In which lunch is dreary and things get dizzy...

In this installment we enjoy lunch, discuss old dead birds and their houses, discover Jonathan Flanders, witness one of Withilia's less then stellar moments, and begin to realise it's only the beginning.

      Lunch is often a dreary affair, handfuls of students cramped at too small of tables, the noise deafening, and the sun blazing in through the wall length windows (effecting burning my retinas, depending on how I hunch to avoid it). It is also the last span of time I spend with Wills everyday, after which we go our separate ways (her onto senior level classes, whilst I attend to my junior ones) until reuniting for Advanced Critical Writing's supplementary curriculum, Advanced Creative Writing.

      The afore mentioned program being relatively new and quintessentially acts as an extension to lower level courses. The class itself came about quite accidentally, ironically enough, when members of the English department found themselves gathered at a pub for a birthday. One might think thoughts of work would be leagues away from the present event, and indeed they were, till few became uproariously smashed and a wager made. Fortunately few know the story of how the class ‘came to be'. Unfortunately the knowledge was pushed past flapping lips into my ears by a classmate who witnessed the event. How reliable the source is, few know, as far as honesty goes- I might have smelled scotch in the air.

      Members meet three times a week, for only a quarter hour. Usually each class contains the usual line-up- talking, questions, jokes, things I've never been good at. I do enjoy the writing aspect pertaining to the function though, as does Wills.

      I try to make my bagel last as we sit silent at perhaps the only table devoid of a mass cramping of bodies. I glance at the clock, and sneeze, effectively ruining the whole purpose of looking at the clock hands as they bounce with the movement of my head. With my hands shoved forcibly against the ridges of my cheekbones I wait in silence. Waiting... and waiting for that small phase, the one acknowledging my existence.

      "Bless you, Benevolent." I ground out, "Oh, why thank you ‘Nevol."

      I chose this exact moment to look across the table towards Wills, excepting a look of mockery. Instead, to my less than pleasant surprise, her eyes were focused in the space above my forehead. Had I accidentally sprouted horns, or worse yet, a light bulb with a pull switch?

      Not unpleasant yet.

      I turned, wondering what had caught her attention.

      Getting unpleasant.

      I guess the feeling in my stomach could be described as unpleasant. Jonathan Flanders' hand was hovering in the air three inches short of tapping on my shoulder, and he had the queerest look in his eyes which passed when he noticed that he had been promoted to the object of attention.

      "Could I just- this chair- thanks," and then he made off with a chair.

      "This is why I advised you to always have tissues on hand. You make such a mess," Wills tossed a tissue at me, "Who was that? Johnny something, yeah?"

      "Jonathan Flanders." I supplied quickly, shrugging when she shot me a scrutinizing glance.

      "He's Dishy... How is it that you know his name? Supplied it a little too quickly to feign innocence, that you did." Her eyebrows wiggling with interest.

      "Speaking of summer-"

      "We weren't-"

      "We are now," I interrupted, thumping my elbows on the surface of the dull blue lunch table, "I have news. Big news. Remember that estranged great-great aunt in Ireland my father was telling us about that one night?"

      "When he'd had too many pints? I thought he made that up." Her expression turned quizzical.

      "Me as well, never mind that. She's dead, don't give me that look. She was old, lived merrily (or so I've been informed), I did not know her. That's that. Right, only seems she's left the family something. A very big something." Now I could feel the excitement begin to set in. When I'd first heard the news, and my parents plans I'd been ecstatic, but had been too busy with finals to imagine the details. Reiterating them seemed to bring them into reality. Like an unthinkable thought gaining definition for the first time.

      "Debt?" Wills joked before the silence grew tendrils and pulled us in. The roar of the cafeteria seeming to have become a dull pounding incomparable to my own hearts fervent pounding.

      "A house. She left us a house." Best I wait to let it sink in.

      "A house. Brilliant... but- hang on- Where's the old bird live again?" The sheen overpowering her eyes could have easily been taken for sickness had I not known the cause of her excitement. I could barely contain it myself. When I did manage to release the rapture of my excitement, it must have been at a volume no more then a whisper.

