I felt sick in the stomach. Avery was always there for me through everything. I slumped on my desk, the divider wonky. I didn't know who was on the other side. I wasn't paying attention.
I let Avery down, yet again.
I was a bad friend. This was SAC week. This meant everything to Avery. This was her ticket to university. She's always wanted to go to university. Or at least always planned on going to university. It wasn't a dream. It was the ritual of youth. Something to tick off a bucket list. Bucket lists; it had a foul smell, Gina was the last thing I wanted on my mind. Focus, maths test.
The test page looked wrong to me, everything was slightly too far to the left. Computing error? I was being nit-picky and couldn't concentrate. I bit my nails and wrote the answers.
It was over before I had time to think. I had no idea how I did. An 'S', for trying, is all I needed. I didn't look my teacher in the eye handing it back. She would surely be disappointed. I sped walked out of the classroom.
'Avery!' I saw her approaching her next class from across the hall.
'Hey, you fucking dipshit. Nimrod. Assholien.'
'Damn I haven't heard assholien in a while, am I in that much trouble?' I laughed nervously.
'Of course. I hate you now. You've been replaced.' Avery joked, and I knew it, but it didn't feel good. 'Dude it's fine. I'm fine.' Avery sensed my tension. I let it go. 'I did my first lit SAC! Yay!' She tried to lighten the mood.
'No. Sorry. I'm sorry, I just, I've been acting like a right twat, I'm sorry it's just,' I rambled, hands in pockets. I couldn't meet her eyes.
'Okay, Harry I'm gonna say this nice and clearly so you understand.' She locked eyes. I watched her eyebrow furrow. 'Shut the fuck up.' She broke into a grin. I smiled back.
'Gotcha Ave.' We took off towards the art block. Amelia was already waiting for us, writing in a small black square notebook. We were a trio, a nonconventional haphazard science-project-thrown-together-at-the-last-minute-trio, but we were a trio nonetheless. We sat and talked about the end of the world in peace.
YOU ARE READING
THE WESTBURY HIGH FILES
Dla nastolatkówShe was kind and never said a bad word, playing the music as she was told. It wasn't like her life impacted me, but it was enough to know that there wasn't going to be a pianist for Monday's ensemble rehearsal. I typed in Cystic Fibrosis. I knew I p...
