rest of my life. That's how it tends to go with rich families, they don't let their kid's financial independence mess with their streak of having the important members as members of Upper-class. I had to face that when I turned eighteen, the 'we'll be in control of your finances, so you don't drop your class' talk. Class matters way too much to my parents.
I smoothly make my way around town. I memorised the streets and shortcuts through the roads as soon as I got my car, so it's never hard for me to find my way out of this snobby place.
I reach the last stretch before the wall that separates the Middle from Upper-class and slam my foot down on the accelerator. I'm not one to break the law, but when you're in a car like this, you can't help it. The only law I'd gladly break is class law, but not usually laws that actually matter. I slow down before I reach the gate and wait for them to lift the barrier. Then, I set a course for the library.
When I get there, there's no sign of Oliver, so I order at the little barista in the corner and wait on a leather couch, which is surprisingly soft. Well-worn, I guess.
I haven't seen much of the library. I usually just duck in and duck back out again, mainly because when I spend too long away from home my parents ask questions. But it's the best library I've found so far. It's like a hideaway and nothing like the other cold and overly modern libraries that are scattered across the Middle. It almost feels like it's lost in time, a sanctuary from the rest of the world.
I receive my order and there's still no sight of Oliver. I'm convinced that this is probably a useless wait, but I'm not going to let that stop me. There is a high chance that he's not coming back, either because he was faking our entire interaction or because he doesn't want to be seen with an Upper-class. But I want to see him again to at least talk.
It's another ten minutes before Oliver shows. By then, I had finished my mocha and scrolled aimlessly through my phone and about five magazines. I wasn't bored, I was just worried he wouldn't actually show up.
I wave a hello at him as he stumbles through the door. His hair is messed up, half covering his face and his bag is halfway off his shoulder. He makes eye contact with me and a concerned look builds on his face.
"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to keep you waiting!" Oliver exclaims as he walks up to me.
"Don't worry about it." I say and we stand in awkward silence for a few seconds, under the wave of natural light that floods in from the windows. He runs his hands through his hair to neaten it up and readjust himself.
Someone walks through the door and Oliver startles. He's obviously not comfortable, but I don't blame him, our classes aren't exactly meant to be together and it's kind of obvious that we are. Even in the Middle, the place where it is acceptable for classes to be in each other's presence, it's still very uncommon for us to interact outside of hatred. And anyone who does, is either reported to the police, or rejected by society. Class is a big deal.
Oliver nervously watches the other visitors in the library. I lower my voice, "Do you want to..." I jab a thumb over my shoulder towards the shelves.
He nods and meets my volume, "Yeah, I know a place."
I step aside to let him lead the way. As soon as he meets the safety of the shelves, his shoulders relax and he returns to his same refreshing self. He weaves us through the messy stacks of books, to a small hidden corner. There are beanbags strewn across the small floor space and a few books here and there.
Oliver lets himself down on a beanbag and I sit on one across from him. After digging in his bag, he reveals the book and hands it to me, "I believe you'll finally take this."
I fold my arms, "I don't know about that... did you actually finish it?"
He laughs, "Of course I did. Do you need a plot summary?"
"Don't say that, you make me sound like a teacher," I joke, finally accepting the book from his outstretched hands. Once I do, Oliver takes that as an opportunity to dump his bag and slump back into the beanbag in what looks like a very uncomfortable position.
"I can't believe you finished this all last night," I say, looking at the decent thickness of the book.
"It wasn't hard."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "How late were you up?"
"Only around one o'clock."
I stare at him, mouth hanging wide, astonished by the amount of time it took him to finish the entire book, "That's insane! It took me days to read this, although it was on and off."
He rolls his head to the side so he can see me, and I swear I see a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. He readjusts himself and the pink fades. Maybe I just embarrassed him a little by being so astonished.
"I'm really sorry for being late. I fell asleep on the train and thought I missed my stop but accidentally got off too early and had to walk further than normal. And it wasn't fun, it was also very windy" Oliver says as he fiddles with the hem of his sweater.
I hold back a laugh and look over at his exhausted state. I can see that. It takes a few seconds for me to put the pieces together. Then finally the realisation hits me. "You- wait. Did you fall asleep because you were up late trying to finish the book? Because I am so sorry-"
Oliver lets out a light-hearted laugh which interrupts me, "Don't worry," he laughs, "I'm tired all the time. I mean just look at me, it's not hard to realise I don't have any energy."
I look over him and he's not wrong, but that's not a bad thing. He's got the long, wavy unkempt hair of someone who slept in too long. And he's got the cosy fashion of a simple sweater and worn jeans and canvas shoes. He also has very slight eyebags that are just barely visible beneath his golden freckles.
"Why don't you rest a bit?"
Oliver picks his head up and jumps back into the conversation quickly, "Are you staying?" He seems to cringe at how eager he sounded.
"If you don't mind."
He waits a little longer before answering this time, "I don't mind."
