Not Quite the Opposites (camren)

2 - Shakespeare and the Poet

It was probably an advantage that I walked through the heavy double doors of John H. Roth High School with my equally oblivious and maybe slightly more perturbed brother, Christopher. That was probably always the hardest for me; going in for the first time and walking through strange new hallways that seemed so intimidating the first time but end up being nothing but a norm you could ignore as time passes by.

It's strange how something so unnerving could one day become ordinary.

That school was my new aquarium, and I had all these castles to go in and explore after I had been tugged out of the ocean fighting.

Not really. I was compliant.

I could only imagine how Taylor is doing in junior high by herself where kids are learning about the exciting word called "insecurity" and what the pressure that just bends and breaks you just so you fit in a certain box that they categorize you to be. Only the brave and the careless could get out of that sorting machine that children, themselves established.

Fish Lauren would squirming then; she could probably land some cool ass tail whips, smacking the fisherman across the face. A resounding slap.

Mike even insisted on walking Taylor to the principal's office and maybe even her first class.

That would be too awkward for my sister and too funny for me.

I'll laugh about it later. Yes, even the hysterics can wait.

As expected, Chris and I were welcomed with eyes that scorched with a riot of emotions that I started to worry about my skin. For all I know, someone might really have heat vision and give me a horrible tan. You'd think I was sporting a ginormous, hairy ass mole atop my nose by the way they stared.

Out of the goodness of my heart, I'd say they were only looking with intentions lingering around curiosity but that would be a lie. Some people cannot accept themselves and the only way for them to feel a tad bit of satisfaction would be to find flaw in others to exalt their poor ego and raise it above to surface to breathe.

I have insecurities of my own.

I've been called bland nicknames that were supposed to inhibit me into beating my ass up for being imperfect. Bushy brows, bunny teeth and man voice were my favorites. I ended up talking more, grinning more and wiggling my brows more to get a rise out of them.

Who's laughing now, little scoundrels?

Everyone has flaws and I've long accepted that. I have recognized that I may look slightly different from other people but that does not make me any less human and of any less value than everyone else.

Flaws do not define a person but they do make them unique. And unique isn't all that bad.

The thing with demons is that, you have to confront them in its infancy before it grows teeth and claws and becomes bigger over time. It's not as easy as whipping out a wand and go Harry Potter on them. It takes time and a little something called love for yourself.

Fish Lauren evolved into Plato Lauren.

My brother and I had spectators even if we were dressed like normal human beings and were walking like, again, normal human beings.

I wondered how it felt like to be in their shoes; actually, I yearned to feel it. It was getting old being new everywhere. But then, I've always known I wouldn't stare at them and pick out their flaws like I'm peeling some vegetable, scoring holes should they had roots growing.

Seeing as it was the fifth day of school for these suckers, my brother and I couldn't retrieve our class schedules from our teachers during a relaxing period of homeroom.

It was at least easy enough to get our class schedules. The middle aged lady was nice enough and welcoming enough. She wasn't threatening and I didn't have to be forced to be nice to her just to be polite.

I was brought up well, I think.

The woman, whose name I remembered to be Isabelle, brought my brother and I to our lockers, where I locked eyes with onlookers. They were smart enough to look away, though.

Applause.

Chris insisted that he'd walk to his room by himself, reminding me that he was a grown up. His first class was on the other side of the school, and I wasn't necessarily too keen on walking more.

I wasn't really pressing it. I just offered and he went on to play the grown up card on me.

Grown up, my ass, brother! You need two more years to vote!

Wait! That was a snag. I was brought up well!

Conveniently, my first class was homeroom and I didn't have to carry the burden of learning too soon in the day. But I mean, if I had AP Biology first thing in the morning, I'd go to that class as ready as Spongebob in boating school.

However, as my head continued to chant "I'm ready" with zeal, I noticed the volume was getting lower and the enthusiasm decreased with every repetition. Something quite disturbing shook my resolve as I ambled my way through door into my fist class – a tad bit late.

