Elena
My bottom lip slid between my teeth as I stared at the screen in front of me. The words wouldn't come, and my frustration only grew. "For the love of Napoleon Bonaparte," I murmured to myself, rubbing a hand over my eyes.
Trying to right a paper on something that I've overanalysed so many times that the plot manages to weave itself into my own life should be easy; but for some reason, it isn't.
"Elena!" called my mother from downstairs. I sighed, rolling towards the open door on my desk chair.
"Yeah?" I called back, hoping to raise my voice above the soft murmur I usually spoke with. Luckily, in an environment that I was already comfortable with, it was easier to speak louder.
"Lunch is ready," she answered, her voice ringing throughout the nearly empty house.
"With another deep sigh and a dirty look at my laptop, I slid out of the chair and padded down the stairs. My Great Dane Remus, who had been laying on my bed dozing, perked up his ears and followed close at my heels. I slid into the kitchen, breathing in the aromas of my mothers amazing Italian cooking. "Smells as amazing as always, Mamma," I said, smiling as I used the Italian effortlessly. Growing up with my mom speaking Italian to me mixed with English, I picked up the language easily, even teaching some to my friends so we could leave some conversations a secret.
"Grazie dear," my mom grinned, her kind brown eyes so similar to my own shining with gratitude at me. I felt a stab of envy at my mother's effortless beauty; her hazelnut hair and shining brown eyes, with her heart-shaped lips and cocoa ski, caught the eyes of many single men, though my mother graciously turned them down. She had only one love, and since he left, she loved no other.
I myself took after my father, with raven hair that hung in curls around my face, and plump lips with paler skin. Where my mother was gorgeous and exotic, I was awkward and shy; some would catagorize me as cute, though most noticed my mother. Only when she introduced me, then would they acknowledge me. Besides that, I was invisible-but I liked it that way.
"Spaghetti Alla Caprese for my smart little girl," she told my cheerfully, placing the bowl in front of me and kissing my cheek swiftly. I grinned and her and dug in, closing my eyes at the flavors that took over my mouth. I smiled at my mother after swallowing. "emPerfetto/em as always, Mamma," I complimented her. She grinned, her straight white teeth creating a beautiful contrast against her darker skin. "Only the best for my favorite little fiore," she said, poking my nose while allowing the Italian word for 'flower' to roll off her tongue. I rolled my eyes playfully, a smile tugging at my lips.
"I'm not a little flower, Mamma," I reminded her as I reaching a hand down to pat Remus's large head. My mother slid into the chair next to me, rubbing my back in circles. "You'll always be my little flower, darling," she murmured to me. I glanced at her to see my mother looking serious; for her, that was rare.
"I know, Mamma," I said, putting down my fork and turning to face her fully. "But I'm about to go to college soon. I'm not piccolo anymore." I saw the tears shine in her eyes, and she looked away from me. "I know bebè," she whispered, though it sounded as if she was saying it to herself.
"I felt my heart swell, and I wrapped my arms around my mother, pressing my face in the crook of her neck like I used to when I was young. "Ti amo Mamma," I whispered to her. She slid her arms around me tightly, sniffling as her hand stroked my hair smoothly. "Ti amo Elena," she replied in a choked voice.
"We sat there for a while, our hearts beating against each other, letting them speak to each other what we could not put in words.
"Later that evening, when I was back in front of my computer, I reread the prompt of my essay.
In Shakespeare's work, Romeo and Juliet died for their love of one another. In an essay, explain why an individual may die for another without thinking it through. Use textual evidence.
This time, I had no problem writing word after word that filled three pages./p
RING!
The bell to first period startled me out of my book, nearly making me lose my page. All my fellow classmates had filed in around me when I had been engrossed in my novel, their insignificant chatter buzzing in the background as my brain focused on the words in front of me.
Presently, everyone was whispering around me, chatting with their friends and showing one another images on their phone screens. I slunk lower in my seat, hoping to be even more invisible than I already was.
