Chapter Ten
With all the excitement of cross country and being assaulted at work, I’d completely forgotten to write a poem for Ms. Farmer’s class.
No big deal, I thought. I could scribble something down during lunch. It wouldn’t be the first time a homework assignment was finished in the cafeteria. My English teacher would never know.
I pulled out a sheet of college-ruled paper and my trusty blue pen. I tapped the pen against my bottom lip, trying to decide where to start when Amy plopped herself down in the seat next to me.
She was wearing jewel stickers on the outside of both eyes. It was very Gwen Stefani, and I wished I had the coloring to pull it off. While Amy looked beautiful and exotic when she wore them, I would look like I got lost in a Claire’s.
Although maybe they would cover the small bruise that formed on the outside of my left eye. Once again, Chase had been right.
Maybe I could write about a stupid boy who never was wrong about anything. He could get swallowed by a bear...
“What are you working on?” Amy asked, sliding into the seat next to me.
“The poem for Ms. Farmer’s class.”
Her mouth popped open into a perfect O-shape. “Nicole, it’s due after lunch.”
“I know. That’s why I’m working on it.”
“I overheard Erin talking about it. Ms. Farmer is making everyone read it in front of the class.”
Now it was my turn to open my mouth in surprise. “Like in 10 Things I Hate About You?” I loved that movie, but that didn’t mean I wanted to have Julia Stiles’ life. Well, unless it came with my own personal Heath Ledger.
I sat up in my seat and put my hands on the cafeteria table. “Do you think Ms. Farmer has seen it?”
Amy shook her head, causing her dark curls to bob. “Seen what?”
“10 Things I Hate About You. I’ve checked it out from work more times than I care to admit. I basically have that scene memorized. I could do that!”
The serious look on Amy’s face wasn’t encouraging. “I think you could come up with something original. I mean, that’s plagiarism.”
My shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. “What did you write yours about?”
She shook her head again, this time more forcefully. “No way, Nicole.” She stopped and looked up at the clock on the far wall of the cafeteria. “You have ten minutes. Figure it out. Meanwhile, I’ll sit here in silence eating my corndog.”
I watched as she mixed her ketchup and mustard together until it was an unappealing orange. When she dipped her corndog into the disgusting mixture, I turned my gaze back to the black page in front of me.
No movie references. No wheelbarrows.
What the heck was I supposed to write about?
I could mention the thrill of running and beating my previous times, but that seemed like something the jocks would do. I could mention the bruise on my face, but that was depressing. Dealing with confusing emotions with Chase?
No. That was definitely not happening.
I started scribbling the most random crap I could think of on my paper, and just in time too. The bell rang loudly through the cafeteria, signaling the end of lunch.
Erin was right about having to read out poems in front of the class, and I was correct about the kinds of things everyone would write about.
The football players talked about the thrill of being under the Friday Night Lights. The weird girl who chewed her hair talked about her secret crush, though I was pretty sure everyone in class knew who it was by the time she was done. The poor guy coughed nervously when she walked back to her seat—directly behind him.
Amy wrote about her conflicted emotions over the previous year’s Homecoming, but it was so good. She never bashed the popular kids, didn’t make the unpopular ones feel bad. And, she managed to do all this without making it look like some sad attempt to get compliments from everyone.
A few other people read their poems, and before I was ready, it was my turn.
I stood before the class, paper in hand.
The eyes of twenty students were on me as I cleared my throat. Amy gave me an encouraging smile from her spot. I held up the paper and started to read.
“Two forces, so different.
Can they ever live in harmony?
The answer only found in the chaos.
When they come together, they are changed forever.”
When I was done, I put my hands back at my sides and waited. The laughter started almost immediately, and honestly, I expected it. It hurt a little when I saw one of my teammates, Victoria, joining in though.
I turned to see Ms. Farmer watching me with curiously. “And do these two live in harmony, Miss Andrews?”
She was serious. I literally wrote a poem about ketchup and mustard. The same ketchup and mustard Amy mixed together for her lunch. I kept my expression neutral. “Yes, when they came together, they created this whole new…” I waved my hands as I struggled to come up with a word other than color. “Creation! Something that could only come from their unique combination.”
She bobbed her head as she thought over my answer.
“Thank you, Nicole. You may sit down.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding as she silently critiqued my work. I thought I might actually get a passing grade on the assignment.
When I slid into my seat, my eyes instantly went to Amy. Her lips were pressed together in an obvious attempt to stop the smile that was forcing its way onto her face.
Neal was next, and he wrote about the thrill of winning or something. I was too distracted by the folded piece of paper that found its way to my desk. I looked up to see if our teacher was paying attention, but she was watching Neal intently. I opened the note and saw Amy’s familiar scrawl.
Really!?!?!? You wrote about my school lunch?
Don’t lie. That was mustard and ketchup!! I should have known by the way you watched my tray and smiled to yourself. You. Are. Horrible.
I barely contained my snort, as I wrote my reply.
Loverboy William Carlos Williams wrote about a wheelbarrow. It’s not that bad.
