I don't think I remember the last time I ever gave a rat's rear about school or whatever. It's boring. Booooooooring. I'd wake up and feel even weirder than the day before. Safe to say, being a teenager is hell on earth. It's too much, honestly.
But here I was again, in the cafeteria, 10:00 AM. It's usually pretty quiet around Liberty High. Everyone keeps to themselves after what happened that day. Ever since that weird stuff started propping up, things have gotten quieter. For better or worse. It was bland. Like the food. I didn't much care about aesthetics, but I wouldn't mind the whole school not looking like the inside of a hospital in World War 2. At times I even wondered if I had been colorblind all this time. Or maybe it's this school. I think I'm losing it…
The worst part has to be the food. So. Fucking. Bland. Is it that difficult to have a basic understanding of good fucking food? At least enough to feed like us actual people without functioning taste buds?! Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually Grandpa Roald who has arthritis and rheumatism all over. Sittin' over on his deathbed trying to fit his fake teeth to eat his fake food, so he can live his fake life…
Today's special was beans. Fucking beans. I am so done with this garbage! Or maybe I am the garbage? Maybe a garbage chute? They just shovel shit into my mouth and expect me to gobble it up. I mean, in what world do you just serve this to 1000 people and be like 'oh yeah, some Michelin chef-level shit.' Fuck you and your bullshit excuse for a 'meal'. I even heard some schools up north were barely getting meals to all the kids. They were running out of funding, apparently.
I played with the food on my table. The fucking beans. Staring back at me like each of them Is an eye. A stupid bean eye that just doesn't wanna look away. Starin' daggers into my soul.
I was about to dig my spoon in as I saw Evan walk up. It had been a while, but he didn't get taller or shorter. Fatter or skinnier. He just stayed the same… And he wasn't a jock, neither. He wasn't smart enough to be a nerd. Or edgy/ gloomy enough to be a goth kid. He was just… there.
"Hey, Wyatt." He said, trying to force a smile.
"What the fuck do you want?" This is my third week of eating beans. I wasn't having it..
"Woah, dude. I'm just saying hi…"
I scoffed and stood up. I dropped my spoon and It kinda bounced off the tray and onto the floor.
Beans on the floor.
"Well you picked the wrong motherfucking time to fucking say hi." I said, as I leaned into Evan's side and whispered. "Fucking bitch."
Evan shuddered as he usually does. Little bitch. His voice got nervous and shaky. "Hey, just chill dude." He mumbled, "Calm down."
I mean, I had to show Evan who's boss, y'know? This little soy-boy had it coming. And he still has it coming. He's been hanging out with me for the last year since I'm his 'only' friend. People tell me I should treat him better or else he might stop coming to class, but fuck those guys, I gotta show the wimp who's top shark.
"Do you still wanna hangout and watch that movie?"
"What movie?"
"Y'know, the thing we had set up with Beckett and Bridget." He said.
"Oh, its that stupid documentary about giraffes?"
"No…"
Before Evan could babble, I saw that ol' jock, Beckett sauntering his way through the cafeteria and he spotted me and Evan. He waved his hand all prince-charmingly like some douche-nozzle took a seat opposite me.
Now here's the thing about Beckett Saint-James. He's The bell of the ball, the high school prom-king. All-Star quarterback- of course. Winner of the genetic lottery. The list goes on and on. Just a Mr. Perfect on two perfect legs.
He walked to us with open arms, greeting us. "Hey fellas, how's it going?"
"Why do you still hang around with us, Beck?" I told 'em, "I thought you were one of the cool kids?"
He looked a bit offended at first, and scoffed. "I still like you guys, I've known since first grade." He continued, "Friends for life? Remember?"
"Yeah, its cool. We still like you, dude." Evan says, for some reason.
Beckett smiled at him and put his plate of food on my table and started eating his healthy and sporty meal. Veggies, rice, all that carb-less stuff, you know.
