Matherson Public School creeps upon us until we can see its brick walls and rather drab surroundings. It looms above its students, standing two full stories tall, casting a shadow upon their forms. Weeds sprout in little bursts all over the premises, grass untamed and wild. All in all, it is the rehashed image of a normal high school that stands to be many students' second home.
Lucas pauses so I can finally catch up to him, assuming that my anger would have cooled down by this point. As I unwillingly head to his side, forced by my probable tardiness, I spy his excited face. "Why are you so happy, wolfboy?" I snap, my voice harsh and abrasive. My bangs droop in front of my eye as I slump slightly, shifting into my regular position when I'm around people at school.
He peers at me strangely. "Why are you slumping? I thought you had perfect posture," he inquires quietly. I frown, my eyes narrowing.
"None of your business," I curtly say, looking away from him, "answer my question instead of asking your own."
Lucas seems unaffected even though I've treated him so rudely, an action, or rather, lack of action I have come to predict from him. "Well, you sure did taste good," he smiles brightly, winking at my form. I boil, my eyes now in a squint. Once again, Lucas just looks on, oblivious to my anger and embarrassment. I wonder how he so conveniently shuts out my reluctance, innocently disregarding it.
Suddenly, all conniption evaporates as I survey the huge clock situated on the front of the monotonous school. "Crap!" I yell, watching the second hand tick towards the 12, prompting the minute hand to gravitate towards its next number. I grab Lucas's hand, dragging him along with surprising force. As I run, I spurt out, "Lucas, if not for you I would have gotten to school on time! I can't be late... I can't..."
The doors snap shut as I slide to meet it, barring my way.
I hang my head in utter defeat, my eyes staring towards the floor in shame. I am late. Ms. Hazel is going to kill me. I should have just died yesterday.
I forget that I'm even holding Lucas's hand until he grips it tightly; sending electric sparks throughout my body. I hate the fact that I am so aware of him, the smallest touch alerting me and making butterflies flutter in my stomach. Why can't I just avoid him? Why can't I hate him with all of my energy instead of harboring this little feeling of admiration for his beauty and perseverance?
A portly lady with a stomach the size of a beach ball walks up to the glass, staring at our forms. Her practically nonexistent eyebrows–obviously they have been plucked too much–rise as she surveys Lucas's glistening blue hair and sparkling green eyes. Wordlessly she swings the door open, not lifting her gaze from his magnificence.
"Who are you?" she queries, her mouth almost dropping to her knees. He cracks a million dollar smile, melting the woman into slush on the cold floor.
"My name is Lucas, and this is Ava, my ma-" he begins, only to wince as I squeeze his hand in a deathly grip.
"Well, hello Lucas," she grins, her dull, coal black eyes glistening as she absorbs his masculine features. "I haven't seen you before. Are you new?" she inquires, completely ignoring me.
"Yes ma'am," he confirms, "Ava came with me to show me around the school." The fat lady finally turns her laser like gaze upon my form, her eyes narrowing as she takes me in.
"You aren't new, correct?" she asks coldly. I nod in response, not opening my mouth for this witch. "You will be counted tardy," she informs me, my eyes widening in alarm at her words. I yank my hand away from Lucas, feeling a sudden burst of anger.
"Please, miss," Lucas says pleadingly, "she was just telling me about the school, and we lost track of the time... it is my fault." His touch is now comforting, filling me with warmness even I can barely comprehend.
The woman now is flustered, I can tell, torn between her disgust with me and her obvious liking of the beautiful man beside me. Finally, she replies, "okay, if that is all. Please don't do this again. Consider this to be a warning."
Lucas flashes another heart-melting grin, stunning us both, although I desperately try to fight it. "Thank you," he bows, taking her hand and brushing his lips across it.
I can't explain the anger flooding through me at that moment. I hate him. I want him to disappear.
He elegantly stands straight as the woman embarrassedly orders us to follow. Her face is flushed as she wobbles down the hallway, obviously affected by his alluring gentlemanliness.
Lucas chuckles a little, grabbing my hand once again as we follow her. I jerk my hand away again, anger rushing through me. "Don't touch me!" I demand. Now there is full-out laughter. I shake with irascibility, my emotions running hot through my veins.
"Ava, you are jealous, aren't you?" he asks. I try desperately to contain the blushes, but it still spreads all over my cheeks. I don't understand why I am behaving this way. "Don't worry," he whispers, leaning in, his breath dancing across my ear, "I will only kiss you from now on." His intimacy distracts me, destroying my defenses. Briefly, I enjoy his sugar sweet words, his flattering promise.
Then I remember that I hate him.
"As if I'd let you," I snap at him, carefully veiling my guilty pleasure. He seems to sense it, though, a smile stretching across his features.
"I didn't know that you would come to love me so quickly!" he says happily, only to receive a jab in the stomach.
"No you idiot!" I protest angrily. However, my feeble comebacks are useless against his unrelenting grin and assurance that I am in love with him.
The lady leads us both to a tiny, narrow door. "This is where you will get your information," she directs Lucas, a hint of redness still dusting her plump cheeks. With a flirty smile, she says, "I am the school nurse, Mrs. Teal. Please come to me if you ever need anything." Walking away, she deliberately sways her hips, hoping that the enticing man will watch her.
I am ashamedly happy to say he doesn't.
Lucas grins at me, and then swings the door open so that we both can enter. The most cluttered, disorganized place I have seen in my entire life lies before me, shocking me still. "Wow," I whisper as I survey the mess: the collage of papers, staples, pens, and sticky notes that buries everything else.
Reclining right behind the disastrous disorder is a stick-thin, rather short lady with a beehive hairdo that climbs about seven inches into the air. It is a masterpiece, reminding me slightly of those wigs in the medieval times, and rather typical of an elderly woman like her.