CHAPTER FIVE

BLAKE’S POV

For the first time since I could remember, I was glad to be going to school. I don’t know why, but I felt extra happy when I drove my Mercedes to school that morning. Even listening to my dad retell the tale of how he got injured while playing golf with Kyle, Anthony’s dad, didn’t bore me to death like it usually would have.

When I got to school however, and had to face my almost-murderers friends, I felt all that joy leave me.

“Dude, we had absolutely no idea that Pearce was allergic to peanuts. We wouldn’t have done that if we had known,” Dante said. Luke on the other hand didn’t look like he was at all sorry about almost ending someone’s life.

“Look, I know you guys don’t exactly pick up on social cues, but I believe that when Anthony blatantly refused to eat the peanut butter and Jelly sandwich that Gary offered him last year during basketball practice, and said the words ‘I’m allergic to peanuts. I’ll literally die if I had just a tiny bit of it’ it was quite clear to just about anyone that he was allergic to it!”

“Damn, Blake. Don’t get all worked up and mad at us because of that fag.” I glared hard at Luke. Never have I ever felt so mad at myself for being friends with him. Using such a derogatory term was so not okay.

I wanted to punch someone, preferably Luke, but I settled for slamming my locker shut and letting it rattle against its hinges, causing a ripple effect on the other lockers there.

“Listen to me, and listen good: I appreciate you guys hating Anthony on my behalf. I like that you despise him almost as much as I do when he didn’t even do anything wrong to you guys in the first place. But what I don’t appreciate is you taking out your anger on him physically. You can yell at him, you can break all his shit and torment the hell out of him, but what you cannot do is lay your hands on him. I’m the only one who gets to do that. I’m the only one who gets to hurt him physically. So, the next time you want to have a go at Anthony, make sure you don’t lay a finger on him. He’s mine!”

I turned around, ready to storm out of the hallway and into the Clay Room for my pottery class, when I came face to face with Anthony. He was staring at me in a very funny way and I couldn’t interpret his expression. I believed he heard me though, because he looked from Dante to Luke and then me, before turning around and walking away.

I got to the Clay Room just as the bell went off. Miss Clara Kincaid, our Pottery teacher, walked in, her kimono flowing lazily as she moved. Her rimless spectacles sat primly on her long nose and she peered down at us – all five of us – through the lenses.

“Okay everyone, settle down. We have a new member. I’m sure you all know him from the basketball team.” She pointed at me and the other three members – because Anthony refused to pay me any attention – turned to face me.

“Now, last week we talked about advancing into pitchers and handles. Now, I know some of you here already know how to do that…” she gave Anthony an appraising look and continued. “But I would still like for all of us to move at the same speed. Blake, what do you know about pottery?”

The Clay Room wasn’t situated like your regular classroom. Here, instead of desks we had Pottery wheels and stools, and instead of the regular row and column arrangement of desks, we had a hexagon, with a pottery wheel and stool unoccupied. So, everyone in the class had a clear view of everyone else. As much as I loved being a star on the court, getting this kind of close-up peer review was unsettling.

“Uh…I know it’s made with clay…” They all listened and watched me, expecting more than that to come out from my mouth. Unfortunately, I had absolutely nothing on pottery. This was new territory to me.

“Interesting. It is one of the most important things to know about pottery.” Anthony snickered and tried to hide his grin with the back of his good hand.

“Well then, since you already know what we are about to do today, why don’t you help Blake out, Anthony?” The smile was completely wiped off his face and he sat up straight.

“Me?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes you. Help him out. Show him how to use the wheel. Teach him the basics. Explain to him what ‘handbuilding’ and ‘throwing’ mean.”

“You guys throw clay? Like you do in basketball?” I was given that look that was reserved for the idiot of the class. Now I knew how Dante felt sometimes.

“Miss Clara, I can’t teach Blake. Do you know how frustrating it is to teach someone who doesn’t know anything about pottery?”

“Yes. And now you’ll get to find out how I felt when I started teaching you.” She smiled warmly at him, but in a sarcastic way, and this time around I snickered. I didn’t mind at all that Anthony just rejected the opportunity to hang out with me.

