Woosh
Wayy
pleased about reviews so far
thankyou
no time to reply
individually im afraid.
Im really tired from a very busy day at
sixth form
xo
Chapter Nine
She was irritating, I discovered quickly. After no more than ten minutes of being within her company her previously quiet voice had been relinquished as if this other side had merely been in hiding. I'd been informed of why she moved to Farnock High, why she loved the French language and even why her favourite number is thirteen. I took little effort in explaining I had no interest in her digressing this information to me, yet this seemed to have little effect on her.
"You're so stubborn" She contorts her face in a way I find familiar, yet I cannot place exactly where I've seen this before. I dismiss this, immediately putting it down to a character trait found in all aggravating young women. I do not reply and remain ignorant to her comment.
"I'm talking to you." I had of course noticed this, and yet, I still didn't make any response. I did not want to, nor did I have to. I just had to sit this out for another half hour, then I'd be free to go to the rest of my lessons, unaccompanied. "Will you at least say something!" She exaggerated her last word and moved her face closer to mine, her eyes piercing mine in a way I knew, in a way I documented as being identical to something I'd recently experienced with the eyes of a dead girl. I moved back quickly, failing to keep balance on two chair legs and tumbled to the thinly carpeted floor below with a shameful thud.
"Poynter's just realised he's sitting next to a girl!" How childish. "Chill, Dougie, we know you're not used to the female species but no need to treat them like aliens." Oh har-de-fcking-har. I'm acutely aware of the laughter that's hurling my way. I'm also acutely aware of the girl known as Rebecca, holding her hand out to me. How very peculiar. That is alien to me. I reach out and I stand up, her grip on my hand tightens as she smiles with something I think is reassurance. She turns and shoots a glare to whoever is still finding my embarrassment amusing and then bends to pick up my fallen chair, placing it back on all four legs.
I stare, still bemused by her attitude, and sit down beside her once more, silent again. I bite my lip and turn to her. She's already looking at me expectantly, she knows I'm going to have to say something now. It's my turn. Good will and all that jazz I suppose. I groan inwardly. This goes against all of my own moral ruling. Don't trust anyone but yourself Poynter. Just stick to small talk. Be polite. Don't do anything stupid.
"Wanna sit with me at lunch."
Good grief, Poynter, I'd slap you if I wasn't you right now!