THE WESTBURY HIGH FILES

Four /Avery

I didn't know what to think of Amelia. I didn't know what to think most of the time. She was pretty, the kind of pretty that exaggerated my plainness. I was at my desk; I was always at my desk. A stack of notes piled; an open laptop. I study in the morning; I study in the evening. It's what you're supposed to do. That's what I've been taught my entire life; go to school, get good grades, get into a good university, get a well-paying job and earn good money. It started at the good grades. To pass or not to pass. I adjusted my uniform, thinking of failure, of equations I've forgotten, the format of a philosophy essay, what Le Guin's philosophy was, history, psychology and maths and history and psychology and maths and literature. I needed to do well. I was tired and the morning haze was comforting.

            The clock on my desk blinked 5:56 am. Uniform feeling uncomfortable, the colour was fading after many washes, collar slightly too tight. I unbuttoned the top button and slumped in my desk chair. Spinning slowly, waiting for something to happen. My phone buzzed, screen glowed, it was Harry. It was always Harry. He had been pestering me about the Australian junior jazz competition for weeks now, but this was getting ridiculous.

            'It's six in the morning, asshole.'

            'Exactly dipshit, I knew you were going to be awake freakin' out about the upcoming SACs again,' On the other end Harry spoke a little too fast, a little too jittery, 'I'm trying to figure out the rhythm and dynamics of this improv bit in Cantaloupe Island and I need to run it by someone–'

            'That's great and all Hazza, but really? This early? I could be sleeping, and speaking of sleeping, my mum is so I can't speak long.'

            'Alright! But promise me you'll let me play some ideas to you tonight.' There was a lilt of desperation in his voice.

            'Brilliant. Perfect. Sounds like one hell of a plan ol' pal.' I caved.

            'Yes bless you Ave. See you on the other side.'

            'Not if I catch you first.'

I didn't know what to think of Amelia. I kept going back to her; she had a pep in her step that swallowed the room's attention. She didn't wear her uniform properly, I mean, no one did, but it annoyed me. Or maybe I was trying to find reasons to hate her. I was protective of Harry.

I clicked over to Tumblr looking through my most recent notes. My ask inbox was full again. Naomi of bookishdragonsunited was messaging me enthusiastically about this TV show she had a growing obsession for and kept telling her to watch it watch it watch it. Something about a detective agency and time travelling. Juno of lokisheart wanted to see when he could stream Doctor Who with me. I spent most of my spare time growing my small but mighty blog book-ave, which also meant the constant stream of messages and notifications. Which was tiring. I didn't respond to Juno or Naomi. I was thinking about Amelia. I was thinking about Gina. I needed to think about not failing psychology.

Bookishdragonsunited (Naomi) – come on girl, I want some quality talk time

book-ave (Avery) – fine, what's up.

Bookishdragonsunited – wow okay that was rude.

book-ave – sorry, just tired

Bookishdragonsunited – aw babe I know just tired actually means sad

Bookishdragonsunited – what's up?

book-ave – A girl died at my school the other day

book-ave – well not at the school, but she was a student

book-ave – everyone's been a bit weird

book-ave – as am I.

Bookishdragonsunited – holy shit, are you alright? I mean, obviously not. But did you know her?

book-ave – no. I didn't know her.

Bookishdragonsunited – I'm sure this mourning period will pass

book-ave – yeah.

book-ave – I should get going, I have school soon.

I exited the tab before I could see a reply. Harry may be my closest physical friend, but Naomi was my closest distant friend. Sometimes your neighbourhood won't have the friends you need. Thank god for the age of the internet.