I was noticeably late and I hate being late. It attracts unnecessary attention.

Dread drenched my being and it felt as if I was walking into a cave of the unknown – dangerous unknowns.

I was nervous – very nervous.

Adjusting the strap of my backpack on my right shoulder, I made the last minute decision to tug my beanie off and shove it in my back pocket.

It was because wearing hats and such in prohibited. Yeah, that.

Jared Moore is gorgeous and he happens to be my teacher.

Standing at over six feet, the man was instantly attractive. He was sporting an undercut and the remaining light brown hair atop his head was swept to the side. If that isn't enough, he donned acid-washed jeans to pair with his dark button down with sleeves folded a quarter up his forearms.

Despite the significant lines on his face, he looked to be in his middle thirties and didn't seem to be much of an authoritarian and that had helped me calm down a little.

Besides, he looked like David Beckham.

I was winning at the whole keeping my cool business. Not!

Public speaking may not be...my thing.

"Hi! I'm Lauren." I rasped nervously as I did a little wave following my sudden spark of awkwardness. "Lauren Jauregui."

This was all David Beckham's fault. I mean, Jared's fault.

There I was, standing before the class in the brink of fidgeting and very carefully trying not to make eye contact.

The teacher had had asked me to introduce myself to the class, being that I am new. I've done this so many times before that I may start counting with my toes as my fingers have all been up and proud.

I was unnervingly edgy and I'm usually never nervous just because I've been indifferent to judgement.

The way my heart picked up its pace reminded me of a song nearing its chorus, except the anticipating was torture. A very persistent tightness cloaked my chest and never let up.

To remedy the situation and prevent my voice from being constricted into one squeaky mess, I tried breathing deeply.

And yet, my efforts were in vain.

Fidgeting may not be such a bad idea after all.

Even if I was originally from Miami, four years is a really long time and enough time for people to change and teenagers are not as stable - I have to admit. I was not sure if I knew certain individuals in the class to compare their past and future selves with and see if they've changed or if they recognized me.

Oh, you know: the evolution of a teenager undergoing puberty up until, well, apocalyptic puberty.

I'm kidding.

Despite not caring what others think of me, I have always been cautious with swimming in alien waters where monsters of the deep could swallow me whole. Besides, it's normal to be shy around new people.

I'm not exactly a social butterfly either but it's my choice - it's a safe choice.

I absolutely abhor drama and the people who crave it with intensity that drive adrenaline to seethe, bursting with burning heat.

I never wanted to be in the middle of trouble. One of my worst fears is being in the middle of a cat fight with all the slapping and the balding hair yanking.

That's just horrific. No, thanks!

I quite simply hate conflict, no matter what kind it is albeit I don't back down easily when provoked. I only allow for enough slack before I decide on vindicating myself, to quell injustice, as it seems.

I can swing either way - just like my gender preference, which I have been hiding as I wait for the right time.

"I'm 18 and I'm...originally from here but we moved several times in the last four years." I muttered in my quivering voice as I swung my arm in front of me, fanning it from one side to the other to downplay the "moving many times" part of my impromptu speech and well, to try to decrease the temperature that was burning my face.

I brushed my wavy dark brown mane back out of habit and I skimmed over the crowd to see if I could find someone familiar; quickly glancing at their neutral, indifferent-looking faces without causing too much attention.

Nothing.

I wanted to see if I could spot a pretty girl but no one needed to know that.

I wanted to blend in.

It was my first day while it was everyone else's fifth. On top of that, most of them know each other from years of attending school together.

Looking down on my ensemble, I thought twice about my decision to wear ripped jeans. I thought it was too bold of a statement on my first day.

Statement or not, that was me and who I am in those clothes. Well, more like what I'm currently feeling, considering I do have a preppy, girly girl side - a teeny tiny girly girl side.

I glanced at Mr. Jared Moore, who stood by the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't seem indifferent...like I would if I had to watch my students recite their name and whatever boring and safe details they could share to the class.

