by Emily Bourne
“Miss Matthews?”
“Yes?”
“For the third time, can you list a body part in the endocrine system?”
Gulp. Andocrime? Am I supposed to know this?
“I take it by your stunned expression you didn’t complete last night’s homework.” I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Mrs Fields. “Miss Hernandez, can you please enlighten Miss Matthews?”
Rikki’s hair swings as she turns my direction. “Sure. Pancreas, ovaries, thyroid, any of these are acceptable.”
“Thank you, Rikki.” Mrs Fields claps as she makes her way to the board. “Now let’s talk about each in more detail.”
Rikki giggles, eyeing Bryce.
Like she is so superior.
I tug at my bracelet.
At the end of class, Will leaves at lightning speed. He didn’t touch a pen or skim a page the entire forty minutes. I collect my gear and struggle through the surge of students towards the door. Will is on his way to the dining hall, which we all nickname mess. He’s headed there with Bryce.
“I’ve got no idea what we are supposed to do for that assignment,” Will’s voice echoes in the corridor. He dumps his books into his locker and he and Bryce keep moving.
I smash into a few kids as I race to catch up. It’s worth it when I’m only a few paces behind them.
“I think I lucked out,” Bryce says. “My partner already seems to know all the answers.”
“Yeah, well I got screwed.”
My gut tears in two.
Will spins around and beams at me. “We both did, hey, Brit.”
“What?” I choke.
Bryce looks over his shoulder at me and every ounce of air escapes me.
“Neither of us can take the lead,” Will says. “I don’t think either of us could give two shits about that class.”
My jaw tightens. Don’t say anything stupid. “Maybe we can get Rikki to do our homework too.”
Both boys laugh. Phew.
“I can ask for you,” Bryce says. “You never know. Maybe she’d like the idea of doing more work.”
Will laughs, shoving Bryce. “See how far ya get with the nerdy babe.”
The boys quicken their pace as we approach the dining hall. Shell-shocked from my micro-convo with him, a dawdle is all I can muster.
I follow them into mess as Will still raves about Rikki. Telling Bryce he hit the jackpot. Are you freakin kidding me?
Bryce and Will land at their table and I side-glance my old table. The girls sitting there shoot me filthy looks. Meah and I have kicked booty these first few weeks of school. We moved from the slums of the entrance tables all the way to prime seating near the food lines.
The boys take their seats and I walk to the adjacent table and snag the seat next to Meah.
“Mr Phelps is the worst!” Meah shrieks, pulling her mousy brown hair over her jawline.
“What happened?”
I bat her hands away from her face. She’s super self-conscious about her strong jaw. All the Watkins have it. Looks great on the guys, not so much on a girl. Her hands are always fussing about her neck or waist. She’s put on some weight and is pudgy around the mid-section. She needs to lay off the snacking.
Meah’s dependable. We were both kicked aside and then we found each other. Yeah, we’ve had a group of friends over the years, but it was the two of us in a sea of people. This made things easy when we planned to infiltrate the popular group. Our friends didn’t want a bar of it, so we ditched them. Ditched them for a bigger and better horizon.
“Mr Phelps gave us a test. With no notice. That should be illegal in a maths class. What a friggin jerk.”
“That sucks.”
“Anyway, how was science? Do anything besides stalk Bryce Kerry?”
“Shoosh. I’d hardly call it stalking.”
“Just constantly staring at him.”
“Meah, shuddup.”
We always sit so we are facing their table. Chloe and Kimberley rampage towards it.
Chloe slams her bag on the table in front of Bryce. “Mr Phelps is a massive douchebag!”
“What happened?” Bryce asks, creeping back in his chair.
“We had a test already,” Kimberley says, sliding down beside Chloe.
“So Benny, who are you scaring into giving you the answers?” Will asks Chloe.
Chloe turns to Kimberley. “Who’s smartest in our class?”
Kimberley tussles her dark hair, and replies, “Charlotte Matthews?”
I check my phone for notifications to disassociate from the new topic.
