Chapter Seven
Slim, manicured fingers passed the cigarette on. Three adolescents behind the bike sheds, talking, watching to see if there were teachers around the place. Did the staff not have better things to do than patrol for delinquents? Did they not have books to mark, conversations to have, kids to raise, marriages to mend? Did they not have lives?
Luka had had her drag, and was passing it to Yuuma. Meiko was stood opposite them, looking a little sour.
It was unjust that Luka and Yuuma got on. It was unfair and it was wrong. She who had introduced them was stood uneasily, while they talked about… What were they talking about? She didn't care. Meiko's eyes remained on Luka's face, downcast and bitter, watching to see how long it was before she noticed that she was staring at her. Staring at her aristocratic nose, her eyelashes, the lock of hair that she usually banished behind her hair.
"I was so bad the first time I smoked. Really bad. Meiko was there-" (She didn't feel like she was there.) "-and it was just…awful," Luka recalled with a laugh. "You know how it is. You take one drag and suddenly you're coughing and trying to get all the smoke out."
Yuuma nodded. "Oh, I know what you mean. But look at how good you are now." And he took a drag himself, blowing the smoke in rings nearby to Luka's pretty face. She didn't protest.
Was he trying to be impressive? Really?
Snatching the cigarette away from him, Meiko hurriedly took a drag herself, and matched Yuuma's trick. Look, look! I can do it too; are you looking? Why aren't you looking? Am I not just as impressive as him?
"Looks like someone missed her fag fix."
Neither Yuuma or Luka looked impressed. What a waste. Her rings had been better and clearer than his.
"Are you ill today? You look really…mad."
And then they, the pair, laughed. It was infuriating. Why were they laughing at her? Meiko took one or two more absent minded inhalations, but the smoke wasn't calming. If anything, it was suffocating. She could feel it like a tidal wave coming down her throat, splitting into teams to fill up both her left and right lung and paint them black and ashy. Smoke rings bursting and splattering her innards.
Really. It was a disgusting habit.
"I'm not ill, but I'm sick of you two. Here. Here's your cigarette," snapped Meiko, seeming temperamental as she thrust the cigarette towards Luka.
It seemed like she'd actually be going back to class, and that was where she was heading.
"Meiko, don't be like that! What's up with you?"
Why would Yuuma care?
Also, why didn't Luka?
Arriving half way through her maths lesson, Meiko wasn't questioned. If anything, it was surprising to see her there. While the other students kept their heads down, not daring to look up from their exercise books, Meiko said: "I'm sorry for being late."
Mr Honne observed his student. Never once had she been sorry for being late. She looked defeated; there was no cheekiness or impertinence in her face, and that almost felt disappointing. However, in front of the others, he had to be strict. If he wasn't, they'd think they could follow suit. One Meiko was enough.
"Just sit down and get on with it. We're on the same topic as last lesson. I'll speak to you after class."
Her bag dropped to the floor with a thud, and her chair screamed when it was pulled back. Meiko sat down. The class was silent, ignoring the troubling presence that had entered their ordered serenity.
For a while, she really did just get on with it. Question one, question two, question three A, question three B… All of them, more or less the same. Subtly getting harder, bigger numbers, longer lines, another step needed to finish the calculation.
The pattern continued until she saw a scrap of paper on her desk.
'Why did you come back?'
Meiko glanced next to her.
She and Miki didn't speak. They hadn't for a while. Not since that shitty party (the party where she and Luka had just about kissed and the party where Miki had left alone and the party where she hadn't drunk enough but she'd also drank too much).
However, the handwriting was hers. Neat and bubbly. The type of font you might see on a sweet wrapper.
It would be rude if she didn't reply.
'Got bored. Ran out of cigarettes.' She passed that back, and waited for a reply.
Minutes dragged by. Meiko finished the first set of questions. She devoted her time to waiting, sometimes letting her eyes wander to the right hand side, where Miki worked with hurried diligence. Even when the bell went, and Miki stood up and left the room, she was waiting for her to reply.
It struck her that Miki no longer asked out of concern. Curiosity. Nosiness. She would go back to Iroha and Len and tell them all about how some loser had turned up half an hour late with no cigarettes.
"Alright, Meiko. You know that being so late is stupid, don't you? You missed all the preparation for that lesson."
"Yes Sir." She didn't even have to think about saying it. The words tumbled lazily out of her mouth, like the automatic voice of a cold caller. A learned response.
"Okay. You won't do it again? If you do, it's a detention. An hour."
"Yes Sir."
"Alright." He paused, and then smiled a little. "In the last test, you got a B, you know." It had been a low B. Two marks above the C grade. Nonetheless, it was a B, and thus, improvement.
"That's good Sir."
"It is. You've even started on your homework."
"Yes Sir."
"At the end of the year, I'm sure we can get you up to an A. Well done." He waited for her to smile, or for her to pass comment of some sort. "Right, okay. Come to lesson at the right time. Now get out of my sight."
She did. A, B, C, D, E, F. What did any of them mean? Was an A of equal value if the person who received it hadn't worked at all? Was an F really a failure if the person who received had tried to the best of their ability?
To Meiko, they all simply felt like letters on a page. They had no value or meaning unless you gave them value or meaning, just as life arguably had no meaning unless you gave it one.
If a good life was a letter A, did it even matter?
The right side of her mouth twisted as she walked along the corridor, oblivious to the younger students around her, loud and irritating.
Perhaps she would have to ask Luka how she felt about letters.
AN: Sorry for late update and short chapter. ;o;