I handed the paper back to Amy. Unfortunately, it was in that moment, Ms. Farmer turned around. Her eyes zeroed in on the paper exchanging hands.
She was quick to walk over and put her hand out. There was a rule in her class: If you were ever caught passing notes, be prepared to have them read aloud to the class.
I mentally braced for the second wave of embarrassment over that stupid poem, but it never came. Ms. Farmer opened and quickly scanned the paper. After giving me a look that had my blood running cold, she briskly made her way back to the front of the room.
“What does it say?” one boy asked from the back of the room.
Our teacher’s smile was tight. “It doesn’t matter.” She looked at me. “Nicole, I will have to ask you to stay after class.”
A collective oooooh made its way through my classmates, and I heard another voice whisper, “It must be really bad.”
I tried to ignore everyone and focus on the lesson. Truly, I did. But between my anxiety of what Ms. Farmer was going to say to me, and the lesson being more poetry, I could barely pay attention.
When the bell rang, everyone shuffled out the classroom door—everyone except for me. Amy gave me a sympathetic smile as she walked out, careful to be the last one out before I was left alone with our English teacher.
“Miss Andrews, you almost got me with your poem.”
“I am sor—”
“I thought you actually made an attempt to do your best,” she interrupted. “But I can see the assignment was a joke to you. You may not like poetry, but you will put forth a little effort. Which is why you will redo this project, or get a zero.”
“That’s not fair!” I cried.
“I’d tell you life isn’t fair, but I think you already know that. I expect your new poem on Monday. This time, please refrain from doing it at lunch.”
With that, she went back to her desk a
nd sat down. Ms. Farmer pulled out some papers and began marking them with her red pen. It was a clear dismissal.
I stormed out of the room, fuming about having to redo the assignment. Sure, I didn’t make much of an effort, but she wouldn’t have known that without that stupid note. I bet I would have gotten an A otherwise.
I didn’t see Amy and assumed she’d already gone out to the track. I got dressed out and did the same.
By the time I made it outside, everyone was finishing their warm-up. I quickly made my way around the track one time, instead of the standard two, and met everyone under the tree for stretching.
Chase arched his eyebrows at me from the other side of the circle, but I looked away before he could see the frustration I felt. My gaze went to Neal who was also watching me. His look lacked the concern Chase’s expression had, but instead was a cocky grin that just pushed me further into my bad mood. He’d witnessed the entire poem fiasco, and I couldn’t be sure if he was laughing at me or not.
When Coach gave us the route we’d be running that day, I started running without care. I didn’t wait for anymore else to start, I just went. I pushed one foot in front of the other, faster and harder than I usually did. My arms pumped at my sides as I gasped for breath. I was going faster than was practical, and I knew I would lose steam soon, but I didn’t care.
I was frustrated with so much, and this was the perfect way to cope.
Once I was satisfied with my sprint, I slowed my pace. The varsity guys started passing me, one by one. First, it was Neal, then some of the other junior and senior boys on the team.
Cassidy also passed me, but she yelled an encouraging, “Keep it up, girl,” before gaining a slight lead on me.
Seeing how close I was to her, I pushed myself harder. I never caught up, but I wasn’t passed by anyone either.
When I got back to campus, Coach Smith was standing under the tree with his clipboard in hand. As soon as he saw me run up, he called out. “Andrews, over here.”
“Yes, Coach,” I said tentatively, as I sucked in large breaths.
“You just shaved two minutes off your time.”
I smiled at the compliment. I wasn’t sure where I stood with the man and would take whatever positive reinforcement he sent my way. “Thanks, Coach.”
“That’s a new PR for you.”
I wasn’t sure what PR was but was too embarrassed to ask. I could only assume it had something to do with my time.
Coach adjusted his baseball cap as he looked down at me. “Think you can run like that again tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
He nodded and looked back down at the clipboard. “I want you to try. Now, go cool down with the rest of the team.”
I gave him a confused look before joining the other runners who had returned to the school. I put my hand against one of the large trees, as I grabbed one of my feet to stretch my quads.
Neal walked over, that stupid grin still on his face. “Nice job.”
“Thanks, Coach said it was my new PR.”
“You beat your personal record.” Thank goodness he’d clarified. Now, I wouldn’t have to embarrass myself by asking. “I’m impressed, Andrews.”
Neal Coleman was impressed? By me? I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. I also couldn’t help but wonder about something else that had been bothering me. “Why does everyone use last names out here? I’ve literally heard you call people by their first name in class, but then say their last name on the track.”
He laughed. “It’s a sports thing, I guess.”
It wasn’t exactly an answer, but I went along. “Okay, Coleman.”
His grin widened. “You’re catching on. Soon, you’ll be a pro.” Neal started stretching his calves. “So, how’d it go with Ms. Farmer?”
I groaned as I set my foot down and picked up the other, careful not to lose my balance. “It was bad. She found out I wrote my poem about ketchup and mustard.”
He barked out a laugh. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “I gotta write another poem by Monday.”
Neal lifted a corner of his mouth, drawing my attention to it. “Maybe this time you can tackle the complexities of peanut butter and jelly?”