My teacher seemed to be a probable friend, not just an educator.

"Do you guys want to ask her any questions?" Mr. Moore probed my classmates, he sounded a little stern and intimidating but I could tell it was to keep student-teacher formalities.

He untangled his arms and shoved his hands in his front pockets. Inquisitively, he raised his brows as he pursed his lips, still in search for a hand or a conflicted face - in a debate against themselves whether it would be fruitful to speak up or stay quiet.

Fruitful to me would be escaping to my seat.

I didn't need any more attention that I was forced to accept.

"You're going to be spending a year with Lauren. I know you want to know something." Mr. Moore c****d his head - probably in his attempt at coaxing them to say something.

I inhaled deeply in frustration, flaring my nostrils upon comprehending his question.

I was nervous, he just escalated it. It was as if he revved my nerves back up into clouding my entire head with heat and pressure that I might as well just pass out.

I needed my indifference back.

My frustrations led me to glare at the floor, situating his arguably attractive features on it and practically incinerating it with my eyes that have no superpowers at all.

My hands began to be deprived of blood and I was wondering how it ended up in an isolated snow storm, shivering and cold. My heart was not hesitant with the furious, rapid pumping of blood that never seemed to reach my limbs.

Of course, my bodily functions were whacked.

I looked down to my laced leather boots and moved my eyes from one side to the other, inspecting their footwear without moving my head. I was comparing, yes. Yeah, the boots aren't as ordinary to be unnoticed as I hoped.

But that was how I dressed, why should I start caring about opinions now?

Oh, right! I'm new.

"Anyone?" My teacher followed after a good minute of silence and students looking at each other.

Pursing my lips, the seemingly preposterous thought of chanting in my head to keep myself from actually losing consciousness became my reprieve.

It was the Invictus quote!

My anxiety somehow settled down with each second that flew by without anything as bold as a word. Instead, I heard faint whispers that didn't bother me as much as it should. Well, more like, didn't bother me as much as it would have earlier.

"Um...Mr. Moore." A girl with wavy, highlighted light brown hair muttered timidly as she extended her arm upward. She was sitting at the opposite end of the room from where our teacher stood. "I do...have a question."

The uncertainty in her voice was palpable and her size seemed to have been exaggerated with how she shrunk in her seat. She did wear a genuine smile, boasting her shiny, white teeth.

"Go ahead, Ally." Mr. Moore encouraged, nodding at her.

Ally glanced at me and exhaled audibly, glancing at me with a much more timid grin, which I returned with an equally awkward smile.

I may not have associated myself with the word before.

Awkward. Lauren. Awkward. Me.

Hmm...

"Hi, Lauren. I'm Ally." The girl flattened her palm against her chest to properly introduce herself. "What are your hobbies? What do you enjoy doing?"

The rise and fall of her intonations lead me to assume she was from the south, a Texan. There was a friendly aura surrounding the small girl, urging me to consider Ally as a friend, an ally.

It allowed me to breathe.

I straightened my stance as I prepared to answer her, my heart was in the same laborious rhythm seemingly untamable. All I wanted to do was hold it in my palm and restrain it.

That would kill me, wouldn't it?

"I...uh...I enjoy hanging out with...friends?" I stuttered my answer, which ended up sounding more like a rickety question. I looked up in the hopes of recollecting the things I enjoy doing - at least, that's what it looked like. "I...sing? And I used to play softball for fun...not in school."

Ally's features gaped in a way that I hoped meant a pleasant surprise. Because if that wasn't the case, I may have considered the huge and hairy imaginary mole atop my nose.

But then, her genuine smile soon resurfaced as her eyes squinted a little and her lips stretched wide to reveal her pearly whites.

She just looked like a little ball of sunshine.

"You sing?" She queried in disbelief, with an apparent attempt to keep her excitement in check. "Me, too! We should hang out some time."

I nodded, keeping myself from springing up and down from where I stood. I flashed her a grin that I wished conveyed my gratitude, happy to have made a friend.