      "Ireland..."

      The remainder of lunch was spent being drilled for information and the revealing of possibly the greatest surprise of all.

      When my mother had announced a full week beforehand the news my father had called in from New York (being a photographer, he was currently on location in New York, the pay being far too much to pass up). She'd immediately begun planning. In a little under three days she's procured two round trip tickets to the Land of Eire, a rental car including GPS (I myself being directionally challenged in a state I've called home for nine years, the thought of another continent forces my stomach into dips and swirls), budget money, a 'battle plan' (she said this with a crazed look in her eye), and directions. Then she dropped a bomb, one of a pleasant sort, of the sugar and spice family, but I was unaware of the sort it was until after it felt like she'd ripped my stomach apart.

      After zooming around like a cat on speed for the better part of a week, she stops me as I'm walking in the door. Her hands resting heavily on my shoulders, much like our conversation would do. She's sat me down and leveled me with a stare that immediately made me think, 'Oh God, who died'. And she tells me, in this slightly hysterical voice that she couldn't go. Couldn't. Definite, and horrifying, before my eyes I watched the rise and fall of Rome, witnessed to-be memories evaporate in the blinding heat of 'could not', and revolted as her face split into an unwanted grin.

      Like a kid in a candy shop discovering all the everlasting jawbreakers had been gobbled up, sold, or destroyed; I wanted to stomp, to scream, to have a fit. And then I got my Jawbreaker.

      "I've been talking to Astrid," she said to me, her tone stretched with amusement, "and we've come to a mutual agreement. Withilia will be flying over with you. As she's eighteen and of proper age, I want her to act as a stand in chaperone."

      The news? Shocking. Will's reaction at the lunch table? Quite simply was loud enough to alarm a few students at the table to our left, in conclusion several innocent bystanders were sprayed with various forms of juice and milk.

      The drum of the bell was unwanted, but necessary. With only three hours of classes left in this school year, and only twenty-six hours before the departing flight to adventure, we went our separate ways, the clacking of my shoes chasing me endlessly down the fluorescently lit abyss of the hall of maths.

 

      The problem with people is that they talk to hear the opinion of someone else, have their own opinion confirmed, or to entertain. The problem with me is that I've spent my life ducking around corners to avoid situations requiring verbal contact with anyone else other then Wills and family. Wills doesn't expect me to always answer, we have our silences and we comfortably enjoy them, it's the magic of our relationship. Of course if I'd learned basic social skills, quite possibly, the need to duck around corners could be forgotten, the unsavory skill pushed aside in light of interaction with others. Alas, that surely is too much to ask of my feeble backbone. Hours later I find myself in this desk, in this lesson, in this awkward silence.

      My neck needed a good popping, my back was beginning to cramp, and to top it off, Flanders lounged comfortably two seats over from me- every nerve in my body seeming acutely aware of his foot tapping lazily on the burgundy tiled floor. This can definitely not be good. The last Creative Writing class of the year is supposed to be dedicated to ice cream and ridiculous laughter, instead the teacher is late, Wills is asleep with drool accumulating around the corner of her lips, and- for the love of all that is holy, if he doesn't stop I swear I'm going to break his foot. He must know this is torture. For some ruddy reason he must have realized- must have said to himself ‘She must be attracted to me', because this has never occurred before. We keep distance, it's the only way I've been able to survive since eighth year, I can't very well forget that I like Jonathan Flanders when he's tapping his blasted foot two chairs away from me.

      "You've got a vein popping- just there, did you know?" Wills fingers graced my temple before landing upon my desk, rapidly tapping each of her fingers to the beat of a song floating through her head. "I've been thinking. The flight departure is supposed to be around five in the morning, yeah?"

      "Yeah," I said, thankful for a distraction.

      "Well it'd be simply ridiculous for me to drive myself to the airport at such an ungodly hour. Think I could swing by after packing and kind of just... have a sleep over?" Mrs. Marrlic bustled in through the door, laden with buckets of ice cream and other goodness as she giddily burst into a rendition of her failure to remember if she'd left the party supplies in one of the refrigerators in the science hall, or the arts hall (both of which being opposite directions from one another whilst also being the two hallways farthest from each other) and several other students sprang from their desks to offer their assistance before she could manage to drop one of the tubs.