I chuckle to myself, "I'll just sit here and read for a bit, you can rest or do whatever you want to do."
He nods and lets his head drop back. Oliver then stretches out on his beanbag, nestling into it as much as he can manage, and shuts his eyes. I don't want to bother him so I get comfortable and quietly read my book.
I breeze through the first chapter and it's like a kick of nostalgia. I look up for a second to enjoy my surroundings. There's soft light coming through the back windows, fading the colours of the library and making it look like a scene from a movie. A light scent of coffee mixed with the smell of crisp white pages consumes the library. And a silent murmur of activity echoes between the rafters in the ceiling. This place is perfect, and really comfortable too, especially with Oliver as company.
I look over at him, still nestled into his beanbag. He lays there, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his slow, deep breaths. I can't tell if he's awake or not, but he looks too peaceful to disturb, so I keep to myself. His light brown hair is messy again, as it presses and rubs against the material of the beanbag, which his slim body sits half on, and half off. He's actually really skinny now that I think about it. But it's not an unhealthy sort of skinny and he doesn't look fragile. It's just his shape. I feel a little awkward watching him.
He stirs and I quickly turn my attention back to the book.
Oliver rolls onto his back and rubs his face with his hands. "You know... you're incredibly nice for an Upper-class," He pauses to yawn, his eyes still closed, "and much better company than any Lower-class."
I feel a warm blush crawl across my face, I'm glad his eyes are shut.
"And you're really nice for a Lower-class and you're also much better than any Upper-class, in multiple ways," I say, using his words as a template. A gentle smile pulls at his lips.
I'm glad he feels like he can say that, because that means I wasn't wrong for thinking he was different. Different from everyone I know, and most importantly, different to society. And I'm glad that he is.
Now knowing he's awake, I decide to push the conversation a little. Not that I don't enjoy the silence, but because I feel like it. I smile slyly, "I wouldn't have picked you for a gay romance sort of guy."
Oliver's eyes jolt open and he sits upright in his spot, looking shocked at me. I hold back any form of reaction. He tries to recover, relaxing his stance and forcing himself to seem casual about that very sudden question. He stumbles over his answer, "No… well, yes. But its more fantasy than gay romance." Then he narrows his eyes at me. I raise my eyebrow at him. Oliver presses his lips into a pout, "But I'm not the one who's reading it twice."
"Okay, you got me there, but is there any problem with that?"
"Would there be a problem with a guy like me reading it?" he smirks.
"Of course not," I smile.
"Then of course there isn't a problem." There's a second of silence. "But I wouldn't exactly pick you for a gay romance guy either," he says.
He casually flipped my joke on its head, and now I have to suffer because of it. I laugh, "Okay, so, the book is more fantasy."
"Mhm, see?"
I watch him as he watches me. Then, I look back to my book before his gaze destroys what little composure I have left.
A few moments pass in silence before conversation picks up again.
"Do you come here often?" Oliver questions, once again, visibly cringing at himself. I try not to laugh. I'd say friendships haven't been his thing recently.
"A few times, but I don't stay for long. I just find what I need, borrow it out, and then I'm on my way. It's a beautiful place though." I pause and look at him. "What about you?"
"I've been coming here for about a year. As soon as I discovered it, I didn't see any reason to go to the other libraries. The others are so…" he waves his hand around looking for the word, "Lifeless."
I nod in agreement. "That's a very good observation Mr..." I trail off, remembering that I don't actually know Oliver that well. Or at least not well enough to know his last name.
He answers for me, before playing along. "It's Mr Night, Mr..."
"Wood."
"Mr Wood. That sounds like the surname of a rich family." He seems to realise he brought up class and tries to correct himself, "I mean… I didn't mean to… uh."
As Oliver struggles over his words, I take note of my spot on the page I was on and look up at him. "No, no, you're alright," I assure him.
"Sorry, I'm just not really the sort of person who brings up class. I generally avoid it because I'm not much of a fan of the idea." Oliver starts to fidget, slightly embarrassed by his fumbling.
I smile, "Don't worry about it. I'm not a fan either. I don't know whose problem it's solving, so it seems pretty useless in this day and age."
He lets himself relax on the thought of knowing we both have the same opinions, "You don't know how glad I am that you agree with me on that," he laughs nervously, flashing a gentle smile.
So far, we seem to make a good pair.
We continue to talk, and surprisingly, it's not awkward, conversation just seems to flow. Oliver shifts himself to be facing me fully, I switch between looking up at him and down at my page. And we slowly get to know a little more about each other.
We seem to make a better pair than I thought. Firstly, we both despise classes, but are too scared and insignificant to do anything about it. We are both the only child in our family and barely see our parents because they work a lot. Neither of us have many people that we would really consider friends, there are people that we know, but neither of us are especially close with anyone. He also hates school, and I couldn't help but agree. We've both made the excuse that the only reason we are still in school is so we can get it over and done with. Which seems simple enough, since we are both in our last year, despite that I'm a year and a bit older than him.
