by Namita Singh
this.” I say and turn away.
“Why would you, you coward!” I hear him shout as I walk away with my head low. “Try to fight fair and square or you don’t have the guts?”
I roll my eyes and do not turn back. His provocative insults fade as I increase the distance between him and I. I think I have made my intent clear. I do not wish to fight. I am counting on my ignorance to get away from the center stage. But after that little incident, my friends start looking at me with awe, especially the girls. The guys pat my back and the conversation steers towards Viktor again, regarding how foolish he isand that he doesn’t stand a chance against me etcetera. The praises are good for a little while but after a while, again, they start to get to my nerves.
I assume that the craziness will fade away as the week will progress. But boy, am I wrong. My friends become friendlier towards me.The girls find me charmer than I was last week. Even Ray has suddenly realized that I am his best buddy. Whenever I accidently encounter Viktor, he doesn’t fail at throwing insult after insult at me, trying to elicit some sort of reaction from me. But I force myself to remain oblivious. If only I can do the same for the sudden popularity I seem to be grasping. Aakir has suddenly found something to amuse himself in for my squirming. He has taken as his responsibility to narrate to me the contents of the school blog that is updated every day. Apparently, my ‘superiority’ to Viktor and my ‘humbleness’ towards the attention are pretty much worthy of being announced on the internet by Neal. I am dreading The Plutocracy next Monday.
One will think that I should be thoroughly enjoying the fandom while it’s going to last. I am enjoying it when it comes down to Natalie who has finally realized that I am worthy of her time.But everything else doesn’t seem so great. Not if you want to count the nauseating affability my friends are offering me, or their desperateness to become good friends with me all of a sudden. What do people earn by this high esteemed popularity? Why do people enjoy this? They enjoy it because people start liking you more than they used to? But what about the pretense in their likeness?
It’s actually sad how a few words in the school newspaper and the school blog can change the mindset of people in this hell of a school. The blind ants walking in a line without caring to know where they are being led.
On Friday, when everybody is in a good mood for it to be finally the weekend, I am broodingly stuffing my things into my locker and slamming it shut with more force than necessary.
“Easy, tiger.” A voice chuckles from behind me.
I turn to see Neal and one of his friends standing next to him. Actually, I believe they must be passing the corridor and Neal decided to stop. The girl, his friend, looks dubious as she pauses as well. I am not sure of the girl’s name. It is Tanya or something along those lines, I believe. What I know is that Neal is very rarely seen without this particular lady at his arm.
“Hey.” I greet him.
“I’ll wait in the parking.” The girl says in a soft voice to Neal, who nods in return. She gives me a sweet smile before turning away. I smile back as she walks away. She is a pretty cute girl, now that I notice. Neal is one lucky bastard.
“So,” Neal grins, “Hope you had a good week.”
My smile vanishes at his implicating tone. “In my dreams.” I scoff.
His eyebrows rise at my bearish tone. And then he unexpectedly chuckles. “You’ll get used to it.” He says.
“Used to what?” I say, my tone a little indignant at him getting entertained at my expense, “The fakeness of my friends?”
He remains quiet as we start walking towards the exit of the building. I realize that my tone comes out ruder than I intended. I look at him sideways. He is walking nonchalantly, unseeingly looking in the front.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Neal.” I start, stupidly feeling guilty for taking out my frustration at him. “But, I am-”
“Isn’t it good in a way?” he interrupts, “Now you know who your real friends are.”
I halt my steps, as does he. He looks amused as he waits for my reply. Neal is far from being someone unintelligent. In an insightful ephemeral moment, I marvel over how complicatedly Neal is trying to send me a message. Or maybe I am looking too much into his words.
“Can you stop writing about me?” I ask him abruptly.
The surprise is clear on his face at my sudden request. Then he narrows his eyes at me suspiciously, “I am not going to write anything bad about you, if you’re worried.” He says.
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to write about me at all.” I say. “Please?” I add after a moment.
Now his features are marked with a little bit of concern along with surprise. For the first time he must be encountering a situation where his gifted popularity has become unwanted.
