Finding Weaknesses

The Right Glance

*Genevieve's POV*

Malcolm scowled at me before opening his mouth to let out, what i was sure to be sentences filled with a truck load of explicit words, just as the bell rang. Saved by the bell. I mentally snort at my use of that phrase. "Got to go to class, can't be late so byeeee."

I dip round the corner and past a couple of doors, then scoot through a little side passage. Almost immediately I find myself face to face with Hayley Wilkinson. A smirk appears on her face. "You're late Forner. 30 seconds late." I roll my eyes. For a best friend, she can be a super time freak. Even to me.

"Chill Hays, I ran into Malcom. Gimme an extra minute for that."

She snorted. "Fine but I still beat you." I rolled my eyes. Competitiveness. "So what happened with Malcom?"

I shrugged. "Same as usual. But I seriously snaked him this time, so he'll be super pissed for a while. I'm glad he's not in our class." 

Ms Barone turns the corner, coming from her staffroom. I like her, because she's soft and doesn't shout at you unless you majorly screw up. Plus she teaches the best subject ever, in my opinion. "Hello girls!" She says, whilst unlocking the door, "You can start straight away, we're only continuing on from last lesson."

Hayley and I half speedwalk, half run to the cupboard. There, Hayley unearths a tray with a cute tag on the front that says:

         Hayley     and     Genevieve

Hayley's writing is way neater than mine, so I preserved my dignity by writing it with a marker. It doesn't look half as bad that way. Hayley holds the tray out to me, so I dip my hand in and pull out a pretty purple tote bag. It's got bits of embroidery thread sticking out of it, and all of them have either a purple or a silver sequin on the end. The strands are only half done, but when you shake it, the surface shimmers like water. Well, purple water, but still. I dig in again and out comes a pretty blue bag. Its got little touches of lavender; little patches that blend in with the soft sky blue surrounding them. I'm not doing strands on mine though. I'm layering the fabric to give it a sort of frilly effect, but the fabric doesn't stand, so it's more of a ripple.

Hayley grabs the two little boxes with our gear in them, and we head over to a table. Hayley dumps the stuff and pulls out her thread, a needle and the little box of sequins. With a sigh, she plonks herself down and resigns herself to an hour of finger pricking and sewing. She picked what she wanted to do, so she doesn't fight it. But if she'd been told to do it, I'd be treated with a never ending stream of annoyance.

Hiding a smile, I gather up my own supplies. For me, this is just my unfinished work and a couple of new bits of fabric. I dump them next to a sewing machine, knowing that I've forgotten something. After a few seconds, something hard hits the back of my head. Ouch. Looking behind me, I see Hayley with a smirk on her face. I look down at my feet and see the spool of metallic silver thread. Whoops. 

By now, there's a few people milling around, getting their stuff, starting to work. I thread up the machine and allow myself one quick glance around before I start the first row. And I'm glad I did. Because otherwise, I wouldn't have seen the boy who walked in.