      "Spiffy, just don't try any funny stuff like last time. I never want to wake up to you dancing around with my underwear over your pajamas again. One time was enough." I couldn't stop myself from shuddering as I was subjected to that particular image in my minds eye. I'd spent a good five minutes sputtering incoherently after that incident.

      "Nevol!" Wills cried, outraged presumably at my nerve to mention one of her less then stellar moments, "That's not fair. That was right after I broke my arm. I was medication, and I warned you." She grasped onto my arm dramatically, "You promised to never mention that in public!"

      I shook myself from her grasp as the teacher called order, Wills reluctantly slumped around towards the front after I gave her a pointed glare. Mrs. Marrlic gave a farewell speech, became emotional, passed out ice cream bowls, and then continued to weep into hers pathetically (admittedly a bit endearingly) before we were dismissed to ‘do as we will, and (she hiccupped loudly at this point) be whimsical children of passion'.

      The first figure had already begun to make her way out the door when Mrs. Marrlic suddenly let out a strangled exclamation.

      "I'd forgotten! Ms. Murray, I'm sorry dear, just a moment longer. I have an announcement regarding the summer assignment most of you all were assigned earlier today. You are to proceed with the assignment as normal with one minor alteration. Two weeks before start of terms next year, members of this class will be required to meet here in this room (we'll make sure to send you all a letter notifying you of the exact date and time) and you will be expected to swap notebooks with a partner who is then to read and evaluate the contents." From her desk she snatched a clipboard with a sheet of paper upon it, "I have taken the liberty- I'm not blind Mr. Levingstin, and no she will not be who you trade with- of assigning your partners for you. They are as follows..." She began to read off from the list who was to be paired with whom, each student listened closely, hoping for a friend or romantic interest as their partner. All the while I slowly began to drown. The only thought racing its way through the expanse of my mind, each time pushing me further and further into emotional terror, was 'she's graduating'.

      She's not going to be here next year. And from the apologetic look being shot my way, I wasn't the only to have realized this sad and frightening truth. I'd never survive.

      Wills won't be my partner.

      The blood pounded in my ears, rushing to my brain, sweat accumulated on my brow, and through the deafening scream of dawning realization I heard, "...Angora, to be paired with- I have to write more clearly, this is ridiculous. Now lets see...," a few indistinct mutters flew past her cheeks before she made a victorious noise in the back of her throat, "Right, Angora and Flanders, Murray and..."

      "Oh, hell." Things got a bit dizzy.

      I escaped the room fairly quickly after that, unable to look directly at Jonathan and the casual smile plastered on his face. He has a crooked smile, I wonder if other girls knew that, it's fitting in an odd and attractive sort of way.

      Outside I felt lightheaded but relatively whole, the worst had happened, and I'd survived. A breeze tussled through the trees, sending limbs swaying and leaves spinning in the wind like green pixies before landing against the road. It the perfect day for the last moment of my eleventh year. And with the prospect of travel, nothing short of Armageddon could knock me off keel, because who really expects to experience Armageddon? Not I.

Author's Note

Grammatical errors will be fixed. The plot has only just begun, be patient.

Reviews

[Mioki]

This chapter was just as interesting and witty as the first. It opens up a few doors into the world of the narrator, and explains a lot of things while making the reader double over in laughter.

The plot seems to be just fine so far, and the reader can tell there's much more to come. How will this trip turn out? Will Wills dance around in her underwear again?

This story is defiantly a jewel, and I'm very glad to have found it. Your writing makes any rainy day lighten up a bit.

[Owl]

It's hard for me to find writing that makes me laugh, but I have to say, I've been chuckling all the way through this story. This is genuienly entertaining, and like I said, I hope for more.

Oh, and... girls don't actually dance in each other's underwear... do they?

Y'know what, don't tell me. Think I might pass out.

:)