Being the nerd of the senior class at Monroe High was bittersweet. Of course, you're invisible to all the people who were popular in any social activity or any social aspect, really. A downside was, of course, I was stuck doing the school work for half the dim-witted jocks in the senior class. My payment-isolation. That was enough for me.
My best "client"-for lack of a better word-was Cade Lenon, the first string running back for the Monroe football team and known Monroe playboy. He hadn't really spoken to me ever; our dealings were quiet-he would put his work in my locker, I would return it through his less popular friend David Cross. He would continue pretending I didn't exist, which is exactly how I liked it.
Presently, Ms. Marcus, our english teacher, held up a stack of papers, eyebrows raised. "I have the grades from the last unit test," she told us, eyes glazing over everyone for a split second. "I have to say, I'm very disappointed."
My heart sank slightly, and I flushed nervously. On either side of me-seeing as I was surrounded by jocks, oddly enough-I heard snorts and murmurs of indifference, which surprised me.
Didn't they care about their grades? Wouldn't they get kicked off the football team if they failed anything?
"I don't see how nearly every single one of you failed the test," Ms. Marcus continued. "All that tells me is that none of you read Hamlet."
The room was silent following her words. I shifted in my seat.
"The only individual who passed my test was Miss Elena Harris."
I was dead.
My face turned beet red as everyone turned to look at me. The only one who didn't was the jock directly ahead of me, who just so happened to be the only one who never acted like I existed-Cade Lenon. Even now, in the middle of class where I was being humiliated, he refused to look at me.
Figures.
"Miss Harris managed to score perfectly on my test," announced Ms. Marcus.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, I pleaded silently, looking down at my desk. Silence, I found out with the assistance of many novels, could be loud; this was probably the loudest silence I had ever witnessed.
"Now," Ms. Marcus said, slapping the tests on her desk. "Because of the general poor performance made by this class, I will be assigning a project that will be due at the end of the semester over Hamlet."
Everyone, besides me, groaned loudly, muttering amongst themselves bitterly and cutting angry glares in my direction. I avoided all eye contact and instead stared at Ms. Marcus until my vision went blurry around the edges.
"I have assigned you partners. With your partner, which I'm about to tell you, you will take one thematic topic from Hamlet and analyse it. Then, your group will present your findings and personal opinions on the topic through PowerPoint, video, or anything else you wish," Ms. Marcus told us with a slightly raised voice to be heard above the chatter.
She proceeded to call out the names of partnerships, and I half-listened, letting all the names pass through my brain fleetingly until I heard my own.
"Elena Harris and Cade Lenon."
My heart stopped and my breath caught. This couldn't be happening.
Obviously Cade was thinking the same thing, because I saw his spine stiffen and his head twist a fraction as if he was about to actually look at me. Apparently he thought better of it and didn't, only staring straight ahead again. I let out a short huff of annoyance and picked up my book again, then lost myself in a world where being different was actually a good thing.
The lunch lady placed a cup of fruit on my tray, and gave me a strained smile as I thanked her. The hustle and bustle of the lunch room was obnoxious as always, which is why I usually seek refuge in the library; sadly, it was closed for restocking, so I was stuck in the one place I never hoped to be: among people.
I payed for my lunch hurriedly and glanced around for a spot where I wouldn't like or feel a complete fool.
Soon, I spotted a head of pink hair, and I smiled to myself as I made my way over to the beacon that seemed to draw me in.
I sat down beside the pink-haired girl, who just so happened to be one of the only friends I had, Sylvia Burris.
"Hey Syl," I greeted my friend, smiling. My friend glanced over at me, grinning in the cheerful way that only Sylvia could. "Hey El!" she squealed, blue eyes shining. "How's the Nerd Queen?" I rolled my eyes and picked at my "meatloaf".
"Waiting until she can retire and find an heir," I replied, giving her a hopeful look. Sylvia snorted, popping a grape in her mouth. "I think I'll pass," she replied. "After all, I'll don't think I will be able to handle all your needy subjects over there." She jutted her chin towards the table of jocks just as they all bust out laughing, the obnoxious noise echoing throughout the lunchroom.
Sylvia let out a low growl, turning back to me with a serious expression. "Why do you let those assholes push you around?" she questioned me. I sighed, looking down at my distrusting food.
We'd had this conversation many times over. Sylvia was under the impression that I didn't have to keep doing the dirty works for the jocks. "If they want to fail," she'd said once, "let them. It's their own damn fault." I'd only shook my head and told her she didn't understand. That halted the argument for the moment, but it didn't stop her from confronting me about it many other times afterwards.
"We've talked about this, Syl," I said in slight exasperation. She was already shaking her head. "No, we haven't," she argued. "You've been avoiding this. Now I'm going to get an answer. I'm gonna ask again, El: why do you let them push you around?"
I looked up at the angry yet concerned face of my best friend, and, just as I opened my mouth to finally tell her, a tray slammed down on the table in front of me and our friend Oliver Prescott flopped into the seat behind it.
"What's up lovelies?" he chirped, green eyes shining behind a thin curtain of sandy blonde hair that fell over one eye. I glanced over at him, grinning.
"Hey Ollie," I replied in a forced optimistic tone. Oliver grinned in return, as a glimmer of mischief appeared in his gaze.
"So I heard you're stuck with the hottie Cade Lenon for a partner in English," he said casually, waggling his eyebrows. I blushed red and looked down at my tray to avoid looking at Oliver and Sylvia.
"You're what now?" I heard Syl cry. I glanced up at her sheepishly, forcing a half smile.
"Surprise?" I said, my voice going up at the end slightly, making my statement sound more like a question.
"God, how'd you score him as a partner?" Oliver interrupted, waving a hand in front of his face, eyelids closed in bliss. "I mean, he's so gorgeous!" I giggled as Sylvia rolled her eyes, though I saw a smile twitch on her features for a moment.
"You think every guy who spends more than five minutes on his hair is hot, Ollie," my pink-haired friend pointed out. Oliver waved her comment away.
"He's gorgeous even if he spends only one second on his hair," he gushed, making me and Sylvia exchange a look.
"You know we love you Ollie-Pop, right?" I asked our friend. "Gay or not?" Oliver nodded. "Then do me a huge favour: shut up about Lenon."
He pouted but quieted, instead fangirling about Sam Quincy, the science nerd in his Physics class. Me and Sylvia listened with amusement. Oliver was probably the most boy crazy out of the three of us; because he was gay or because he was just that weird, we didn't know. Sylvia was more of the hard head, with a protective streak a mile long. As for me, I was the conscience, the peacekeeper of our friend group. They treated me like the little sister, the one who needed the protecting. And I loved them for it.
"When is that boy coming over, Elena?" my mother asked me as I helped her with the dishes. We'd had an early dinner since Cade was coming over tonight to work on the english project.
Not that he came up to my face and said so.
After school, I'd found a note in my locker, it said:
I'm coming over tonight to talk about the project. See you at 7. -Cade
I washed my plate and glanced at her over my shoulder. "He said 7," I said uncertainly, looking at the clock. It read 7:15. My mother saw my worried expression and gave me a comforting pat on the shoulder.
"I'm sure he just got held up with some thing," she assured me.
Just as she finished her sentence, the doorbell rang. My heart began to pound in my chest, and my palms slipped on the plate I was holding. It clattered in the sink loudly, but I didn't move an inch.
My mom took one look at me and muttered, "I'll get it" before departing from the kitchen. I stood frozen, straining to hear the front door open. It eventually did, and I heard my mother greet Cade loudly.
"Hi! I'm Elena's mom, Aria. You must be Cade," I heard her say.
I don't hear his response, but soon the door was shut and two pairs of footsteps were heading in my direction.
"She's just in here, clearing up for me," my mother said, her voice drifting towards me. "She's so helpful." I blushed at her words.
"Elena," she said. I turned, and saw my mother beside Cade Lenon.
My heart stopped; my breath caught in my throat; My knees went weak.
I'd never looked Cade Lenon in the eye before. His pale eyes nearly made me faint.
"Hey," he greeted me. His voice was smooth, making shivers slide down my spine. "You ready to start?"
"Was I?
The answer is not at all.