Anthony removed his sling and stood up from his stool. He walked over to me and without saying a word, he crouched down beside me, one hand on my thigh, the other on the base of the pottery wheel.

“I didn’t know I was yours, Lindell. Remind me again when you purchased me?”

He seemed to be searching for something down there but needed to be balanced the further he bent because his left hand went further up my thigh and gripped it. I didn’t think he realized where his hand was headed.

“Remember back in fifth grade when I found you when you were lost in that forest? Well, finders keepers, am I right?”

“Ah, so you got me for free? I always thought I was worth more than ‘finders keepers’.” He tugged on something below, but it didn’t budge and he ended up gripping my thigh tighter. I looked down and saw that his hand was dangerously close to my territory.

“I believe having great navigational skills at such a young age is not something to be taken lightly,” I responded smugly. Anthony chuckled despite himself. He tugged on whatever he was pulling around the base of the pottery wheel some more.

“Stupid cord,” he muttered to himself.

“Uh, Pearce. I’m flattered and everything, but I don’t think the classroom is the right place for a hand job, you know?”

“What?” He lifted his head to look at me, and when I looked down at where his had was, he followed my gaze, releasing a horrified screech and quickly pulled his hand away when he realized what he was doing.

“Everything alright there, Anthony?” Miss Clara asked.

“Everything’s fine Miss Clara. Anthony was just trying to find a choke pipe.” I wiggled my brows at him and he gasped and hit me playfully, turning a bright shade of red.

“A choke pipe?” our teacher asked, looking confused.

“Ignore him, Miss Clara. He’s still new to pottery so he’s mixing it up with engineering terms.”

“I knew you fancied me, Pearce. How could you not?” I was teasing him and he was reacting in the perfect way by turning a bright shade of fiery red. The fun thing about Anthony was that he got embarrassed so easily that making fun of him would make you love the color ‘red’ so much. If someone saw him now, they might actually think he liked me.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lindell. No matter what, you’re still mummy’s little boy and that look does not go well with the bad boy persona you have going on there. It’s kind of difficult for me to like you when I already know all that.”

When my frown appeared on my face, his smile came into play. Finally, he was able to untangle the cord for the foot pedal and straighten it out. He stood up straight and looked down on my sitting form.

“Now, that’s the control for the wheel. You’ll paddle like you will a sewing machine and…”

“Bold of you to think I know how to use a sewing machine.”

“You’ll paddle with your left foot,” he continued, completely disregarding my statement. “And while you paddle, you’ll control the clay as it spins on the wheel. That’s what throwing is.”

I looked down at the wheel before me and then looked around and saw the others spinning theirs and molding it into pitchers. I looked at Anthony.

“And what’s the building with your hands stuff?”

“Handbuilding. That’s when you mold the object you desire to make with your hands instead of the wheel. You wouldn’t be able to do that though. I doubt you have a single artistic bone in your body.”

“I may not have an artistic bone in my body, Pearce, but I believe I do have one that might interest you a great deal. As my teacher, I think that’s all the bone I need to impress you.” The color drained from his confidence and pooled in his cheeks, spreading all the way to his ears.

He didn’t have a comeback for that, but just got redder and redder the more I stared at him. It was funny at first, but when he turned so red, his neck got colored too, I started to get worried.

“Pearce, you alright?” I stood up to level with him and get a better look at him. As soon as I was close enough to look him in the eyes and see the deep blueness of them, he freaked out for some reason and moved back. The cord of the foot pedal obstructed his reversal and so he tripped.

With lightning speed, I wrapped my arm around his waist to stop him from crashing to the floor. The force in which I pulled him upwards made him gravitate extremely close to me. Our faces were just a hairs breadth away from each other’s. I could hear the rapid beating of his heart. Or was that my own heart?

Suddenly, the door to the Clay Room burst opened. Anthony and I both turned to the door, still entangled with each other. We came face to face with the angry, hatred-filled glare of Anderson. But, for some reason, instead of that glare to be directed at me, it was directed at his best friend