“Nah. I was thinking milk and cereal.”
“It can be one giant food party.”
“Totally.”
He’d stopped stretching and stood up straight watching me. “Listen. I gotta go, but I’m excited to see what you can do this year.”
“See ya.” I waved absently.
When he was gone, Amy practically materialized beside me. “What was that all about?”
“I really don’t know,” I answered, watching him walk away.
Chapter Eleven
Amy flopped down on my bed, waking up Meatball who had been snoozing away for the last hour while we worked on homework together.
We’d agreed at the start of the year to have weekly study sessions. Though we didn’t have a lot of the same classes, it kept us accountable when it came to homework. If we met our goals, we rewarded ourselves with a shopping trip—nothing over the top, just a trip to the mall. I liked seeing if American Eagle was having any sales. Amy liked window shopping at Betsy Johnson, but she never bought anything.
“Ugh,” Amy whined from her spot on the bed. “I am so over calc, and we’ve barely started the year.”
“Tell me about it. I don’t know how I’m going to survive English. I swear Ms. Farmer is out to get me.”
She leaned up on her elbow and propped her head up in her hand. “Are you sure you just don’t have an early case of senioritis?”
“I think I’ve had senioritis for the last three years. I’m a hopeless case.”
“I think everyone at Rosemark feels that way. It’s something about Marlowe Junction.”
I wanted to argue that it was probably something teenagers experienced everywhere, but then she would use that against me, so I kept my mouth shut.
Amy sat up and pulled out a small bottle of red nail polish.
When she started unscrewing the top, I panicked. “Don’t’ get that on my bed.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, mother.”
“I’m serious.” I balled up a blank paper from my desk and threw it at her. It barely made it to the bed. “My grandma made that quilt, and I don’t want that mess all over it.”
Amy closed the bottle. “Fine. Switch spots with me.”
We did a quick shuffle, and Amy went to work on her toes. “So, what’s left of the homework agenda?”
“Just the poem. I know what I don’t want to write. The trouble had been knowing what I do want to write.”
I sunk down on my bed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to write it at all. I can’t think of anything.”
“Why don’t you consider some of Ms. Farmer’s advice? Think of something super random. Something not deserving of a poem. Like the wheelbarrow.” I groaned. “Or morning dew on the grass.”
“Or roadkill!”
Amy’s face scrunched up. “Ew. What are you, emo, now?”
“Obviously. I was hoping you’d dye my hair black after you’re done with your nails, and maybe we’d hit up Hot Topic at the mall afterward.”
“Oh, shut up.”
I opened my mouth to make another smart comment, but my computer dinged before I got the chance. I’d just gotten a message on AIM and thanks to protecting my quilt, Amy was posed to read whatever was on the screen.
It’s not like I cared, except the only person I really talked to on there was Amy. No one ever messaged me and I was too shy to message anyone else. I held my breath, eager to know who was sending me messages.
“Neal_XC4Life? I wonder who that could be.” Amy tapped her finger against her mouth, which barely contained her smile. I’d forgotten we all exchanged our AIM screen names at practice in case we ever needed to organize a team event.
I jumped from my spot on the bed and ran over. “What does h
e want?”
I scanned the screen.
Neal_XC4Life: Hey
“What do I say?” I looked at Amy in panic.
“Maybe start with hi?”
NotNicole1123: Hi
“Smooth,” Amy said from beside me.
“Shut up,” I whisper-yelled at Amy.
“You do know he can’t hear me over the computer, right? You don’t have to whisper. He doesn’t even know I’m here. Oh!” She bounced in the seat she refused to give up. “I could talk for you if you want.”
“Fine.” I slid the keyboard closer to her. “Be my guest.”
Neal_XC4Life: Do you think you’re ready for the meet in 2 weeks?
NotNicole1123: Yeah… I can’t wait to show everyone what I’m made of!
I groaned at Amy’s typing. “Humble much?”
“We’re talking to Neal, not Gandhi or Mother Teresa.”
Neal_XC4Life: You’re gonna be great.
NotNicole1123: Thanks ;)
“A winky face, Amy? Are you kidding me?”
“It’s fine. I’m being friendly.”
“Yeah, but Neal thinks he’s talking to me.” I smacked my chest with my hand. “I’m the one who looks like she’s flirting.”
“Fine.” She slid the keyboard back in my direction. “Then you can take it away.”
I wasn’t sure which was worse.
In the time it had taken Amy and me to decide who would be talking to Neal, he had sent another message.
Neal_XC4Life: A bunch of us are going to the movies tonight. You in?
I stared at it trying to formulate a response. It’s not like I never went to the movies. I wasn’t that weird. I’d just never gone as part of a group thing like that since middle school. I’d gotten sick after eating too much popcorn. I’d thrown up in the theater and had been too embarrassed to go again after that.
Eventually, the invitations stopped.
I so desperately wanted to say yes, but Amy and I had plans. I wasn’t about to throw that away just because Neal was asking me to see a movie.
Chasing Love (Mountain Creek Drive Book 3) Page 6