Kimberley cackles. “We can work that bitch.”
My skin crawls from the hideous way Kimberley talks. She hasn’t changed since we were ten-years-old. She is skilled in backhanded compliments, spinning rumours and listing your faults in front of a room of people. And for some reason I desperately wanted to be friends with her. She’s been on auto-attack since the day Greg Francis called her a dirty Abo in grade five. Her skin colour has never mattered to me. It’s like honey-drizzled espresso. If anything, I’m jealous. It’s inside where the horror show is at.
I was glad when she stopped coming over to our house. Unfortunately, that marked the turning point where she became Chloe’s best friend.
I want in on Chloe’s group.
Again, I need to be around Kimmy Jones.
“We should get food.” Will scrapes back his chair. “Unlike you ladies, we don’t have boyfriends to fetch our lunches.”
As Will and Bryce get up from the table, I clutch Meah’s wrist and we fly from our seats. The boys head for the food line, and we b-line around tables trying to keep up. We squeal as we run. The boys line up and we skid behind them. Still holding hands, we hunch in fits of giggles. I hate that I can’t stop. Every time I look at Meah it makes it worse. My stomach cramps and my breathing is weird as I try to mute myself.
“What’s happening, ladies?”
I turn around to Naveen Singh cocking an eyebrow and smirking at us. I take in the oaky, amber cologne lingering on his caramel skin. He’s a boy worthy of a GQ cover.
“Nothin,” Meah says, fidgety with giggles.
“Can’t I know the joke?” Naveen leans over to meet Meah’s eyes.
Will and Bryce turn around and red coats my face.
“What’s happening?” Will asks.
I tug at my hair and shift my weight as Bryce stands so close to me. My heart thunders in my ears.
Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.
“Nothing’s happening.” Meah sashays her hips. “We’re just gonna order food.”
“Yeah.” Will faces front and cups his hands around his mouth. “IF THIS FRIGGIN LINE WOULD MOVE.”
Bryce faces me. “What should I get?”
“Eh, me? You’re asking me?”
“Yeah. I can’t decide. You decide for me.”
“Then who will decide for me?” I literally have no idea what I’m saying.
“I will. I think it’s easier to decide for other people. Less pressure.”
“Are you kidding? It’s way more pressure choosing for someone else.”
He laughs which sets butterflies loose in my stomach. My knees beg for mercy.
“Oh no. Have I put too much pressure on you?”
My mouth opens to speak, but only a weird gah noise comes out.
“Dude, it’s easy,” Will says, spinning Bryce around. “Just get a burger. No brainer.”
All the air I was holding onto rushes out like a violent wind. My legs untense and my torso wants to wobble like jelly.
Naveen pushes past us and joins the boys as the line moves. I fixate on the flex between Bryce’s shoulder blades and run my gaze below his blazer.
Best.
Wednesday.
Ever.
The sun shines today,
But the light has set,
I lay, weary and morose,
Turned away from warmth.
Unable to see ahead,
Clarity los
t in the void,
Summer cannot embrace,
This lonesome fragile shell.
Coldness takes over,
Numb, blue to the core,
Trembling until fracture,
Forgotten in broken pieces.
I drop the pen when thoughts of my phone blanket my mind. Why won’t he reply? His last text was five days ago.
What did I do wrong?
Where is he?
“What are you doing in here?” My boyfriend Travis leans against the door of the classroom. His shoulders broad and arms folded, his chocolatey hair a mess. How many teachers have gotten on his back today about improper uniform? His tie is unravelled, shirt untucked, and blazer sleeves rolled up.
My eyes pan over the empty desks around me, to the blackboard with scrawled notes, and down to the phone in my hands. I drop the phone and slide a hand under my cheek to rest.
“It’s lunch time.” Travis walks between desks. “Why are you still in the classroom? No way you got detention.”
Guilt swells as I smooth over the open page of my textbook. Most of geography I texted Dad or wrote poetry. “Just catching up on work.”