That had been my only goal in ever school I went to: make one friend and find normalcy with them, and...that's it.

There's nothing exciting about my school life.

"Any more questions from anybody else?" Mr. Moore interjected, raising inquisitive brows and directed them to the class one more time.

The room of about twenty students looked at each other while simultaneously shaking their heads.

"Okay, then." Mr. Moore conceded, letting out a huff. Glancing at me, he offered me a small half smile upon beginning to saunter over to where I stood. "You may take your seat, Lauren. There's a seat next to Camila at the back."

He looked around, just in time for the certain girl to raise her hand; a lighthouse that would lead the ship to its dock. The empty seat was in the middle of four girls.

I never got the chance to actually see Camila's face, the girl was busy reading something; hunched over and not caring for the world.

I like her style.

Mr. Moore gave me a slight pat on the shoulder, encouraging me to be on my way.

The news brought such relieve that I slumped my shoulders as I breathed out.

I nodded to convey my understanding and some sort of thanks for setting me free!

I retrieved my backpack, which was by the foot of his table and swung the strap over my right shoulder. I made my way to the vacant spot but not without looking at Ally just to smile at her - showing her my gratitude.

I sauntered over to my destination without looking elsewhere. I held my head low as if I was struggling to pluck my gaze off the floor, just because I glued it there.

But it worked for me.

Quietly, I settled in my seat and pulled out a crumpled copy of William Shakespeare's narrative poem, Venus and Adonis as suggested by my boyfriend, Gavin from the front pocket of my backpack.

I had nothing better to do.

Reading it is.

Well, I actually could have attempted to be up to speed with my classes. But then, I decided I could do it over the weekend.

I set my elbows on my desk as I searched for a comfortable spot in my seat. Securing the crumpled sheet in my right hand, my chin was comfortably perched on my free one.

Here we go!

Even as the sun with purple-coloured face

Okay. The sun is purple.

I furrowed my brows, struggling to comprehend the literary masterpiece that I was presented with.

I felt strongly about changing the word to just red or orange, at least that's somehow believable - conventional.

It's not that much to ask, is it?

With a shrug, I let the confusion slide and continued to read. I was too tired to start a debate against myself.

That would be counterproductive.

I'm not a poet, who was I to judge?

Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,

Exactly...what did that mean?

I flared my nose and curved my lips into a frown, which looked like I was coping with excruciating pain with what I was reading as I stumbled upon the gawkily spelled second word.

Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;

Hunting he loved; but love he laughed to scorn.

"That one I understand." I murmured, my words barely audible while I fought to keep my hand beneath my chin as it suddenly needed to smack that part of the poem in victory.

That could have been a high five or a legitimate slap.

I felt aggravated as I continued to read.

The English language has evolved over the last couple of centuries. I would honestly have loved to speaketh like them so to speak, but I think I need centuries just to have the slightest grasp on it.

I love the arts, especially creative writing but I think I'd stay in the 21st century.

I rubbed my temples as I intently focused on old words that I barely even knew how to pronounce and words that I was familiar with but could not understand how they were being used in the sentence.

My heart was barely slowing down and it just reignited again as stress began to creep into my apprehended system. My desire to understand whatever combination of words I was intently reading burned like molten lava.

I huffed, feeling exasperated.

I mean, I'm the school renowned grammar-nazi and it's not just in one school. It's literally, all of them.

"You read Shakespeare, too?" A timid, somehow hoarse voice erupted from my left, piercing through my skin and bones and into the most poignant part of my body.

My heart was shivering in delight.

She could be a phone s*x artist, too!

And she may have gotten her first caller...Lauren Jauregui.

Upon the realization, I held my breath and whatever pleasure my heart beat for was overclouded by the though of Gavin. I wasn't supposed to feel any sort of excitement, especially not the kind that tugged at the strings of my heart.

Calm down, Lauren.

I guessed the owner of the oddly sexy voice caught sight of the word that was printed in bold letters by the top of the sheet of paper I was holding.

