Stories in Broken Glass

Chapter 3

It’s been six months; the rumours have died down and its like it never happened. Instead, the talk of the school is that Carter Wright, a senior was caught with Tina Stewart, a ninth-year junior.

It’s my last year. Sleepless nights, five-thousand-word essays, classes to benefit our futures, parties every weekend, fights in the mess hall every other week. Good fun.

Like right now, another fight has broken out between the rowing team and the football team on the other side of the hall. Leigh and Keith unstuck their lips long enough to look, like everyone else when it started but quickly went back to trying to fuse their faces together. I, am only half watching the fight, rolling my bottle of water in my hands, and leaning back in my chair, watching my classmates hit each other in the face.

“What’s another word for dictator that isn’t totalitarian or oppressor?” Emma asked, her lovely face turning to me before impatiently tapping at keys, then the delete button on her laptop.

“Authoritarian.” I reply and she hurriedly types words into a paragraph, leaving spelling mistakes in her wake, and many of them by the red underlines words. Emma is doing all the extra credit she can. Her pretty pixie-like face and wide green eyes are going to become a lawyer or judge or something.

I can only guess she’s doing the extra credit for history as we covered dictators through time this semester.

The fight has stopped. A jock, I don’t know from what crowd is straightening the jacket athletes are allowed to wear instead of their blazers and looking this way. Taking a sip of my water I sneak a look over at Emma who has paused in her typing to peer over her screen to look at him. Both their expressions give nothing away.

I let out a sigh, I feel like a side character in a romance novel, only there isn’t any romancing going on. Or maybe there is, but it isn’t visible to the human eye.

Saying goodbye to my friends I leave them in favour of getting my essay printed.

The line to the printer is thankfully short and moving along at a reasonable pace.

My turn at the printer comes in no time at all. Swiping my student ID, my essay starts printing. I robotically shimmy my shoulders to the beat of the printer and don’t notice the tall and large football player that shadows me while I staple the five pages together.

“Jessuz, mother of nuggets.” I whisper-hiss. The jock responsible for making me curse the name of nuggets is none other than Starey M’starey. He smiles softly at me, as if to apologise.

“Listen, Vera.” He starts, and my eyes narrow in slight suspicion, how does this one know my name? “I need to know what Emma likes.”

“What? Why?” my suspicion has branched off to concern for my friend, I don’t know this guy, but he knows my name and is asking what Emma likes.

“Well, I’m planning on asking her out.” He smiles bigger. “That is alright with you, yes? Or do I need to ask for Emma’s hand in dating?”

“Oh, yah. Definitely. I like those chocolate cookies with the raspberry in it, you know the ones? Find me some of those and I will consider you offer for our dear future- uh, what are they called? Judge Supremes? I don’t know. Smart lady making a lot of money.” I nod at the end of my ramble, believing that my stupidness was enough to keep him away from me.

I thought wrong.

“I can get those from the store across the road, right?” He asks instead of hightailing it in the opposite direction of my existence.

I blink stupidly at him.

“Were you dared to ask Emma out?” I answer his question with another of my own because I’m difficult like that.

“What? Jesus. No, Vera. Who do you think I am?”

“A football player. You know, based on the jacket with the little football right there.” I point to the breast of his jacket, where there is in fact a small football stitched into it.

He stares at me like I expected from the beginning. I shrug and say, “She likes spicy food, the colour purple, and tulips but only the yellow ones.” And with that, I collect my English essay and walk out the doors of the library and into a crowded hallway.

Two boys are at it, fists flying, teachers yelling, students yelling louder. Tucking my papers close to my chest I edge around the fight commencing right at the doors of the library. As much as I love a good fight, I have places to be.