Travis pulls out the chair in front of me and sits backwards on it. “School started a month ago. There isn’t anything to catch up on.”
“I mean, get ahead.”
Travis takes my hand. “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself.”
I sneak a peek at my phone and Travis notices.
“Your dad? Still not heard back?”
I shake my head, frowning at the phone.
“Hey, what’s this?” he says and tugs at the notebook underneath my elbow. I lift my arm so he can spin the book and read the poem. Sometimes I don’t understand my emotions and poetry helps. It’s always super private, but Travis is my rock and I know my words are safe with him.
“I hate that he’s making you so sad.”
I take the book back. “Maybe we should go to lunch.”
Travis helps me pack up my stuff and suggests, “Wanna hang out at the mess?”
I close a book and purse my lips. “You want me to sit with your friends?”
“They’re getting shitty that I don’t hang out in there that much.”
“So, you shudda gone there instead of coming to find me.”
“As if I’m not gonna see you. It’s bad enough I don’t get to see you during class because we’re in different grades.” He walks around the desk until we are face-to-face and adds a fake whimper to his voice, “I need as much Charli-Wharli time as I can get.”
I push his stomach as a disgusted laugh pours out of me. “Eww. Shuddup.”
Travis finds his footing, laughing, and hangs an arm over my shoulder, hitching my stuff under his other arm. He kisses my forehead and we make our way out of the classroom.
The corridors are almost empty. Whoops. Didn’t mean to stay behind this long. We dump my stuff in my locker and head to the mess hall.
I shudder as we enter a barrage of noise. The dining hall is cavernous. The ceilings arch to a high mid-point with an echoing effect. Stained glass windows depicting John Thomas, Phillip Sanford and other Sanford settlers, run the length of the outside wall.
Aesthetically, the mess hall is beautiful. Unlike the cringe-worthy social politics. It’s all about where you sit and who with. The Powers That Be want me sitting near the entrance doors; AKA bottom of the pyramid. Travis and his friends are A-List twelfth graders, they have the same table every day up near the food line. Everyone is nuts for these food line tables, like the freakin King and Queen dine there. Trav explains the benefit is being able to see gaps in the line to save on wait times. I still don’t get the value.
I try to avoid the social experiment. My friends and I opt for fresh air and sunshine; more importantly the silence. A non-existent thing as we approach Travis’ friends. They call out and wave like they haven’t seen him in months. I pick out the grimaces aimed at me, while we get our food and join the table.
“Ohmigawd Maggie, seriously,” GiGi Larkin shrieks, flicking her brunette waves away from her heavily painted face. “You’re actually going to your dad’s office party instead of coming to my house on Friday night?”
A groan reverberates from the back of Maggie Lee’s throat. “It’s not an office party. He’s performing at the naval base. Like, it’s a big deal, or whatever.”
GiGi pushes her palm in front of Maggie. “You’re a sucky friend.”
Maggie rolls her eyes and scrolls through her phone. “I’ll, like, try to stop by after.”
“As if you’re not gonna be there,” Ray Martinez chimes in, pointing his thumbs towards himself, “when this stud is gonna be there.”
Maggie’s shoulders jiggle with a silent laugh. She falls onto his chest and continues to text.
While Travis talks with Lucas about a game that was on TV (sport, I’m guessing) my eyes wander the mess hall. My throat constricts at sight of my sister. Brittany’s hair is now the fake blonde from a bottle and constantly scorched by a flat iron. She sits with her cohort Meah, giggling and gossiping behind cupped hands. Her eyes are locked on Chloe Benson’s table. She’s relentless. It’s been non-stop since summer break when she changed dance schools. All I heard was, Chloe this and Chloe that. It takes all my strength to not get up and slap sense across her face. What is the appeal? Especially when she knows first-hand what Kimmy is like. Well… second-hand, I guess.
I said no to popularity. Why can’t she?
“Travy will be there though. Won’t you?” My attention is snatched from Brittany by GiGi’s baby voice. My hand slips onto Travis’ thigh as GiGi flutters eyelashes at him.