Pondering on my choice of words, I realized it wasn't the first time I associated the word with a girl's voice.

I've always found deep manly voices sexy.

I mean, I am bisexual but the sweet feminine voice does not cut it; except hers.

I twisted my body to address the girl properly but have not necessarily looked up to meet her gaze.

Suspense.

"Trying to?" Sheepishly, I let out a soft laugh as I admitted my difficulty. It was actually me, laughing at my failure. "You read Shakespeare?" I asked hopefully.

Maybe she could help me.

I looked up to face her; curtains up, ready for the big reveal.

As my eyes slowly lifted up, I found her hands hurriedly closing a small notebook and tucking it aside - hiding it.

Suspicious.

In a dramatically slow pace, I lifted my eyes from her chin, to her beautifully defined jaw, her perfectly plump lips, her pointed nose and up to her mesmerizing brown eyes.

The way her lashes fluttered, the way she smiled and the way she looked at me was...sexy.

I may have held my breath after subtly sighing the air inside my lungs, offering them up to her.

So, this is Camila - painfully beautiful, Camila.

Shaking my head, I scrambled to snap out of my thoughts and my apparent attraction.

What?

She's gorgeous! And she's smart, too! Smart is sexy!

Again with the "sexy" thing, Lauren!

I froze, stunned with an open-mouth smile and my thick brows sent up high, up to the depths of space.

It was like there was an explosion in my heart just as the rocket shot up and disappeared in the clouds.

I inspected her facial features with rapt attention, intrigued by the goddess before me. Her full lips looked swollen but plump; they gleamed so bright, it would deflect the sun's rays back to itself.

More importantly, they looked...kissable.

"Yeah, I'm what they call a bookworm." Shrugging, she playfully rolled her eyes and protruded her lower lip, feigning annoyance.

She chuckled after, ducking her head in the hopes of hiding her face.

God, that laugh.

It was so unique and so innocent sounding it made my heart swell. Her laugh shot her body backwards as she gasped for air, shoulders trembling in bliss.

Her happiness was so pure, so beautiful, she not only stole a laugh from me - she intrigued me.

Adorable. I heard my voice pronounce the word in my head, it echoed hauntingly - I could not seem to calm down even if I wanted to.

And my body shuddered in delight.

Girl crush number...hold on. I don't remember how many girl crushes I have. Well, I guess, Megan Fox, Lana del Rey and Mila Kunis have a new companion in...the husky-voiced girl?

Just a crush.

That's not considered cheating, right?

I swallowed hard as I pondered on it in such a very limited time that my knee began to bounce as my anxiety settled.

"Was that exaggerated though?" I queried inquisitively, offering her what I think was a grin.

I could only hope I didn't look like a flustered, love-struck puppy.

Wow, Lauren. It had only been mere minutes!

I have met a lot of people who over-stressed things about others and use it to bully them. I would have still found her extremely attractive if she was a nerd who enjoyed playing video games.

If she read too much, that was fine. Intellect has always been so attractive to me.

The browed-eyed brunette inhaled deeply and let the carbon dioxide free in a sigh.

"No." She simply stated, shrugging like a guilty little felon.

I chuckled, shaking my head in my amusement.

She was hilarious even if she didn't try. There was something in her that made me just want to pinch her cheeks and hug her tight.

She was just too adorable.

"Well, bookworm, I'm actually struggling to read this stupid poem." I held my hand between us with the paper still wedged in it and shook it in front of her as I curled my lips in feigned disgust and narrowed my eyes. "Can you help me..." I trailed off in the hopes of her personally telling me her name.

And she did.

"Camila." My new seatmate orated in the friendliest manner. "It's Camila. Nice to meet you, new girl." She had a sly smile on her face that screamed revenge, prompting my lips to curve into an amused grin.

Camila then snatched the paper out of my grasp and began reading the title. Soon, her carefree expression was clouded by widened eyes and a clenched jaw.

Camila looked flustered.

