Bookish London

Chapter 7 - Liz

I really don’t know how to feel about those games that he plays…he’s not even that funny…well, he is, in his own way.
You might think I say it because I like him, and no, I don’t, but there’s a profound esteem for him in my heart and soul I still cannot recognize entirely.
I just see him as my academical competition, alas, a bittersweet one.
As we walked into school, I only now abruptly realised my best friend Kayla wasn’t with us. 
I turned around like a ballerina in the school’s main hallway, only to feel dizzy afterwards and find my best friend looking at me with a repressed giggle in her smile. 
“Where were you, Kay? I was worried!”
I yell, hugging her almost just as tightly as she usually does to me.
“I got here twenty minutes before you, I left you all alone with Mr-You-Know-Who. Besides, it was oddly fun to be all alone in our school for once. I had the chance to appreciate the prison we call a class.”
At her last remark, I break up into a sound laugh with my best friend.
“Don’t call him You-Know-Who, he’s not the Dark Lord, you know.” I tell her, barely capable to keep in my laughter.
“I’ll call him whatever I want, missy. Until he changes his name to Unknown, I will call him You-Know-Who. Deal?” Kayla says with a knowingly look in her eyes.
“Ugh ok, call him as you want. It doesn’t faze me, sweetie. Not in the slightest.”
I declare, hopefully convincingly enough for Kayla to believe my words.
“It does, though, boo. I know it does, I can see it in your eyes. Now take off that meanie glare you have; it doesn’t suit you. And, as odd as it sounds: let’s go to class.” Kayla says in the spur of the moment.
“I know it’s very unlikely I did just say that, but let’s move on, Liz. You know the teacher will give us a note if we’re late”
She stammers out, and nudged me towards our class, on the right side of the east corridor of our school building. 
“You never bother for that on other days…you like Mr Alvarez, don’t you?! Or someone IN Spanish class…maybe one Duncan Wallace, with which you 
conveniently have a history lab work to do…” I drop this bomb of notion out of nowhere in our conversation just to surprise her.
“I do not like Mr Alvarez in that way and neither do I like Duncan! Now stop prying on my nerves! I don’t have enough caffeine in me for that kind of support.”
She half-yells, defensively. Oh, raw nerve masked as a low caffeine intake problem…very promising subject to hit later…though I need my best friend stable enough to follow Spanish, she needs these revision lessons more than I do. 
Fortunately, we get to Spanish class without further ado, and we go on through the next two hours of class with no serious difficulties.
As we walk to our next class, Chemistry, Kayla tries and fails to repeat some of the words and phrases we just learnt in class.
“El gelado està buenito” she tries.
“El gelado es bueno, buenito no existe en español.” I tell her, laughing internally at her confused face.
“I said: El gelado es bueno, “Ice cream is good” and Buenito no existe en español, buenito doesn’t exist in Spanish, only “Bueno”, “Buenisimo” or “Bonito”, only bonito is form something aesthetically pretty, not for food.”
She still has that quizzical look in her eyes that makes me laugh more than any joke anyone could say.
“It’s not that hard to understand, bestie. You just have to commit yourself to it, like you commit yourself to your karate lessons.” There, a comparison she might understand.
“I know, Liz, but karate to me is natural. Spanish isn’t.” she says, her eyes admiring the floor we stood on sheepishly.
“Do I look like someone with Spanish parents? No, and I don’t have any Spanish relatives, but I learnt Spanish anyway, and I will damn well teach you everything I know until you can speak it well enough for us to go to Madrid on holiday. Deal?”
I friendly nudge her in the elbow, seeing her smile growing on her lips.
“Deal.” She yells as she looks up at me and then starts dancing in the middle of the hallway.
“Calm down, crazy-head, you’ll embarrass yourself!” I yell, half laughing with my dear best friend’s joyous dance of victory.
“Tu piensas que Kyle es guapo, mejor amiga!” she yells, and I inadvertently blush at this declaration.
She likes to play with me, obviously. In several different languages, I might add.
Oh well, I chose her as my best friend, and now I must deal with the consequences.
At that moment, I acknowledge two things. One, my best friend knows quite well how to embarrass me in Spanish but can’t even tell me a simple sentence such as Ice Cream is good without stumbling on simple mistakes she could easily avoid.
Two, the guy in question, Kyle James Carter himself just walked into the hallway in front of me, and I am utterly and completely flushed with guilt and embarrassment for my best friend’s speech.
By the way, he takes Spanish class too, and sits two rows behind mine and Kayla’s row of desks.
“I’m in a deep hole of poop.”
I thought to myself.
Strangely enough, Kyle seemed unfazed by the notion my dear best friend Kayla just dropped on the world, through her Spanish little word games.
The double strange thing is that he was alone, none of his best friends were with him.
Duncan, Alexander, William?
Not one of them was there.
Why was it strange, you ask? Well, if you’d talked to anyone who’s been in school with us from primary until now, you would most certainly know he never goes anywhere without them…well, maybe not the restrooms but he goes EVERYWHERE else with them. Just like me and Kayla.
Today, he was alone.
He must’ve come out of Mr Alvarez’s class faster than his friends, perhaps. Yes, that’s it. Nothing to worry about.
I wouldn’t worry about it, anyway.
He was standing alone in the hallway, just like me.