Travis clears his throat. “Well, ah,” under the table his fingers interlace with mine. “I’ll probably be hanging with Charli.”
Tension camps between my shoulders as GiGi’s cheeks suck in and her nostrils flare. “Of course, your little girlfriend is invited.”
Little?
Travis looks at me and pauses.
Lucas slaps him on the back, and slurs, “C’mon mate, don’t be a pussy. We’re all gonna be there. Just come hang out. Won’t kill ya.”
I rub my lips together and shrug a shoulder.
Lucas is a dick.
Travis squeezes my hand and says to his friends, “Yeah, maybe.”
GiGi grins like the star of a dental commercial. “Sweet. You won’t regret it. Gonna be epic.”
“If I’m gonna come to this thing,” Maggie begins, “don’t invite that scumbag Jason Halberg.”
“Oh fuck,” Ray says. “Did ya hear that guy in maths? What a friggin turd.”
“What did he say?” Travis asks, head tilted.
I tap between Travis’ knuckles as the ugly words against Jason Halberg intensify. Jason. Someone who once helped me in the library find killer info for a Julius Caesar essay. A nice guy.
“As if I’d ever let that loser into my house,” GiGi says and starts gagging.
I kick my feet against the chair legs.
“Maybe you should so we have home-court advantage,” Lucas smirks.
Travis laughs and replies, “I swear I didn’t hear any of this. Was I even in maths today?”
Ray winks at me. “You’re getting all kinds of distracted, aren’t ya, Trav.”
Lucas cheers, “Whoop, whoop. Yeah, boy.”
Before I hear another word, I’m standing.
Travis tugs on my hand. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry, I need to go.”
“I’ll go with you,” Travis says, standing.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
I smile and so does he.
“What, you’re leaving Trav?” Ray asks.
More grimaces in my direction.
“I’ll be right back,” Travis tells his friends and he leads me away.
In the corridor he asks, “You ok?”
“I’m fine.”
“Is it your dad?”
&
nbsp; I bite the inside of my cheek. It wasn’t, but it’s now in the mix. I sigh, leaning against a locker and say to his shoes, “I’m sorry I made you leave your friends.”
“You didn’t make me do anything.” His hands slide along my shoulders.
I hug my waist and whisper, “I just felt weird.”
“Probably because you were near that pack of weirdos.”
I push for a smile, but the welling is already in my throat. I swallow hard. It’s scary when Travis is around his friends. I hate hearing anything from his lips that sounds like a version of them.
My hands fish inside Travis’ blazer and run up his sides. He hooks a finger under my chin and lifts my head up. Air drains out of me as he edges closer. Our lips press together and linger. His kiss is soft and sends a tingle down my spine.
I smile and clasp his hand as we move along the corridor.
Halfway across the quad, he asks, “So, what did you think about going to GiGi’s on Friday night?”
My fingers run through my curls and snag on a knot. “I don’t mind if you go without me.”
“Going without you would be no fun.”
“As if. You know I’m not a partier.”
“Me either.”
“Whatever. I heard the wild party stories involving you before we started dating.”
“I thought you didn’t listen to rumours,” he teases.
We leave the quad and I spy Kellie and Reece under our usual tree. Reece lies on his back, knees bent to the sky with a book held over his head.
Kellie, slumped against the tree, waves madly at us. She pushes her oversized, black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose and leaps to hug me. It’s not a Kellie-hug if your bones don’t crack.
Kellie’s bushy, copper hair attacks my face. I brush it back and she asks, “Where you been? We thought you ditched us.”
“She wouldn’t leave the classroom.” Travis smirks as Kellie unleashes me.
“For twenty minutes? Like, most of lunch is over.”
I fling a thumb at Travis. “He wanted to hang out in mess.”
“Sounds bout right,” Reece mumbles at his book.
“What’s your problem?” Travis says, diving to tackle Reece.
“Gah! Dude, get off me.” Reece whacks Travis with his novel.