Her cheeks began to sport a darker tint of red which made my stomach hurt just thinking of the possibilities.

Why my stomach, though? Was it a coil..?

No! No, no. No!

"You...do know...what that poem is about...right?" She shot an inquisitive look, seemingly enduring a jab to the gut.

I took my head back and shook it incessantly, having no trouble admitting my difficulty.

"You see the word 'sport' in line 24?" She asked, pointing for the specific part of the poem as she laid it on her desk; tapping onto it repeatedly. "That's nothing like softball, Lauren."

Camila paid attention...to me.

Somehow, her words meant victory to me. I might have been interesting enough for her to actually listen to my nervous ramblings.

I leaned closer to her to get a better look at the word in question.

It definitely spelled modern day "sport".

"What is it then?" I asked her inquisitively; devoting all my attention to Camila. "I mean, surely, a poem even as archaic as this; I hope that word at least lived on to maintain its definition meaning physical exertion with the use of skill, governed by a set of rules."

"Well...it is a physical exertion." Camila c****d her head to the side as she scrunched up her nose, withholding some details. "Amorous dalliance." She retorted cagily, obviously avoiding my eyes.

I mirrored her head movement, my forehead creased as I was confused.

The pair of words were alien to me, too.

Yup, I'm losing the grammar-nazi crown to this kid.

Despite my dilemma, my eyes' focus had shifted from the floor to the girl sitting right in front of me. I don't know which amazed me more; if it was her brain or her face or just...everything about her.

"Passionate...romantic..." Camila bit her lower lip, continually scrunching up her face with desperation for my understanding. "Liaison...flirtation."

I nodded my head to encourage her to talk with furrowed brows and well partially gaped mouth. Nothing was making sense.

Between the staring and the distorted sentences, I was lost.

But damn, was she smart.

I was sold.

I wanted to be her friend; at least that's what I think I wanted.

"Come on, Camila." I wagged my hand in front of her with some motions with the wrist, making her continue. "I can't wait any longer."

"New girl..." My crown-stealing classmate began, huffing her words out.

"It's Lauren?" I pronounced my name slowly as if to make her catch up.

I had a haughty smirk on my lips as if daring her to break the rules.

And yet, she was undeterred.

Camila closed her eyes shut as if bracing for a strong impact as she said, "It means s****l relations, i*********e, s*x or if you want the least formal, sort of offensive word that starts with an 'f' and ends with a 'k'." She blurted out, her voice low but uttered words swiftly as if she was being chased by a pack of rabid dogs.

I ended up bellowing the loudest permissible laugh as I watched her blush adorably. I covered my mouth with both hands to contain the happy noise.

Apparently, s*x is an awkward topic for her.

My heart was bursting with color or something...with excitement.

Whatever it is in the middle of our conversation led me to feel significantly closer to her, compelling me to give her a nickname.

"Hey, Camz. Stop blushing." I tapped her shoulder playfully; gasping for air to replenish what my body had lost in my jovial laugh. "People might think I'm making you blush with my lesbo swooning skills." I quipped and bobbed my brows mischievously.

Camila narrowed her bright brown eyes at me and pouted in defeat. I nursed my painful stomach as I felt myself start to giggle again, looking about the face she been making.

It came as a shock to me how we just clicked.

I'd never have any proper explanation to accurately paint our connection in words and pictures but I loved it. I loved telling myself that Camila and I have something between us.

The nickname just suddenly flew out of my lips, seemingly without my mind processing it.

If anything, it was more comfortable to say that single syllable.

But I was at ease.

I was comfortable with her and I just knew Camila would become one of the most important people in my life.

It was a little hasty but...who knows?

"Lauren, stop." She desperately demanded, prolonging the last word in a pitiful plea.

To her surprise, I adhered to her request.

It wasn't because of her, though but I wouldn't want her to suffer any longer.

I was wondering how my boyfriend even thought about the poem. He isn't the arts kind of guy. He's just...him and a little less artistic than I would have liked.

But Camila. God, what is she doing to me?