Chapter Two
My alarm beeps at me and I ignore it the first five times. I bury my head under the pillow until my mom yells at me from the hall to get out of bed. I groan and toss the blankets off myself before I get too comfortable.
I have a half hour before I have to leave for school. I take a quick shower and get dressed in my standard black jeans and white T-shirt. I hurry downstairs and grab a couple granola bars.
"That's all you're going to eat?" Mom says.
"Not hungry," I reply. Mom shoots me a disapproving look, but I ignore it. She always does this when I don't eat enough.
"Do you want me to take you to school today?" Mom asks.
"I'm okay, Mom," I say. "I can walk. It's not a big deal." She sighs and takes a sip of coffee before standing from the table and grabbing her keys.
"Then you should have left fifteen minutes ago," she responds. "Come on, let's go."
"So why did you ask?" I say as she hurries out the door.
"Have a good day," Dad says in the same time he has every morning for the past fifteen years.
"Thanks," I say. "You too."
The drive to school isn't as quiet like it always has been. Mom asks me about my classes today, if I'm excited for them. I tell her I am even though I don't know if that's really true. It could be if I wasn't naturally pessimistic.
"Did you have classes with anyone interesting?" I am about to tell her that I have known most of these kids since I was five, but there's no use being sarcastic. She doesn't like it. Besides, I that's not true either.
"Yeah," I say. "Her name is Beatrice. She's new." A sly smile grows on her lips. She glances at me briefly before refocusing on the road ahead of her.
"What's she like?"
"She's..." I can't think of any words to describe her. It doesn't help I only spent lunch with her. Luckily we have some classes together today, so I'll be able to get to know her better. "She's nice. Quiet... she seems friendly."
"Is she pretty?" Mom says in a sing-song voice.
"Mom!" I say.
"Just a question," she said defensively. Then she looks at me with a smile so wide I can see almost all her teeth.
I sigh. "Yeah. She's really pretty."
"Prettier than Christina?" I roll my eyes. When we were kids, Christina would come over a lot and I think my mother thought I had a crush on her, which wasn't true.
"Yes she's prettier than Christina." Aaaaand those words just left my mouth. Now she's going to give me a hard time about thinking the new girl is pretty.
"Do you have any classes with her today?"
"Yeah," I say shyly.
We have pulled up to the school just as the first bell rings. I have literally been saved by the bell.
"Good luck!" I sigh again and hop out of the car.
I make my way through the hallways to creative writing. It's a new class, but I heard it supposed to be quiet. That's good for me. I hate public speaking.
The classroom is in between the woman's bathroom and the choir room. The music drifting from that room is calming, but I see where it will get annoying later if everyone keeps screeching. All that's playing is the piano at the moment.
When I walk in, I see the majority of the room is already filled. Beatrice sits at one of the tables and gets her materials out of her backpack and sets them on the desk in an organized manner. Her notebook is directly in front of her and her pencil is to the right of the notebook and the eraser is above the pencil.
I smile and sit down next to her. I recognize some of the other students spread around the classroom. Zeke and Shauna I have met personally because of Uriah and Lynn. I have heard of Tobias Eaton since I will have his dad as my English teacher later in the day.
"How are you?" I ask Beatrice nervously. She looks up and smiles.
"Fine," she says. "How are you?" I return her smile involuntarily. I don't know how I can't smile with her around. It's odd to me. No one has ever made me act like this before.
"I'm well," I say. "Uh... how were your classes yesterday?"
"They were fine," she says. "Ms. Matthews seems intimidating, a little."
"Yeah." I chuckle anxiously. "Just stay on her good side."
"Peter Hayes too?"
"Peter Hayes doesn't have a good side," I tell her with a smile. "If he targets you, that's it. You're donezo." She laughs a bit. I hope she gets my Parks and Rec references otherwise our relationship might be awkward.
The bell rings a minute later and our teacher stands in front of the class.
"Hello!" a woman says. "How is everyone today? Welcome to creative writing! I'm Ms. Reyes."
For the first few minutes Ms. Reyes explains the gist of the class. She tells us what we'll be doing all year, including a field trip in May. She is very talkative and very happy. We clash there. Hopefully I don't have to read my writing out loud since I have terrible anxiety and one negative comment will trigger my depression, not that everyday things don't trigger it anyway.
"Why don't we go around the room and say our names and something interesting about us." This is what I'm talking about. What if I trip over my words and everyone laughs at me? No, that won't happen, I tell myself, but the idea nags at me. "How about... I'll make it easy. Just tell us your name and what your favorite color is. I'll start. I'm Ms. Reyes and my favorite color is red."
It seems many people in this class are introverted, except maybe Zeke and Shauna. Everyone else goes around the room whispering their names and favorite colors.
"My name is Zeke," he says confidently. "And my favorite color is green." Tobias, who sits next to Zeke, gets an elbow to the side when he doesn't speak up.
"My name is Tobias," he says. He doesn't sound as quiet as he looks. "My favorite color is black."
By the time it gets around to me I feel the words caught in my throat. I clear my throat and keep my eyes on the desk. "My name is Al and my favorite color is blue." I look at Tris, who's next.
"My name is Beatrice and I don't know what my favorite color is. I like a lot of different colors."
When everyone is done, Ms. Reyes tells us to get out a piece of paper and title it entry one." Our first prompt is a word bomb. We start writing and then she'll shout out words that we have to incorporate into the story.
I tap the pen in the paper creating little dots of ink all over the paper until I can think of a start to the story. An idea never really comes to me, but I find some inkling and put it onto paper. Minutes and six or seven random words later, Ms. Reyes calls time and we put our writing utensils down.
"Why don't you all share your story with someone near you?" Ms. Reyes suggests. Beatrice and I look at each other shyly. I can tell she doesn't want to share either, but at least it's not in front of the entire class.
"You can go first," I say, hoping we'll run out of time before we can get to mine.
"It's not very good," she says. I smile and shrug. She blinks a couple of times and clears her throat.
"Haphazardly I ran down the broken up street. I had to get there in time. I felt as if the situation would crumble if I didn't make it in time. I had to get to grandma's for her fresh popcorn balls. They are delicious and I could eat twenty of them if they wouldn't pull my teeth out. Crossing the street, I scurried past a red mustang parked by a fire hydrant. Should I call to have it towed? I turned on my phone to realize I got a text from my friends. My inbox was littered with questions like "do you want to come over for a campfire?" I ignore them all for now when I see the time. The breeze hit me and made me tremor in my jacket. That didn't stop me, but the black ice on the next block did. I stand up and limp the rest of the way to Grandma's." As she finishes she locks her gaze on the desk.
"I like it," I say. "It's very creative." She shifts her gaze to meet mine. We lock eyes for a short while. I have never met anyone with such beautiful eyes.
"Thank you," she whispers. She nods at my paper on the desk. I turn my head away from her.
"Uh... Mine isn't that good."
"I'm sure it's great," she says.
I cough before I begin reading what I wrote.
"Haphazardly I hurry down the path. The dirt floor of the forest is littered with dead tree limbs and rocks the size of baseballs. The only thing that keeps me going is the pungent smell of burnt popcorn. Rachel was never good at cooking, even such simple things like popcorn. When I reach her, she's sitting on a log with her hands shoved into her shallow pockets.
'About time you got here,' she says. 'I thought I heard something.'
'What did you hear?' I ask.
'It sounded like... I don't know. Like a mustang.'
'The car?' Her wide eyes narrow into a look of disapproval.
'No, the horse.' I roll my eyes. How does she even know what a mustang sounds like compared to other cars?
I walk behind her to gather the firewood she left out. I toss it into the campfire for extra warmth. It is rather chilly outside. I feel a tremor run up my spine. It is so cold out I think if there was any water it would freeze into a pond of black ice."
Like Beatrice I keep my eyes trained on the paper in front of me when I finish. That was such a horrible story. Why can't I do anything?
"That was really good," she says.
"Thanks," I mumble.
"All right class," Ms. Reyes begins. "Who wants to share what they wrote with the rest of us?" The class is silent. My hands remain in my lap so as not to confuse Ms. Reyes. I don't look up until I feel Beatrice's eyes on me. I smile at her and her clear eyes relax me enough to allow myself to sit back in my chair as Zeke reads what he wrote.
"That was very creative, Zeke," Ms. Reyes says when he's done. "Anyone else?"
The class is full of murmurs going back and forth between a few students. Finally, Shauna raises her hand. I stop paying attention after the first sentence.
"You're not going to read yours?" I tease with a playful grin. Beatrice glances from my face to her own paper on the desk and back.
"This was awful," she whisper with a joking smile. "I'm sure I can write something better later." I smile and exhale.
"I can't wait to hear that." She rolls her eyes lightheartedly.
"What about you?" she says. "Aren't you going to read yours?" I shake my head.
"I'll read mine when you read yours." She moves her chair to sit a little closer to me. No one would notice she moved at all. Except me. She's only an inch or two closer than she was before, but that doesn't calm my heart rate any.
"Is that a challenge?" I raise an eyebrow at her proposition.
"Do you want it to be?" What is wrong with me? I never act like this. Not even with the friends I've had for years. I have never been this way, especially around girls. I didn't think about my thought before I said it out loud. What if she accepts? Then I'll have to read my story in front of everyone.
"Not particularly," she responds, all signs of joking gone.
I shrug casually and say, "Okay." I am honestly grateful.
"Wait. Okay?"
"Okay." She raises an eyebrow, confused. It's really cute. She's really cute. I smile again. "If you're not comfortable reading your stuff in front of the class, I totally understand. I'm not gonna make you." She returns the expression.
"Al," she says. "You just said the one thing I wish all my old teachers said to me." I laugh. Not necessarily because what she said was funny, though it was, but because it's relatable. We used to have to read our essays in front of the class in middle school for a grade. She joins in on the laughter and, coming from her, it's a beautiful sound.
For the rest of the class Ms. Reyes goes over the syllabus and talks briefly about upcoming projects. When the bell rings, we all stand, push in our chairs, and walk out the door into the warm hallway.
"Where are you going now?" Beatrice asks.
"Math." She chuckles humorlessly.
"Have fun. I'll see you at lunch?" I smile again and nod before saying goodbye and walking in the opposite direction.
I hate math. It's a sucky invention. Okay, maybe not sucky. Just algebra is sucky. Since I was TA-ing for Mr. Kang yesterday I know what to expect from this class. I know all the answers, so instead of focusing on what I should be, taking notes, I find myself sketching something on the paper. I look down and see I drew a pair of eyes, not a very good drawing, but they look familiar enough. They kind of resemble Beatrice's. I sigh and erase it from the paper before I shove it into my backpack.
At the end of class, as I'm leaving for lunch, Mr. Kang jokingly asks me if I learned anything new. I decide to play along.
"Yeah." And I guess it's true. I learned that Beatrice Prior has the most beautiful eyes out of everyone I know.