"So, guys, we're still signed down for the thing?" He asked
"Yeah, of course, man." Evan answered
"You finally broke through to Mister Connolly?"
"Yeah, I told 'em we'd help him grade last week's tests." Answered Evan.
"And he'd lend us the A/V room, right?" Chimed in Beckett, inquisitively.
Now I don't know what kinda schemes Beckett and Evan got up to, but it seemed pretty legit. I never really questioned how Evan didn't his stutter his way in to Mister Connolly's office and muck up the whole gig but the sonovabitch actually did it. He managed to speak to someone other than me or Beckett. It was impressive - emphasis on was.
As we kept on chumming through the beans, we saw the mean girls of the classroom walk by. Here they came. There were three of 'em. Lucille, Kat and Camille. Camille was the tallest one, of course. She was the British new kid. Some high-strung family from the east end, I heard they have their own frickin' mansion. Most people have a crush on her 'cause she's smart as hell, but most people also get turned off by how much of a hardass she is. She's the smart one I guess?
Next up is Lucille; Camille's identical sister. Now, I gotta be fair, even though they were identical twins, Lucy was a whole lot hotter. Lotta personality… So much of it. They were both pretty tall and hard to miss in a crowd, but Lucy, more so. Every time I'm in the cafeteria, I keep a look out for Lucille. Always with her ice white hair… Most people say she dyes it like that, but I'm pretty sure it's 'cause of how cool she is. You just look cool if you have ice white hair, and hers is like, almost always perfect. To the point that it kinda makes no sense.
No, seriously, how does she keep her hair like that? What kind of heavenly hair-care routine does she go through everyday? It must cost a lot 'cause I know her family's pretty set when it comes to cash. The East-Enders are always walking around with stacked pockets and even thicker safes. It's actually the same reason why Lucille always dressed so fancy… Always in some swanky dress that's all the hype from Italy or anywhere else that sounds fancy or foreign. To be fair, she never really showed off about it. It was mostly her twin sister, Camille that always bragged about their vacations to wherever the hell. Countries and places I never even heard of… And nobody likes a showoff.
While I was imaginatively envisioning my future kids and nice mansion with Lucille, I heard Beckett's nagging voice calling me back down to earth, "Wyatt!" He exclaimed as he tapped my foot with his, "Lucille, huh? I can set you up with her…" He teased..
"What's it to you?" I asked him, wanting to find out more. And of course I acted all casual about it. "You friends with her or somethin'?"
Beckett chuckled softly, "I'm friendly with most people in this School…"
"Then why do you keep hanging out with us?" Wondered Evan, meekly.
"I've known you guys since before middle-school." He answered quickly.
It's true, we've known each other for about seven years. Since middle-school, actually.
"And you guys are pretty chill," He chuckled, barely finishing his lunch. He seemed already full, for some reason.
I agreed, but I didn't say it out loud. Usually when you speak your heart out like Beckett, people tend to turn to use it against you. He looked at me with a smile as if waiting for me to agree or share the same feeling, but my tongue was tied.
He looked back down to his plate of beans and swept it up, all the while staring down the meek Evan. Guy wasn't even eating. Explains why he looked so frail sometimes. I never gave a rat's rear about what might be troubling him. Beckett did, though.
"You alright, Evan?"
Evan's response was delayed, I think his mind was on something else. He always looked aloof – like someone who just lost connection to planet earth. His vibe was weird as hell – even for me.
"Yeah, man." He was still clueless, "Just a little worried about Christmas."
Oh, did I forget to mention that it was Christmas time?
Liberty High is one of the first 'Culture-Neutral' schools, a system where the school staff and students are disallowed from celebrating any religious holidays or events officially on school grounds, but are allowed to wear cultural clothes. Stuff like hijabs or whatever was allowed, but you couldn't bring any Christmas trees or menorah's and place them anywhere near the school.
So naturally, the vibe at school was just weird. I mean, it always has been, and I bet it will always be.
This whole 'Culture-Neutral' thing kinda ticked a lot of parents off, but it was justified due to the shit that led up to it.
In July of this year, a class president, Muriel Raker committed what our principal Gallis called 'Religious Crimes.' Which is a nice way of saying 'spreading propaganda that goes against every ethical or moral code.'
Class president Muriel Raker managed to turn her classroom of impressionable teenagers into a dollar-store Fascist group, and all in the span of a few months. It didn't help that their English teacher, Mrs. White was a closeted racist who was found to be tampering with the grades of children whose skin color was darker than a glass of milk. She still teaches here, by the way, as per a lawsuit settlement that cost the public school about forty thousand dollars.
Either way, the high-school's preferred way of dealing with that kind of bigotry was to completely prevent it from happening by stopping people from even celebrating a pretty important part of their identity.
Some weirdo kid thinks that the reason the teachers are still workin' at this school is the huge salaries. It made sense, though. I mean, there were nothing but state of the art sedans and sports cars and teachers had this sort of happy-go-lucky vibe going about every inch of the hallways.
Oh, whatever, I got free passes on everything 'cause my dad knew Mr. Birch. They golfed together and hung out a lot, especially since my dad was a tech guru douchebag that had us pretty well off.
Classes are beginning, please do not rush.
As if on cue, the bell rang.
Bridget, Beckett, Evan and I were all in the same class --- convenient, right?
It was French 301, and first period so I was already not feeling the vibe. Beckett always says I'm a diva for not feeling the vibe for French. In my defense, just 'cause the teacher's hot doesn't make the subject bearable. As everyone'd tell you, I'm first and foremost a gentleman.
Beckett as always led the way and I did my duty of throwing the food tray on the floor and spitting on it. Everyone in the cafeteria weirdly reacted to what they kept calling 'belligerent behaviour', whatever that word means.
And of course I never heard the end of it from Evan, who went on and on about structure and how important it was to follow it so the natural order of blah blah blah.
He makes it really hard to like him, I swear to god.
Beckett scowled and shook head like my mom always would whenever I swore or cussed. Bridget and he would always tell us what to do or what not to do, like they were the bosses of us or something, heh.
Evan always did what they told him to, I guess that's why his GPA's through the fuckin' roof every damn semester. Even though, I'm 99.99% he cheats on every test, especially maths.
I like to think of myself as more of a free thinker, or as my psychiatrist put it 'misguided adolescent'. These grown-ups always have a stick growing up their ass every time they 'correct' me on something.
In fact, most grown-ups in Blackwater were grade-A assholes. Except a select few; like Bridget's mom, Constance, who's actually a cop, which is neat, and she'd always let us chill in her car sometimes. There's also Ms. Faye, the French teacher.
It was her class today which helped counteract the bullshit days I've been having. She always finds a way to cheer people up. And I've always had a special for her in my heart, 'cause in many ways she reminds me of my mom. I mean, I don't even like French as a language or culture. Seriously? How come whenever someone's speaking it they just sound like the most pompous dickweed on god's green shitbucket? Somehow Ms Faye made it cool to speak French so the gang I and signed up.
To be honest, Beckett did it because he likes being culturally refined or whatever. Bridget chose it because she wanted to study some broad in France? I mean, I'm perfectly supportive of all kinds of love, y'know? Even though in our quaintly stupid town of Blackwater, people kind groan at that kind of stuff. As for Evan, well, fuck Evan.
We walked in single file into the the classroom was Ms Faye greeted all of us with a smile, which is the usual. Almost too usual. I swear, everyday for the past three years we've been going to Liberty High, she's never had a bad day.
She was dressed in her usual black tail-coat with some pretty nifty looking red and purple flower motifs. Today she dressed differently, and it was odd 'cause the only thing special this time of year was Christmas eve.
I never spoke to her outside of class and always kept my distance, she's a married woman, besides. A pretty cool married woman. Not that I'd try anything with her, though…
"Monsieur Walker, ça va?" She waved her left hand that she always had gloved at me, just as I realized that I was just standing there like an idiot. Maybe I was lost in her purple eyes, or maybe I was just tripping – something was wrong with those beans.
"Yes, madame!" I got a little jittery but obviously didn't lose control. "I was just admiring the painting derrière vous!" I said in slightly, pretty decent French.
She smiled and nodded, gesturing for me to take a seat, my usual, the one in the back corner. It had the best view of the teacher, and the board of course!
To be fair, she did have some very nice paintings hung behind her and around the white-board. She'd always encourage us to express ourselves artistically, but most of us didn't really indulge in that stuff; no offense to her but most of those art pieces were 'abstract', I mean, who the hell likes abstract art? It's just weird ass shapes with weird ass colors.
My corner seat is pretty chill. It's far away from all the noise of the middle row where all the 'cool' kids would hang about. The front left, middle and right all had a certain pop-kid spice; all the while Beckett sat right in the middle. I guess there's some poetry to it; how he's never taking sides and always giving everyone a fair chance. The Homme-d'honneur, as Ms. Faye would say.
Or maybe I'm just readin' too much into it?
Either way, he'd always try to keep everyone within reach. Something about this guy always seemed off to me; he's always a goodie two shoes, always trying to do the right thing. Just last week we went on a bit of a 'pic-nic', Bridget, Beckett and me. It was my idea, of course, I'm always the strategic mastermind that fastilitates our having of fun. Kinda like a middle-man, but for fun. So, we got to the 'pic-nic' spot and apparently someone had already pitched their shit-eating tent. It was all nice and stuff, peanut butter sandwiches already pre-made, a bunch of freshly squeezed juices and pointless decorations for days. I had the bright idea of taking it for ourselves, the coast was cleared so I figured why not, right? Well, turns out no can do; 'cause goodie two-shoes golden boy is above stealing from old crones and hags that took our place, something about old-timers and them forgetting that it's our spot.
That's just one of the many ways that good old Beckett Saint-James manages to get on my nerves. To be honest, I'd much rather kick it with Bridget. She actually knows how to have fun, in moderation, of course. It's surprising how much practice you can get from constantly having to dodge and hide from your cop mom.
I clicked my pen for a bit as I looked around for Bridget, yet she never showed up, so naturally I started aggressively poking Beckett's back. He jerked around with a playful smile, lucky for us the lesson hadn't started officially due to a buncha stupid questions from Evan. Him mouthing off nervously to Ms. Faye gave me just enough time to ask Beckett about Bridget.
"Where's the cool goth red-head?"
"You mean Bridget?" Said Beckett, "I thought you'd know her name by now."
"Yeah Bridget, where's she at?"
"I ran into her earlier at the Comp-Sci Research department." He turned around even more to adjust his position, "and all I know is that whatever she's researching isn't related to our presentation."
"Presentation?" I asked. I didn't know anything about a presentation.
"Yeah, the presentation about The Influence of Fairy Tales and Indo-European Mythology on eastern European Folklorean Fictional Literature." He said, "and that's just the English title." He chuckled.
What a long ass name for a presentation, I thought. "No wonder I forgot about it, that's a long ass fuckin' title."
His eyes widened for some reason.
"You good, bro?" I asked.
"Pay up!" He said, as he pulled up a zip lock bag filled almost to the top with single dollar bills.
"Fucking zip-lock swear bag." I said as I pulled out a crumpled one dollar bill.
He always trumps me with that stupid zip-lock swear bag. He had it made specifically for me, due to the many reports of my 'unscrupulous' language. I mean, is that even a word?
He turned back around just as Ms. Faye finished her five minute talk with Evan, and began the lesson with her usual three taps on the whiteboard.
Now, to be completely honest with you, I don't understand that much of French. That's not my fault of course, the subject should have just been easier. Maybe I should have changed subjects and done something like social engineering, I'm absolutely a people's person… Or maybe I should just not do anything about it and keep complaining; yeah, that sounds like a better idea.
At this point Ms. Faye had reached the half-way point of the lesson; classes would usually last about 2 hours for each subject, except P.E.
She slipped into French quickly after all answering all of Evan's insane questions. Or should I say, inane?
Ms. Faye was what anyone imagines a French fairy to talk like. She had the golden smile, the bubbliness of a mug of creamy hot chocolate and the sweetness of the juiciest strawberry. And yes, that's a very normal way to describe a person's vibe. That was the vibe I was getting at least.
I didn't go that deep into the rules of French or whatever, but Bridget, an expert in the field so to speak, told us once that Ms. Faye had an unnatural 'mastery' over the French language. Both phonetically and grammatically. She spoke like, perfectly, yo. And it showed.
Each of us would be hooked on to every word as she read off Les Contes de Charles Perrault, or Molière, which would always be a good laugh. Let me tell ya, that guy knew a thing or two about comedy. And for something written in the sixteen-hundreds to keep its mojo till this bleedin' day? I'd say that's pretty good.
Today's lesson was exploring more of all that theater bullshit from way back when, and how it influenced the major romantic currents of the late 19th century. Interesting stuff, if you're a history nerdn, which Bridget and Evan were. Made it even more suspicious when Bridget skipped class.
She then opened up a discussion, a usual thing she does at the end of the lesson. It leaves about thirty minutes for people to ramble on about whatever mumbo-jumbo was just brought up in class.
"Bien." She said as she hopped up on her desk, crossing her legs as she scanned around the classroom. Ms. Faye waited for everybody to get their bearings and prepare for the 'talk'.
"Who can define, in their own way, the meaning of the famous french addage: 'L'habit ne fait pas le moine.'?"
Everybody was quiet for a bit. Ms. Faye looked around with a dubious smile waiting for someone to answer. Lucille, to the far left corner, raised her in hand.
"Yes, Madame Knight?" Ms. Faye went back to English.
Lucille's French was pretty decent, and it had this weirdly comforting homeyness to it. Like you were chatting with an old friend. She didn't speak with that usual preppy, South-England posh bullshit, and it wasn't that crass North-England mumble. It was kind of a middle-ground. And it was just the sweet-spot. Not for me of course, I just think that other people, not me, would find her accent to be moderately attractive and enjoyable. Other people, of course. Not, me.
"L'habit ne fait pas le moine. The literal translation being ; The cloth doth not make the man. Figuratively speaking, it means 'Don't judge a book by its cover.' Meaning to avoid any notion of prejudice or assumption." She continued as I-everyone was listening in close, heart-eyes on horizon. "Often one makes assumptions about everyday life. Some are controlled by their prejudices and assumptions about everyday life…"
At this point I started losing track as my mind was racing with ideas and ways to formulate a sentence or some way I could follow up on Lucille's idea. She hadn't finished yet, I figured I had time. Usually her 'lectures' last for about six minutes. We're barely a minute in.
I poked Beckett again. At first he ignored it, I think he was paying attention and focusing on what was being said. He never liked getting caught in off-topic conversations in the middle of the lesson.
I poked him yet again, this time a little harder. He jerked around and gave me a stern look. "What?"
"Are you adding something to what Lucille's been saying?"
He turned his back toward the whiteboard and then back to me, holding his open notebook.
"Yeah, I wrote a little something."
He pointed to the left page, which was had already had a decent portion of the paper covered in writing.
"Give it to me." I whispered to him.
"What?"
"Just give me the notebook."
Beckett chuckled, "is this so you can impress Lucille?"
Yeah it was, but I couldn't let 'em know.
"No." I said, "I just want to contribute to the conversation."
