In which we meet Nevol and learn of her dislike for cheese...

An introduction of sorts, equipped with nonsensical questions and a 'harmless' death threat...

 

 Benevolent A. Angora

      I, of course as other simple homo sapiens might do, aspire for love, hope for it, want for it, and wish for it on some occasions. But unlike some, I understand it takes time, that loving someone when you’re an adolescent and loving someone as an adult are, or at least should be, two very different things; entailing different courses of action. Loving someone is as much about loving yourself as it is about them. To give yourself freely and unconditionally to this other person you have to accept all of who you are first. As a child, you fail to know exactly who you are, or who you will be. You can change so much in the process of time, it’s those changes that can redirect your love from one person to another. Who you loved as a kid and who you love as an adult will change, even if you remain in love with the same person that person changes, just as you do. 

      As I was saying, I aspire for love. I am, in a nutshell, simple, as simple as basic human tendencies and the hormones of a teenager allow. The fact of the matter is that being simple and overlookable can be grouped in the same category. Not that I allow myself to be bothered too much by the thought, for in the words of the legends, The Beatles, “All the lonely people, where do they come from, all the lonely people, where do they all belong?”

      The come from part is simple enough, they come from everywhere, the house next to your own, the kid sitting beside you scribbling a moustache on the desk (perfecting an already drawn up masterpiece from the class before yours-probably by some Jack, Jim, or Tim). It’s the ‘where do they all belong’ part that’s a bother, if we knew that one we’d be a fair bit less grumpy and maybe even, heaven help us, a bit more smiley, and sometimes cheeky.

      Simplicity is the key to all that is- or something to that affect. Simplicity is to me what a boy strap watch is to my wrist. Perfection. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never been able to fully grasp the concept of love, or even a ruddy crush for that matter, but I’ve already gotten ahead of myself by several pages.

      I am in simplest terms a regular female highschool student. I am certainly not beautiful, and probably not ugly. Possibly pretty, maybe even a little plain, but I lack the distinct markers which would signal as to which end I belong. I am neither outgoing, nor assertive. Maybe a little odd, probably snarky, and most likely a fair bit awkward. I neither do exceptionally well in exams nor exceptionally horrid. My grades are good, if not a bit average. I am wise, but withdrawn. I can count on one hand the amount of people I converse with outside of classes; I have a small amount of acquaintances, and an ever smaller group of friendly acquaintances, and only one friend. I can also list on that same hand how many boyfriends I’ve retained and the number of kisses I have received. Without reusing fingers. Needless to say I am obviously going through men the same way milk goes through a strainer--

      “What are you always scribbling down in that ridiculous notebook of yours?” If there’s one thing I dislike more than cheese, it’s being asked silly frivolous questions. Never minding the fact that the question was absolutely legitimate, I just revel in being nonsensical. Especially when it involves Withilia, or Wills as we all have been earnestly instructed to call her, whilst simultaneously being threatened with ‘very cruel and unusual punishments’ I might add. The girl has a fierce issue with her name.

      I sigh before closing my notebook with a snap and then wait for the teacher to abandon his perch behind us before answering.

      “Advanced Composition assignment, entire course of the summer, one entry a week… ish. Would tell you, but then I would (predictably) be mortally embarrassed and therefore forced to kill you, something which I am happy to reveal I could possibly enjoy very much.” I was joking of course; I’d only enjoy it to the slightest degree. I flashed Wills an artless smile. The bell would ring, as predictable as Old Faithful, at seven ticks past noon. I began to gather my books into my arms and glanced sideways to see Wills doing the same.

      Her and I, we’ve been inseparable since the day she threw rocks at me in third year because I told her that love at first sight was a spiffy idea indeed, but nonetheless borderline illogical. She still refuses to see the logic of that statement (which I repeat constantly at the beginning of the school year, as we have been going through a terrifying spike in our amount of transfers to the school).

