fandomhigh | Living On Your Own, Friday, 8/8, Period 1

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living on your own

Living On Your Own, Friday, 8/8, Period 1

The home ec classroom looked more like an art class today, with home decorating catalogs strewn about and a stash of shoeboxes on one table with felt, paper, fake flowers, wallpaper and carpet samples, scissors, paint, modeling clay and other ~~moddable~~ supplies in abundance.

"Morning," Tyler said, once the students were mostly assembled. He had a large travel mug of coffee in one hand. "Today is our class on decorating, or, how to make whatever dump you're holed up in feel a little less like a dump."

He hesitated before talking again. "You don't have to do any of this. You are not your Pottery Barn rug or your clever coffee table shaped like a yin-yang. Stuff gets oppressive ... you do not want a life defined by stuff."

"But," he added, a smile dancing somewhere around his eyes, "I've been told I'm an extremist on this. And on the theory some of you might someday want more than a futon and a coffee maker, you're going to spend class today constructing and decorating dioramas of rooms in your future home. It can be a bedroom, a living room, a kitchen if that's where your mind goes. Here are some handouts on low-cost decorating for you to get some ideas."

He gestured to the table of supplies. "There's building stuff and some catalogs for more ideas over there. Go to it. I'm around if you need help."

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"Well," Cal said, his tone reconsidering. "Was it at least a billion?"

"Not even close."

"...three fifty?"

"Depends. Three fifty what? Hundred, thousand, hundred thousand?"

Cal smirked a little, although it was tinged a little with nervousness. He was glad for the banter, clinging to it, but worried that he might be clinging too much. He didn't want it to disappear, though, because of what happened, but she seemed willing.

"Three dollars," he informed her, "and fifty cents."

Amber clucked her tongue, leaned forward, towards him, and whispered, "I think you are at least worth four."

The whispering wasn't fair; the whispering meant that Cal had to work to hold back not only a grin, but also a catch of breath, a kick of his heart, and a flush to his face, all difficult things to wrangle down, especially when they surged forward so swiftly, you'd think they'd just heard the starting gun of an Olympic marathon.

Over four bucks.

His attempts to restrain it all came out as a slightly scoffing laugh. "Good to know."

She smiled, oddly pleased with herself. Did she unbalance him? She might have hoped so.

"I would never lie."

Well, according to Bob Presto, four bucks was a little steep, but that was talking about minute rates, and maybe with inflation of thirty two years worked in, it might come close. Cal lightly smiled back. "I know you wouldn't."

And now, bantering overwith, awkwardness took hold of her. She wasn't sure what to say even though she could talk forever. Just not here, and nothing he would wish to hear.

"How have you been," she decided to say. "Since the other night," she added that just because.

He wondered if that turn was inevitable.

"I've been okay," he said, with a duck of his head in a nod. It would have been a lie if he hadn't added, "since Wednesday. I just kind of...took a day," to get over himself, "to relax, and it helped a lot."

"Uh-huh," she murmured. "Know what you mean." She didn't get over herself though. She got over him. Or tried. Was trying.

Watching her thoughtfully, head slightly tilted, Cal asked, "How about you?"

"Oh, you know," she chuckled, the sound odd. "Been busy I guess. Keeping myself busy more like," she admitted without looking at him.

"Are you..okay?" Cal asked, lowering his voice into the same whisper they were restricted to in the cabin, watching her even more carefully now that he noticed she wasn't looking at him anymore. "About what happened?"

He wasn't sure what he meant more: the truth that he told her or the fact that he'd kissed her. Or even that he had wanted to.

What a silly question. What a silly boy.

She looked up. "Do you think I'm okay?"

Cal ducked his head shamefully, realizing the stupidity of his question. "No," he said quietly. "I guess you...really wouldn't be."

"...Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Cal. There's nothing for you to be sorry for. If anyone should be sorry it's me," she told him. "I feel now that I pushed you, wanting you to like me."

She shrugged, looked down. "I'm dealing," she whispered.

There really wasn't any pushing to it at all. If anything, it was more like Cal fell on his own volition. He frowned at Amber, confused by her response.

"But I do like you," he reminded her. Wasn't that obvious?

"I don't mean like like that, Cal," she said.

Cal's heart faltered.

"Like what?"

Surely he wasn't that dense.

"I mean like... like more than like." So this wasn't easy to explain. Amber's heart sped up and her cheeks grew warm. So much for keeping things light.

His heart was practically jammed in his throat from the effort to leap out of his mouth, but Cal couldn't help what came out instead.

"You mean...like like?"

It was asked in his usual wry wit, which he thought left him vulnerable to Amber thinking he was just teasing her, but he found himself saying it with a surprising earnestness.

He was teasing her and she wasn't sure what to make of that. Was that his polite way of casting her off?

Still, she found herself answering, her lips curving just slightly. "Yah, that's what I mean." If he laughed at her, she would have to laugh to for fear of looking like an idiot. Amber prepared herself for the inevitable.

There. That. A slight upturn in the corner of her lips. That was a smile; that had to be good.

"How do you know," Cal asked quietly, "that isn't what I mean, too?"

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