Forbidden Fruit

Chapter Four

After breakfast, you and Peter said goodbye to Lilli, Piper and Sebastian (a happy-go-lucky and flirtatious Italian boy that possibly had a crush on Piper) and left for English. "So Peter," you said, "what three subjects are you majoring in?"

"Physics, English and P.E." he replied.

You were pretty impressed, "Nice. What are you going to be when you're older?"

Peter grinned, "An Admiral in the Navy! Then I won't have anyone boss me around!"

You giggled, "Well, in that case, be sure to invite me to the celebration, Admiral Kirkland."

"I sure will!" Peter said. He cheeks turned a little pink for some reason but you didn't give it too much attention. The two of you chatted all the way to English class. When you got there, Peter opened the door. "Ladies first!" He declared gallantly.

You giggled, "Why thank you sir." You entered the classroom. It was empty and a pretty standard classroom, nothing special. Nothing, except you saw Mr Kirkland sitting behind his desk reading Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. You smiled widely, "Morning sir!" You said cheerily.

Mr Kirkland jumped a little and he seemed surprised. "Oh. Good morning Name." His cheeks looked pink, but just like before with Peter, you didn't make a big deal of it. Mr Kirkland saw his brother and frowned, "Why are you here so early Peter? Aren't you supposed to be raising hell with Sebastian or something like that?"

Peter grinned, "Not today! I decided to help Name out!"

Mr Kirkland rolled his eyes, "Well don't annoy the girl will you? She's new and I'd hate it if you scare her away."

"Don't worry bro!" Peter said reassuringly, "Name is too cool to scare away!"

You giggled, feeling immensely flattered that Peter, who you liked already, thought you were cool and that Mr Kirkland cared. "Are you enjoying Lolita Mr Kirkland?" You asked him.

He seemed surprised by your question. "Erm, yes. I am. Have you read it?"

You smiled, "Yeah, I read about two years ago. I love how Nabokov writes. It's really beautiful." You chose an empty seat and sat down. "What do you think?"

"Well, I do think the prose is well written." Mr Kirkland said, "But what do you think of Humbert and his relationship with Lolita?"

You shrugged casually, "I don't see anything wrong with it. Lolita never said anything. Humbert was obviously in love with her, or at the very least infatuated with her. I personally believe that it doesn't matter the age, gender, colour or creed of the person you fall in love with, just that you love them."

Mr Kirkland's face went pink again. "Really?"

You smiled, "Yeah. Of course. Love is love."

Mr Kirkland looked like he was about to say something but then more students started arriving. Mr Kirkland quickly closed his mouth started getting things organized.

You turned to Peter and the two of you chatted. You smiled and giggled at Peter's jokes, despite the fact that quite a few of them were pretty lame. 'I like Peter,' you decided,'He's sweet. Smart and ambitious too. I really do like him already.'

"All right class, time to get started!"

Everyone quickly went quiet and paid attention to Mr Kirkland as he took register. When he came across your name he hesitated slightly and cleared his throat before trying again. ("Here sir!" You chirped.) When he was done, he wrote on the white board with a black marker three words Novelists, Poets, Playwrights. He drew a line in between them and spaced them across the board. He turned to face the class. "There are different types of writers," he said, "but we're going to focus on just three main types; novelists, poets and playwrights. Now, we're going to go around the class and we're all going to suggest at least one person for each category that you like. If you can more than one then fantastic." He went in alphabetical order. As he went on various names were added (Jane Austen, J.K. Rowling, William Shakespeare, Lord Byron, Marry Shelley, Charles Dickens, etc.). When Mr Kirkland came to you, he seemed calm but you could tell he was just acting. "Name, care to offer some suggestions?"

"Nabokov." You said immediately. "Pushkin, and defiantly Tolstoy. Oscar Wilde. Goethe. T.S. Elliot. James K. Baxter is a good Kiwi poet. I like Truman Capote too. Ian Fleming. Oh! And definitely F. Scott Fitzgerald!" Mr Kirkland wrote up all of those names, he looked impressed.

When the last student had their turn, Mr Kirkland smiled at everyone. "That's a very good list everyone. Now, what do all of these writers have in common?"

You tentatively put your hand up.

"Yes Name?" Mr Kirkland said, "What do you think?"

"They are all still popular." You said, "Admittedly some are more popular than others. But they're still popular."

Mr Kirkland seemed happy with your answer and he continued teaching the class in a jovial mood. When class was over he had one final announcement: "Before you leave," he said, "I want all of you to write an essay on a favourite novel, poem or play for homework. It'll be due this time next week." He turned to you, "Name, I would like to speak to you."

"Ok sir." You turned to Peter and smiled, "I'll see you later, kay Petey?" (That was your nickname for him.) You said your goodbyes and walked over to Mr Kirkland. "What is it sir?" You asked politely.

"I was very impressed with your selection." He sounded like he meant it too, "I've never had a student who had such varied literary tastes."

You smiled, "I read a lot. Is that all sir?"

Mr Kirkland was silent. His eyes went over you and settled on yours. You waited patiently. He raised his left hand slightly, but he then quickly lowered it. "No, that's all. You're dismissed."

You smiled, "Ok. See you tomorrow sir!" And you left.

~Arthur's P.O.V~

I watched Name leave. God I'm an idiot. Before she left…I was going to caress her face. But she would've slapped me. I know she would. But still…I looked over at my copy of Lolita. 'I'm no better than Humbert.' It seemed like she got along with Peter as well. I sat down in my chair and leaned back. 'Out of the two of us Peter is certainly the most likely to have her.' I rubbed my face with my hands. 'I hate my life.'