That was a surprise to me, Oliver seems a lot more mature than his age suggests. I didn't expect him to be seventeen. But I guess a lot of my class is seventeen since most people turn eighteen in Grade 12. Whereas I'm nineteen because I was just sent to school a year later. My mother wanted me to have an extra year of tutoring before I went to school. It wasn't worth anything.
The more I talk to him, the more I'm reminded how easy it is to get along with him. I find myself caring less and less about how I hold myself or what I say and notice him doing the same.
When I'm with my friends, I withdraw myself. I care way too much about what they say, even if they are just a bunch of fake jerks. But I can't say much, because I'm just as fake to them as they are to me. I've made myself into what they want to see, and that's who I am at school. But here with Oliver? I'm so much more relaxed. I'm real, I'm me. And I hope I'm not too much for his laid-back personality.
After a while, Oliver has to go so he can catch the train back to his zone.
"I can drive you?" I ask.
He thinks it over. I understand his hesitation. There's a higher chance of someone interfering if I drive him up to the gate.
"What car do you have?" He questions me.
"A Mercedes-AMG CLA." His jaw drops and I can't help but laugh.
"Jesus… Imagine what the drug addicts at my gate will think when I get out of an Upper-class' car? A Mercedes-AMG CLA," he exclaims and throws his arms in the air, "They'd report us both!"
We both laughed then. It's cute how excited he is over the car, but how much self-control he still has. It's obvious he wants to say yes, but his greater judgement is telling him it's not the best idea. He can at least see it. Maybe then he will change his mind.
"Would you like to see it?" I ask, careful not to sound snobby.
"Would I like to- Did you have to ask me if I would like to see it? Of course I would!"
We both get up and walk outside, well, Oliver more skips and hops in excitement and I walk. I point him in the direction that I parked, and he walks over to inspect it. He gawks over my car for a good ten minutes. Asking several questions about the price, performance, whether I show it off to everyone and how fast it goes.
"How did you afford this?" He says as he runs a hand along the side of the bonnet.
I tell him the truth without boasting. "My family bought it off my uncle for my eighteenth, he was getting rid of it. It's their idea of a 'collaborative birthday present'. I thought it was overkill but I'm not complaining. I think they just wanted me to stop stealing their cars," I say as I watch him trace the shapes of my car.
He leans against it and thinks for a second, now a lot calmer than he was before. He somehow fits the scene so well. His red crew neck sweater, messy hair and worn jeans next to my crisp white Mercedes with the darkening sky and city lights in the background, softly lit by an overhead streetlight and the light from the library. He could honestly be a model if he wanted.
"I get a book or $50 Amazon gift card from the corner store and you get a Mercedes that costs more than the rent my family pays in, what, 7 years? Seems a little unfair," he jokes. I choose to leave that joke alone, because he's not wrong.
"You did reject a ride to the gate in it… but can I at least take you to the station now that we've wasted a bit of time?"
His head whips around, "You're not joking, are you?"
I shake my head.
He points to the car, "You want to drive me? Like in this car?"
I laugh at him and walk around to the driver's side, "Just get in the car Oliver."
He jogs around to the passenger door, opens it and slowly slips into the seat, beaming from ear to ear. I start the car and pull out of the parking lot.
I drive a little too fast when I can, just to show Oliver what the car can do, even if it makes the little time that I have left with him shorter. Every red light turned green is an opportunity to floor it, letting the engine growl and rev. I must look like a dick, but I don't care right now.
The entire time I'm driving, I watch him through the corner of my eye (while still paying attention to the road) and examine his pure euphoria as he watches the world fly by. His happiness almost feels like electricity. It's dangerous and contagious, flowing all around us. Everything feels so different when I'm with him, almost like a dream. And this is definitely a dream I don't want to wake up from.
It's only when the train station becomes visible that reality sinks in. The reality that it is over, that I have to wake up now. I pull into a waiting bay and look over to Oliver, who is smiling at me from the passenger seat. I smile back.
"That… was amazing!" He says, running a hand through his soft, light-brown curls.
I turned to him, "I guess this is your stop, huh?"
I' m pretty sure we both wish it wasn't.
"I had fun today." he says in a tone that's almost sad, as he climbs out of the vehicle. I wind down the driver's window and turn off the ignition. He comes over.
"Me too." I say, matching his tone.
Should I ask him to meet again? Would he want to? Words run wild through my head as we stare at each other through the car window. I don't know whether I should say something, but then Oliver breaks the silence.
"Did you want to meet up again sometime? I'm free pretty much all the time considering there's not much to do in Lower-class."
Now I'm the one beaming, "I'm free tomorrow after school," I answered way too quickly, "that's only if you're free... no rush."
He giggles at my poor attempt at recovery. "Tomorrow then," he says as he backs away from my car. "Goodbye Calvin Wood," he bows childishly.
I laugh and start the engine again, "Goodbye Oliver Night."
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone