Yay! Chapter 4! And thank you coolgirl200 and funky platypus for Favouriting the story! And also, thanks funky platypus for reviewing! In answer to your question, yes, I'm pretty sure that Near, Mello and Matt ARE younger, but I've evened out their ages so the story works. So, sorry purists!
LESLIE
That night, I was sitting on my bed, engrossed in my knitting. Knitting helped me think. I was making a scarf. I was actually quite a good knitter. My grandma had made sure of that. I paused to quickly grab myself a Tic, and then continued with my fuzzy kaki scarf.
"Done your maths?" L asked, stealing himself a Tac and settling down on my bed.
I made a face.
"I've got plenty of time."
We sat in silence.
"What are you making?" he finally asked, looking at my hands, blurry with the speed of my knitting.
"Knitting. My grandmother was, uhm, very careful that I received a proper young ladies education," I said, giving the words "young ladies" a posh accent. "All I really picked up was how to knit."
I shrugged.
He watched me for a bit longer.
"I'll make you a deal," L finally proposed.
"Hmm?"
"You finish that scarf for me, and I'll teach you how to make sense of directed numbers."
Oh, goodie! I had absolutely zippo grasp on Maths, and directed numbers were my weakest point. Kind of like an Achilles heel, if Achilles was really weak.
"Deal," I said, stopping my scarf-making to shake hands.
Then I went back to my knitting with renewed vigour.
L
That was good. I needed a scarf.
I could see the furrows in Leslie's forehead as she struggled with the concept of directed numbers.
"So, you take the negative sign here and the minus sign there, and that makes a plus," I explained, showing it on the paper.
Leslie looked bemused.
"What happens with the, uhm, negative then?" she asked.
She reached for a Tic Tac. I put a hand out to stop her.
"Sugar is bad for your brain," I stated.
She raised an eyebrow at me.
"Then how smart would you be if you didn't eat so much sugar? Nobody in the world could possibly be that smart! So, therefore, I should be getting smarter if I eat the amount of sugar you do."
"Mmmm-hmmm," I half-agreed. I'd made up the bit about sugar.
"OK. Right. So, that disappears and that is traded for that…"
She made little arrows in pencil around the sum.
"Basically, yes!" I grinned, giving her a high five.
"Basically?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Well… um, that's kind of… not really like that," I mumbled. "But it's close! You've just got to swap this for that."
Leslie nodded and I could see she really was trying.
LESLIE
"Thanks, L," I chirped as I gathered my Maths stuff.
"Any time," he smiled, handing me my forgotten calculator.
I blushed ridiculously as our hands brushed. Keeping my head down, I got outta there.
That night, I lay in bed, trying to tack down the thoughts spinning around my head. Start with the easy ones, I thought. Maths, or emotions? I decided to practice my seven times tables, where I was severely lacking. 1x77, 2x714… I didn't even get up to eight times seven before I feel asleep.
The next
morning, I was greeted with a sleepy nod from my friends at the
breakfast table. I wasn't much better myself. But for the first
time, I realised how much I wished I had a female friend that I could
share my feelings with. The guys were great, but there were some
things they just didn't get, and I couldn't talk to them about
clothes, or boys, or ask them if they could lend me their spare skirt
or a pair of socks. Not that they wore skirts or anything. And
I generally distrust boy's socks. No matter how many times you wash
them.
"What's up?" I asked, then yawned a jaw-breaking
yawn.
"Not much…" Near replied, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
I hated Mondays.
"How's the Maths?" L asked me, giving me that twisted smile I adored.
I made a monosyllableic grunt of non-committal.
"That bad, huh?"
Grunt.
"And the scarf?"
"Scarf!?" Near exploded. "I want a scarf! Why is nobody making me a scarf??"
He could be so immature at times.
"Leslie and I had an exchange. I'd help her with directed numbers, she'd make me a scarf."
"The system works," I grinned.
Near looked very jealous. I couldn't blame him. This scarf was gonna be a cracker!
"Anyway," I said, briskly changing the subject, "Double English, today."
I whistled to myself as I went off to get myself some waffles. I came back. I stole the maple syrup off L. And in that moment, I imagined my life as a musical. I'm whistling some musical-y song and then suddenly the whole cafeteria starts singing along and dancing perfectly. I imagined myself in the middle of it, still whistling, then the music and the singing and the hubbub stops and I'm doing a little whistling solo and everybody is smiling and happy…
"Are you going to eat that?"
I'm interrupted my L. He's pointing to the bit of waffle dripping onto my plate.
"Uhm, yeah. Duh," I replied, hastily stuffing my face.
He rolled his eyes.
"Come on, demolish it. We have… no, we're late," he encouraged.
Near laughed at my panic.
"We have twelve more minutes, Leslie," he corrected.
L rolled his eyes again and made a face.
"Spoilsport. It is only Art period one, anyway."
Art! Something I couldn't fail!
"Leslie, I love that iceberg! So many colours, and textures…" the art teacher, who's name I'd forgotten, gushed.
I made a face and continued painting.
"What? Don't you like it?" she asked, concerned.
"Well…" I muttered.
"Yes?"
she encouraged. "It's good to brainstorm."
"I've
actually painted a tree."
So much for not failing art.
"That wasn't so bad…" L reassured me when the art teacher moved away.
"Lets see yours, then," I said, ignoring his comment.
"No."
"Aww! Come on!"
I tried to sneak past him. He moved his sketch.
"Come on, L, just show me the damned picture!"
I grabbed it out of his hand. It showed a girl, hunched over, eating a Tic. It was really, really good. I said so.
"It's not."
L scuffed his foot against the lino.
"Is so!"
I pinched his art book.
"These are all great, L! Why are you ashamed of them?"
He blushed. I took a closer look at them.
My stomach felt like it was about to drop out.
"It's me, isn't it?"
He nodded silently.
L
Leslie keeled over onto the art room lino. She hit her head on the floor, hard.
"What happened?" Ms Marashell asked, running over.
"She just… fainted," I mumbled.
I couldn't tell her about the drawings. No way.
"Somebody run and get the nurse!"
I volunteered. I couldn't risk being there if she woke up and told everyone about my art.
Phew! Done! And while I'm at it, danke, sadiegrl and Bloodied Sand! Flattered, flattered. And Izzy, can you be a liiiitle more specific? Most appreciated. And I'm really, really sorry this took so long coming, but I was recently buried under a pile of homework and the rescue crews only just got to me… oh crap, I still have to do my Science.. oh crap oh crap oh crap…