"I'll give you my notebook if you admit that you like her."
"What?" He might be onto me, I thought. "No, I just want to get some extra credit for participating."
After smoothly denying whatever doggone accusation Beckett was levying against me, I turned my attention back onto Lucille; she was just about done, and I had to get that notebook. I mean, it's not fate of the world type of important, but I guess she is?
"Ok, fine." I budged, I need that notebook. I spoke in hushed tones, I was rushed. Running out of time. I needed that damned notebook. What's written on the top half of that page could mean eveything to getting my foot in the door with Lucille. For study group purposes, of course.
"Ok, I like her." I said, gritting my teeth. "She's really smart and nice and every time I've interacted with her, I've felt so safe and comfortable with someone…"
His expression went from happy and giddy to concerned and pouty, he even made that dreaded sound that I hate with every part of my body, 'Awww.'
Yeah, I definitely said too much. But I guess it just came out like that. Then again, it didn't happen to be Beckett, loyalty in the flesh, so maybe I didn't have much to worry about spilling my beans to him.
Mission accomplished, I got that notebook. And wow, Beckett's handwriting is a lot better than I remember. Very good use of colors and some really decent composition. Made it easy to read.
I took a breath, adding even more confidence than I already had. Now I had it in spades. To be fair, what Beckett wrote made a whole shit ton of sense. At least I assume it did. I gripped the notebook like it was the bible. Tightly, but not too tightly. Just enough that I focus. I skimmed through the lines two or three more times just as I heard Ms. Faye pose the question.
"Exceptionally well-said, madame Knight." She hopped down from her desk, "does anyone have anything else to add, Beckett, perhaps?"
I took another deep breath and raised my hand, the squeaking of my leather jacket got louder as the classroom got quieter. A stark contrast. Everyone turned to me. Except Evan, he couldn't make eye contact to save his life.
For a second or two, it felt like the whole world slowed to a crawl. My heart thumping, racing, like a piston in my chest. I could even feel my blood slowly flowing through my body.
Ms. Faye shot me a curious smile, as if she was playing along to a joke. "Yes, Monsieur Walker?
"Well, madame." I coughed as I stood up, if a little shakily, I'll admit. "As Madame Baxter said, it's important to fight one's prejudices against any all things in modern life. Equally, prejudices are nothing short of intrinsic and instinctual impulses that ingrained within our 'monkey' brains."
The monkey part got a good laugh out of the whole class, even Ms. Faye chuckled and tucked her hair behind her ear, which she only does when she's talking to Mr. H, the resident D.I.L.F.
I even froze up, for some reason or another, I don't know what came over me, but I just sort of blanked. Head empty, no thoughts type of thing. It felt like I had cotton in my mouth and ears. My eyes darted around from the looks of everyone, like ping pong balls, but instead there's more than one table. It's like a bunch of tables, with a bunch of nets over which kept bouncing that damn metaphorical ping pong ball.
Eventually it circled back to Beckett, holding two thumbs up, "you got this." He mouthed to me, with the biggest smile I've ever seen, inhuman, even.
It might've been the push I needed, 'cause I got back in the groove. He may've been right.
"I would even go as far saying that, as humans, we spend our whole lives moving toward a current of self-improving, wisdom and overall transcendence. Though that's more in line with monastic beliefs. My point is, without a doubt, anyone who wants to or is on the path to self-improvement, can be found to be in a quest to master their emotions, their raw feelings and animalistic impulses. It's also important to note that one should also try to maintain their humanity, by being permissive of their emotions and feelings. Sometimes we feel something so strongly that we can't help but let it flow through us. Things like grief or heartache aren't meant to be locked away in a box and then forgotten about. As my father's always told me, 'son, if you never plunge that clog, you'll be lucky if you don't end up swimming in it.'"
Phew, that was easy.