As I ran deeply through my thoughts, I unconsciously walk towards our school’s Chem lab, and as I do this, I stride past Kyle, who only just says a low “Hey Cuthbert” to me and walks down the hallway the opposite way.
Strange, very strange.
I strut into class right when Ms Coulson is opening her register for the usual rollcall Mr Alvarez always forgets to do in his class.
“Welcome, Ms Cuthbert. Have a seat, I was about to start this class’s rollcall.”
She says pleasantly, probably the only teacher who does at ten in the morning on a Tuesday. I like her, she’s good at explaining how-to blow-up things through different atoms’ reactions with each other. “Chemistry, basically” presented to you by me, Elizabeth Leigh Cuthbert.
“Good morning, Ms Coulson.”
I say, smiling at her while I take my seat near Kayla’s.
She goes quickly through the rollcall, signs the register lazily and then opens her textbook at a random page and says: “AHA! Ok, class, today we’re talking about hydrogen, now form pairs and let’s get to work!”
She speaks, half-shouting at the end.
I turn towards Kayla and shoot her a knowing look, which said this: “Me and you, chemistry lab partners, like always.” But right there and then, just as we were starting our work, she breaks us up.
“Sorry girls, we have to share class with Mr Wilson’s biology class, the one across the hall from ours. Our materials don’t seem to work today.” Says Ms Coulson.
Ugh, what do you want, Fate? That I meet that irritating guy again and again until I am forced to like him? Sorry, but I’m not on board with your plan, Grand Destiny.
I won’t abide to your tricks.
“Oh, ok Ms Coulson. Shall we move to the other class?” I hear Cailyn Thompson say to our teacher.
If there ever was a person, I disliked the most in this world, it would be her. She’s always bragging about her grades and all when she copies half her tests from either the internet or Kyle’s test sheet. (That’s because the teacher moves our desks during our tests).
“Yes, yes, Ms Thompson. We shall.”
On that note, she leads us out of Chemistry class, through the hallway and inside Biology class.
We walk in, and of course, all the seats together are taken, so we’re forced to break up pairs and sit next to the students from the other class.
“You can sit next to Mr Carter, Elizabeth.” Said Ms Coulson.
Oh my- no and no! I love biology! I am not having one of my favourite classes ruined by this boy.
“I’m not suggesting it, Ms Cuthbert, it’s an assignment.”
She adds, seeing me waver at her first words.
“Yes, yes Ms Coulson.” I walk to Carter’s desk and sit beside him.
“Do. Not. Gloat.” I articulate through gritted teeth as I look towards our teachers, smiling innocently.
“I wasn’t going to.” He speaks.
“I- You really think I don’t know your ways, Carter? Really?” I scoff, rolling my eyes annoyed.
“I just don’t care for gloating on others in this period, ultimately.” He throws back.
“Whatever, just get me an A in this class and we can consider our case closed.”
“Fine.”
He pronounces finally and turns back to look at the lab work presentation Ms Coulson and Mr Wilson are presenting us today: the osmosis process, using two halves of an emptied potato, both put to float on water, one with salt and one with water.
We work on our project, and I surprisingly have quite fun, what with him crossing the movements of my hands and spraying some drops of water at me with his hands, almost giggling.
Every time he crosses my worktable, I put his hands onto his desk menacingly saying: “Keep your hands off my workspace, if you still want to have them at the end of this lesson.”
He looks at me confused and then smirks, making my serious mask fall from my face and making me laugh so darn hard I would’ve died of oxygen absence if I didn’t stop.
In one of his attempts at invading my land, I take his hand in mine and move it on his area, and he holds it a little while longer…this is awkward, ouch.
He takes away his hand hastily, blushing like a baby…so cute- no, Brain, stop. Please. Okay fine.
We finish our work first and, as it could’ve been easily presumed, we get an A.
I turn around to him and I high five him unconvincingly, then, as the hour bell rang, I turn towards the door, where Kayla was waiting for me, and walk out of the class.
It’s now lunch time, so me and Kayla walk to our school’s canteen to eat.
We meet up with a few other girls from our class and sit down at our usual table: the one nearest to the big window looking out onto the river Thames, a single shard of real life I can see during my school day.
Today’s lunch? Tomato soup, my favourite. My bestie looks at our canteen’s menu for today and asks the lunch lady, Ms Kayleen, and asks: “Anything with gluten in the soup?”.
Yeah, by the way, she’s gluten intolerant since she was around four or five years old, I can’t remember.
“No honey, I checked with the school nurse, you’re all good, Kayla.”
She answers my best friend’s question with a smile.
“Thank you very much, Ms Kayleen.” My bestie says, and we walk back to our table with our trays full.
We eat our share, and then we go and sit near the heater in the library, on those extra comfortable couches you wish you had in your house sometimes.
Allison, Debbie, Grace and Madelaine, our lunch partners, join us soon after on the couches.
We gossip about this celebrity’s life choices or that celebrity’s present partner and stuff like that until it is time for us to go to gym class.
The bell rings, we say see you later to our friends and walk towards the gym.
On our way there, we pick up our training bags from our lockers and run off through the hallway leading to the so-called “Greet Your Murder” hall.
Why is it called that? Because a simple warm up with our teacher can kill your muscles, but t helps to keep you healthy…if you survive it.
We go change in the girl’s locker room, together with our gym classmates. We put on our gym trousers and tees, pin up a hastily made ponytail and slip our training shoes on and walk out.
It’s basketball lesson now, baby.