Rita nodded her hello to the Librarian and quickly strode to the back of the large library, taking her usual seat by the adult non-fiction. The school library was much larger than the one back home, at least three times the size with at least three times as much knowledge. Sadly, she still couldn't speak very much English, never mind read it, and despite the sheer size of the library there were only 4 books written in German; and even then they were written for English speakers who were learning German as a second language. Quietly, she pulled her current book out of her bag and began to read, immersing herself entirely in the atmosphere of the book. It was easy to get swept away into a, seemingly fictional, world of warfare and brotherhood; the kind of world that nobody really wanted to talk about anymore, much to Rita's disappointment. Not even her history teacher wanted to discuss it with her. All of three lessons were dedicated to the war and each one was lacking severely in anything remotely useful in her quest for knowledge. And that is why she was so glad to have met him. The strange American boy with scruffy brown hair who spoke German almost fluently, the strange boy who understood her desire to know more, to learn all he could as soon as he could. He understood her passion to understand even a fraction of the mindset of a soldier. They didn't just speak about the war, though. They could both draw well, an unexpected common interest between the two. They also discussed the future,where they wanted to go to university and what they wanted to study, what jobs they wanted to obtain. Psychology was advancing at a rapid pace, and Rita was desperate to fully understand something they called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, "a severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to an event which can result in psychological trauma." Much to her mother's chagrin it was her dream to become a psychologist, to help people suffering in their minds. She remembered how her granddaddy never wanted to discuss the war. He was a German, so to everyone in this little American town, he was a 'bad guy', and soon he began to believe that himself.
She was abruptly pulled from her drifting thoughts by a sharp tap on the shoulder; a tall, muscular, rather puppy-faced senior was talking to her in English.
"Pardon? I am sorry, i do not speak very much English." She replied, gesturing apologetically. This always happened, especially with the males in her year. The females quickly lost interest in the new girl, the novelty of her not being able to converse wearing off incredibly quickly, and if she didn't understand something- they let it lie. The males did not give up so easily however, asking the questions louder and louder until they were shouting them at her and groaning in frustration when she still did not understand them. The boy held up a sheet of blank paper in his hand and then pointed to the pen, making writing gestures over the paper. With a relieved smile, Rita handed him the pen and waved goodbye as he ambled back to his desk, recognising the English phrase "thank you." She tried to return to her book, but found herself unable to focus on the text anymore, her mind somewhere else. She swapped her novel for a notebook and flicked straight to the back, quickly scribbling down all of the English words and phrases that she knew, disappointingly only being able to recall four: "hello", "goodbye", "thank you" and "please". Sighing, she threw her pen down on the table and massaged her eyes. She'd been in this country for three months now, and she could only speak four pathetic little words. It was time to get a move on! Accepting her own challenge, she stalked over to a bookcase and selected a book at random, not paying any attention to the cover. This was going to be the first book she had read all the way through, in English, with as little help from her dictionary as possible.
That was harder than she thought. A page in and she was almost in tears. Once again, she was jolted from her own little world by the thump of a bag being chucked under a desk and the scrape of a chair. She couldn't help but grin as the strange American boy sat down at her table once again.
"Hallo, Joe."
"Hallo, Rita."
"Du bist zu spät heute." She noted, checking her watch and seeing that it was a quarter past four. You're late today.
"musste ich zu einem Lehrer zu sprechen" I had to talk to a teacher.
Silence fell once again, Joe doodling in the corner of Rita's notebook and Rita staring at her chosen novel.
"Joe?" she asked suddenly, putting her hand on top of his to halt his doodling.
"Yeah?" he replied, looking her straight in the eyes. She loved his eyes. They were the deepest brown and betrayed his every emotion. They also threw her train of thought off-track for a moment, and she had to shake her head a few times to get herself back on course.
"Could you teach me to speak English?"
His forehead furrowed for a second, then smoothed out again.
"Sure, why the fuck not."
She grinned and went back to her book and he went back to his doodling. This is what she liked the most about the strange American boy. He rarely questioned her.
AN: SO im having some serious writers block with Some Kind of Home, I literally have no idea where im going with it, so I wrote this to get the creative juices flowing. It's just a wee oneshot with Joe and Rita in high school when Rita has first arrived in America. I hope you like it!