“Okay.” He says in a small voice. He suspires then, running a hand through his already messed up hair, “But, Lichinsky…you should know that it’s not going to earn you genuineness from people.”
I sigh, “I know.” I tell him. I hesitate for a moment and then continue, “Even before all this attention I knew who to count as friends, Neal. This has just been an added nuisance.”
He shrugs, “But you’re still wooing Natalie.”
I freeze. How the hell did he know that I fancy Natalie? I am fairly sure that no one apart from Aakir knows about that. Am I that predictable? Have my actions given me away? Is it-
“Don’t look so surprised.” Neal says, rolling his eyes and smiling teasingly, “And don’t worry either. Nobody knows.”
“How did you-”
“I have my ways.” He cuts me off, “the point is, if you’re so sure who your real friends are then I advise you sort out your priority list.”
“Neal,” I say sternly, “You do realize that you’re overstepping some boundaries?”
I guess I look threatening enough to make Neal pause and ponder over that for a while.
“It has become a habit of sort.” He says after a silent moment.
Apparently I do not look threatening enough. Or maybe Neal is more daring than I thought him to be.
I take a moment to calm myself. The whole week has been such a downer that even if Neal’s demeanor is not as offensive as I am feeling, I’ll still end up taking out my frustrations on him. He has some guts to be saying these things to me. I know I don’t have the greatest of friends but Neal has no right to rub that in my face. And he especially doesn’t have any right to interfere in my personal matters no matter how much impertinence is requisite for his stupid activity of a job. How can people enjoy popularity at the expense of their personal lives? I know that I don’t. I feel violated.
“Calm down, Josh.” Neal says, smirking slightly, “You’re beginning to sweat.”
Frowning, I touch my temple and realize that he is right. My forehead is clammy. My frown deepens. I hear Neal sigh.
“I don’t mean to be rude either, Lichinsky.” He says, “I am just doing what I like.” He grins tiredly at me.
I roll my eyes, “You’re shameless.” I tell him. We start walking again.
His grin widens, “I know.”
“And I really don’t appreciate it. Especially your take on my personal matters. You have no right.”
He bobs his head, “I know that, too.”
“And you don’t care.”
“Yup.”
I shake my head, “You’re a real prick.” I mumble under my breath. It is loud enough for Neal to hear and I see him smirking from the corner of my eyes.
“I’ll not write anything, okay?” He says as we exit the doors and walk down the steps. “Don’t fret.”
I roll my eyes, “I’m forced to wonder why people even like you.” I say, not completely over my pissed off state. I suppose he understands that by ‘liking’ I mean people ‘blindly following’ him. I am gratified for the fact that we share a certain understanding, where he knows I don’t like his prying and I know that he doesn’t give a shit. But it is still bizarre how nonchalant he is
being about my disapproval. “Or maybe there are people who dislike you for real.” I say after a moment.
“Actually, you’re the first one amongst the ones I extole who dislikes me.” He says. We reach the last step and halt again. He is smiling, as if nothing in this world can be more amusing than my misery.
“I don’t dislike you.” I clarify. “It’s the work you do that I dislike.”
He rolls his eyes, “Big words, Lichinsky.” Then he gives a sweet, sickening smile, “Am I allowed to mention your name for soccer, at least?”
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he is being sarcastic.
“Soccer practice doesn’t start for another month.” I tell him anyways.
“Maybe you want to warn beforehand.”
I shake my head, “I just don’t appreciate you prying into my personal matter for your blog and paper-”
“I didn’t mention anything ‘personal’ about you in print.” He quips in between, raising his left eyebrow.
“-and I don’t appreciate,” I continue, “you publicizing me for vague things in order to send me a subtle advice for my personal life.”
There is an extending pause.
“Alright.” He awkwardly rubs the side of his temple, “I won’t. I apologize.”
I am surprised with how genuine he sounds. “Okay.” I say, at a loss of words.
“Okay.” He drawls, “We cool?”
I nod.
“Right,” he says, “Then you should probably go and rest or something. You don’t look too good.”
“What?”
“You look pale.