THE WESTBURY HIGH FILES

Nine /Avery

'So...what do you think of Amelia.' Harry was on his bed. I was flat on the carpet, a book over my face. Tired of studying, tired in general.

'She's interesting,' I said, my voice muffled by the book.

'Oh come on, Hammord is interesting to a degree. Prescall is interesting. Even fucking Samarth is interesting.' Harry threw a tennis ball up in the air and caught it.

'What else am I supposed to say? A little show-offy?' I said. It was true, no one I knew would pull a stunt like that without an audience. We sat in mutual silence for a minute. Troye Sivan played softly in the background

'Analyse her,' Harry said. He sat upright and looked down at me. I met his gaze, book now in hand. It might be deemed as inappropriate to analyse people you don't know, as bitchy or rude. We were seen as bitchy and rude, pretentious assholes, sitting and judging everyone from afar. It wasn't like that though, not in a rude way, in an observant way.

'Analyse her.' I echoed, eyes drifted to the ceiling. Harry watched me think. Amelia, Amelia. She gave me a shock the other day. She put me on edge and confused me when she looked at me. Maybe she hated me, I couldn't place my finger on it. I couldn't nail her down.

'She's unpredictable,' I said, choosing my words carefully. 'And kind of selfish? Like why does she think she can just enter our duo randomly uninvited. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying.' I added quickly catching a glance from Harry. 'She's not someone I'd usually be friends with. She's, like, kind of fun. If you know what I mean. She laughs a lot and smiles a lot. The streak of rebelliousness is gonna get her in trouble, and definitely has in the past. She's nice. But I don't know her. Yet.'

'Yeah. I get that. She's kind of distant. A fucking tragedy honestly.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Well, think about it, she moved from the Academy to be lost in the middle of a death and the bucket list fad, trying to find some kind of friendship. And then she found us. The two people who never ever communicate with anyone but each other and the jazz band.'

'Yeah, I see it.' I ran a hand through my hair. 'A fucking tragedy. That's what we are.' The way Amelia smiled at me; that unstoppable smile. I could still feel the thump in my heart as she leapt. The momentary still world as she flew, her hair caught in the crisp wind. Dark curls streaking behind her, eyes wide, a smile dancing on her lips, fists clenched. Time slowed and overlapped as she took land. Tilting the world from reality to a parallel universe, for a second of pure bliss. I felt admiration growing. Only a little, it was hard to place it exactly. Maybe it was jealousy.

'This bucket list shit is getting out of hand.' Harry cut into my daydream. 'Listen to this: congrats to whoever flooded the school today, not muck up day, but still on the list. Might be cool to redo it on muck up day.' Harry let out a long, annoyed groan. 'They better not start trashing the school for this mourner's game.'

'Mourners game.' I echoed, 'There's that quote, from that book.'

'Hm?'

'No mourners, no funerals.'

'Edgy. Angsty. Just what us teens need more of.'

–

My flashcards were disorganised. Unheard of. Hunched over my computer, typing out notes for my literature essay, something, something, nineteen eighty-four Winston and rats and room 101, it all flowed out of me unconsciously, chipping slowly away at my academic brain. It's what I was good at. SAC week was upon me; the weekend was no time for a break. Homework was all I knew. Work and study and get into a good university, then I can rest. Then I can be happy. It was what I was good at.