I sat back down and adjusted myself in the seat as Ms. Faye seemed delighted at what I had to say, of course she didn't know that it was Beckett's writing and feelings or whatever the hell. Though I don't agree with the last part of what he wrote; I mean, I won't have to worry about the clog if my sewer system is bitchin', which it is, of course.
"Well said, and I never expected such emotional vulnerability from anyone, especially you, Monsieur Walker." Noted Ms. Faye.
All things considered, that was a little pretentious, Beckett. Jesus, man.
The bell rang and Ms. Faye began dismissing everybody in the class, ushering them out, reminding Beckett, Evan and me to fetch our other friend for the presentation next week.
After some pretty well done 'work', I started packing my bags as Beckett and Evan waited by the door for me. Just as I stuffed the last textbook into my bag I raised my head to see none other than Lucille-fricking-Knight standing over me. And yes, she's a gazillion times hotter in person.
She had taken off her suit jacket, keeping only her suit pants and white blouse on. She always liked the tie loose.
"Well, bonjour ,monsieur Walker." She said, smiling with reddened cheeks.
Now, I'm definitely not crazy, but at this point I'm pretty sure she was flirting. Or she was just being nice and courteous.
"Hey, madame Knight." I said, trying not to exit my own skin. "How's it going?"
"I just wanted to comment on how well-spoken you just were."
"Oh, yeah." Maybe she wasn't onto how nervous I was?
She paused for a beat, looking around at the now empty classroom, save for Beckett chatting up Evan in the corner near the door.
"You seem nervous; first time talking to a girl?" She joked, by the gods was her smile just the cherry on top. I think I got all doe-eyed, like a deer in headlights. Surely she wouldn't have noticed, right?
"No, I talk to a lot of girls."
"Evan Baxter doesn't count, you know." She said.
I laughed, nervously, I'll admit, but it was pretty funny.
I stood up, after getting my bag. I stood about six inches taller than her. I wasn't too gigantic compared to Beckett. She awkwardly backed up as I inched forward, getting close to catch a whiff of her blueberry perfume. Blueberry perfume?
With that, we just kinda stood there, staring at each other. Oddly enough she kept the eye contact, her and her green irises. She exuded confidence as she rested her hand on her hip. I've never met anyone with such an aura around them. And it wasn't that kind of cocky confidence that her sister, Camille, had. It was more like an otherworldly charm about her. Like she was from an other planet.
There was also one thing that I never noticed before. A scar on the left side of her lower lip.
As I glanced off in the distance toward Beckett, I saw him holding up a big piece of paper.
'Do you wanna go on a date?' Was written on it in red.
Just then I realized that I said that out loud. Beckett was snickering in the back, the tricksy bastard. But now I was stick in the shit pile, and I had to swim out of it, or maybe embrace it? I winced and cringed as I expectantly waited for her response.
Lucille nervously laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear, crossing her arms as she shook her head, snarkily smiling at me.
"How about I give you my number; we can chat, I'm not really ready for a long time commitment, right now." She said, with an odd sweetness to the way she spoke. "I'd love for us to get to know each other."
"Why, what's so likeable about me?" It stung to get rejected but I still had a shot.
She took a moment to think. Like, really think. She put her hand on her chin and really thought about it. Like that statue of that butt-naked stone dude.
"Not much on the surface." She started to walk around me, sizing me up. "You like to act all tough on the exterior, all the while you're just dying to show people that you do know how to have fun."
"C'mon just gimme your number," I said dismissing what she said as I scoffed and rolled my eyes.
She laughed heartily, clutching an emerald necklace that hung over her neckline.
What? It's kinda hard to ignore that stuff, especially as a dude.
She took out her smartphone, pretty brand new. Same that Bridget has, top of the shelf stuff, I gotta say.
We exchanged numbers and awkwardly parted.
I walked over to Beckett and Evan who had just been passed by Lucille exiting.
Beckett was pretending to read his notebook, all the while Evan fiddled with Bridget's car keys. The squeak of my leather jacket tipped them off, and as I approached Beckett slowly looked up at me, expectantly.
