Eight|the king of the leaves

                                    

                                          
I don't like when people are mad at me. I usually try to avoid doing anything that will end with me getting snapped at. Of course, I'm still human, and I still find ways of messing up. Luckily, Clay and I had that rule of no more yelling, right? Well, no. That only made it worse. 
                          
George doodled along the margins of the map. It wasn't an entire map of the United States and rather a map strictly of North Carolina. Clay said it was the only map that would contain all the highways they'd be driving on. However, now it was full of smiley faces and pirates and random squiggly lines George had put no meaning to. He drew stick figures sword fighting to the death while surrounded by the ocean. He doodled mythical creatures like dragons, Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster. The two didn't talk, but George could call himself content. As long as his pen still had ink, he could entertain himself for the entire trip. 
                          
"So that Wilbur guy met his soulmate, huh?" Asked Clay after their miles of silence. 
                          
George nodded as he drew an angry face on one of his pirate stick figures. "Yeah. Why do you care?"
                          
"Just wondering. How'd they meet?"
                          
"Some kid tried to sell me his homework and he offered me a soulmate discount. He has the same marking as Wilbur so I gave him his number," George replied. "This song sucks." He skipped the track and glanced up at Clay to see him not appear to notice or mind. 
                          
"Wait, was this English class?" He asked. 
                          
"Yeah."
                          
"Was it Technoblade?"
                          
"Yeah. You know him? Should I file a restraining order against him now?"
                          
"That guy's a condescending prick," Clay said. "I've known him since middle school. He was the only tutor I could find that would tutor me for English class for free and he spent every afternoon bragging about himself and told me I'd end up homeless with my grades."
                          
"Was he wrong?" Asked George, and Clay scowled. 
                          
"English is my strongest subject now."
                          
"That's a bit worrying if you needed a tutor for that class."
                          
"Only the reading bit. I can write essays just fine."
                          
"How can you write but you can't read? Isn't it usually the other way around?" George asked, waving his pen around as he talked.
                          
"I don't know. How can someone so short ride rollercoasters?" Clay snapped. "What's Wilbur like? Do they seem like they could be soulmates?"
                          
George shrugged. "I don't know. I guess. All I know is that I've known Wil for almost seven years and I've never heard him as happy as he was when he found Techno."
                          
"How'd you meet him?"
                          
"You're asking a lot of questions right now." George began to color the corners of the map, attempting to make it so that there was no white left in the spots he had colored. He expected Clay to push forth with questions anyway. He didn't mind answering them, though he'd admit that it was odd that a boy who couldn't give a damn about his life suddenly wanted to know so much about it. A few moments passed where the only sound keeping them away from another awkward, long-winded silence was the radio that blasted yet another new musician George had never listened to. 
                          
He glanced up at Clay for a brief moment before finally answering his question. "My school had uniforms, and in my first year of secondary school, the loud kid who always sat behind me in class tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to sign a petition to abolish them. That was Wilbur."
                          
"Did it work?"
                          
George stifled a small laugh. "I was the only signature. But since I signed it, he decided to follow me around until I finally agreed to visit his house. He's been killing my phone ever since." He remembered when he had first signed the petition. They were both so small, and George could barely fit in his uniform. Wilbur's hair always covered his eyes, and he didn't have glasses yet, and George remembered the pain he felt when Wilbur accidentally hit him with the clipboard with his petition on it.