      When we were younger almost every kid bore that recognizable uncertainty of exactly where they belonged in the social structure of the classroom, but slowly the other students in my year have come to grow into themselves and a place in the social stepladder. By year eleven most knew exactly where they stood, but for Wills and me, that sort of philosophical understanding had never come about. Has never come about. And as we are quickly running the hourglass empty, it’s probably improbable that it ever will. Thus being the most sufficient reason as to why we only had each other in the whole of the student population.

      “You would, would you?” She had finished gathering together her affects before joining me in watching the hands of the clock above the white board, effortlessly picking up our conversation where it had left off.

      “Very much so.” My stomach rumbles in anticipation as the hand drew ever closer to the position which signals our lunch hour. I had skipped breakfast this morning as usual and as such am famished.

      “I simply adore you, possibly even love you,” she says shortly after indulging in a quiet snicker. The drone of lazy conversation surrounds us as other students begin to anticipate lunch as well. Everyone is ready for a quick bite.

      “You should really talk to someone about that,” I say absentmindedly wiggling my eyebrows for effect, my thoughts gravitating towards orange juice and potatoes. My gaze sweeps the room, easily avoiding eye contact with others, I leaned my hip haphazardly against the edge of my desk before turning to look once again at Wills.

      Wills was what one might call quirky. She often had a look on her face that just told you she knew something you didn’t about yourself, I’ve often seen her point this look towards kids moseying down the hall. It’s a bit unnerving. She’s mousy in looks, with that slight pull on the lips similar to the one all mousy people have. Her hair is a conundrum in itself; sometimes it looks to be deep, rich amber, whilst upon other occasions she appears to be in possession of hair resembling dirty wheat. Her manner is always delicate and aviary, she walks effortlessly with grace, and her small frame is well suited for it. But her most noticeable feature, to others I suppose, would be her eyes which are large and deep, and continuously heckle all. As far as appearance goes, hers has a sort of negligent air. Though it hardly out matches my often unkempt and frugal look. She’s quiet, just as I am, when we’re separated.

      ‘Don’t be a child ‘nevol…, “she has a motherly streak, and tends to treat me as a child, “what are you supposed to be writing about? I doubt the teacher would like to read eighty plus pages of your banter regarding dust mites, your opinion on love,” she’s good, I’ll give her that, “and the origin of the first botanical garden-”

      “Which was in Italy, as I am sure you remember,” I interject before she continues.

      “Indeed I do, so what is the assignment, truly?” Before I can properly answer the bell rings and we both move to file out into the hall with the others, we’re towards the back, the last ones actually, so I decide to humor Wills.

      Awkwardly I move my arms about in a herding motion before proclaiming, rather loudly, “Enough of this ribaldry let’s get this caboodle out of here!”

      Which I assure you earns me several awkward glances from students near me and a whooping bark of laughter from Wills. If it’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that she always finds me embarrassing myself entertaining. She is after all, the aficionado on all things pertaining to the most embarrassing moments in my existence. That, and she genuinely finds me funny, something of which I have never found to be true.         

   

Author's Note

There are a few spelling errors where my finger missed a key, these will be fixed.

Reviews

[Owl]

"Her and I, we've been inseparable since the day she threw rocks at me in third year because I told her that love at first sight was a spiffy idea indeed, but nonetheless borderline illogical."

You're a genius. A hilarious, brilliant genius.

Your writing style is so similar to mine, yet you're able to include fantastic descriptive language and make it fit with the witty dialogue. I really enjoyed reading this, and I hope you write much, much more of it.

[Mioki]

This was a down to earth and witty write. The voice of Nevol instantly draws the reader in, and her funny and honest narrating seals the deal. The way she's sees and describes things is sophisticated and yet we are still able to see the teenage girl in her. We can relate to her views on love, and her quirky habits put a smile on the readers face. It's not difficult at all to make a connection to this girl.

Your writing is simply interesting. It's different from most of the postings on here, in the way that it makes the reader think. I can see this piece inside a leather bound book, and feel privileged to have read it. Thank you for sharing, I hope you post more.