"So, how'd it go?" He asked with his hands held together, palms faced.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, "I mean, I got her number, she said she wanted for us to get to know each other." My expression admittedly soured, it kinda bummed me out that she rejected me like that.
"C'mon, let's go fetch that pesky bookworm of ours, she's in the comp-sci department, still."
Beckett pointed us toward the Comp-sci department room that was about a hundred feet from Ms. Faye's class. Pretty convenient.
We didn't have that busy of a schedule today, and we had free afternoons on Fridays, and considering I took a while to chat up Lucille, we were well past operating hours. But we had a few minutes before they closed up shop.
"Why has Bridget been spending more time in the Computer Science Department?" Asked Evan.
"Not a clue, honestly." Beckett scratched his head just as we reached the C.S department. "Might as well ask her ourselves."
He took out a key-card and slid it on the interface that was placed in the middle of the double doors, and unlocked them. To access the comp-sci research department after hours, you need some special privileges, and that. Special privileges that'd only be available if your GPA was 3.5 or higher. Which meant that Bridget and Beckett had access, almost at all times, except at the dead of night when everything'd be locked up.
The lights were pretty dimmed out, giving a pretty eerie vibe to the whole thing, which was confusing, since it was barely 3 in the afternoon. Oh, well. Shit was dramatic, I guess.
It was an open space, spread out as far as the eye can see; the comp-sci research department was like a large digital library. Except for bookshelves, there'd be servers that were locked behind bulletproof glass. I'll still admit that this place was kind of the place holder library, we had one but they just gave up on spending that much money on books since literally everybody just used the internet to either pirate E-books or porn.
"Bridget." Called out Beckett. "C'mon, let's go."
We waited for a bit as I took a seat on one of the tables. Beckett started to seem frustrated, Bridget always does this, for some reason. She likes suspense above all, and hoodies, of course.
"Can you go look for her, Wyatt?"
"Why me?"
"It's either this or the presentation," he threatened. Ballsy move from Beckett.
"Fine," I said. "But I'm not driving."
I walked off and started to scan around the spot, looking through every little nook and cranny. Corridor by corridor, calling out her name every once in a while.
Fuck me, I don't remember the comp-sci research department being this big. This shit was like the inside of a pyramid. It got bigger the deeper I went. I turned the corner on the second to last corridor and heard some typing. It sounded like it was coming from above me so I looked up and saw Bridget perched up on the grate. She hadn't noticed me yet. She had her laptop on her crossed knees.
"I can see you, dumb-ass." She said. I think she noticed me.
"Come on down, we're doing the usual." I said through gritted teeth.
"Erect that ladder over there." She said as she started packing her laptop into her bag. Bridget then pushed a button near her little cubby, flicking on the lights on.
"Erect?" I gagged just as I heard Beckett and Evans' distant footsteps getting closer and closer. I think they heard the noise.
"Yeah, as in stand it up." She complained, "Seventeen years on this rock and you're still an idiot."
I sighed, I don't have time to argue with her anyway. For the record I'm seventeen and three quarters. I dutifully propped up the ladder and set it up so Bridget could climb down. She slowly stepped over the lip of the grate and walked the down. I extended my arms out just in case.
It's been a while I had seen, I forgot how fiery her hair was. She always had the look of someone who slept less than a migrating bird. That's like less than an hour. Her freckles looked even weirder under her new glasses. Her face was square with smooth edges, and admittedly some really endearing features. She never puts any effort in her outfits, the usual skaters, jeans and her iconic White Stripes hoodie. Which she wears every day. So, either she has an infinite supply of White Stripes hoodies or she never washes the one hoodie; both possibilities are both bananas.
She pushed in her glasses. "What are you staring at?" She asked rhetorically as she started sauntering off toward the exit where she would run into Beckett and Evan. I followed behind quickly.