Stay Away Larry

Two

“Her blonde hair framed a face I couldn't forget, but the memories tied to her presence weren't ones I welcomed.”

𖤝𖤝𖤝

"Hi everyone, I'm..."

—Larry.

Larry Day.

Those were the two terms you could use as tag words to search some of the world's biggest profanities alive. I'm sure, you could even find her pictures pasted right next to them. She was after all, the best example for these insults. I doubted anyone in the world could beat her. Except, maybe, Miranda.

"I know, she's hot right?" A male voice from my right cut my chain of thoughts. I turned to look at him with a questioning look. He was practically leaning almost way to close, if not for the separated desks and chairs. But from the way he instantly pulled back with a nervous look, I knew my face might not have been asking politely, rather glaring at him.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to be noisy." He smiled sheepishly, shrugging. "It's just that, you looked all ‘Omg, I've never seen something quite smashy’ with your mouth and eyes wide open."

Smashy? Was that even a word?.

Now that I was facing him properly I realised I knew him from somewhere. I let myself think hard, trying to remember where exactly I knew him from. Which was, unsuprisingly harder than it sounded, since a lot of things were swirling around in my head. Causing me to have a slight headache. It was like there was a tornado spinning, ruining every single sane part of my brain. The worst part was deep down I knew what was behind all of that.

"Stan, right?" I spoke, my memory of him slowly emerging. He had been in my Art class all years in Crestwood conservatively since the beginning. I believed he still was. He was a pretty good talented artist, if I was being honest.

"Dan, actually. But a lot of—" He went on to correct me.

"Right. Ever heard of the phrase ‘Not everything that shines is gold’ ?"

"Not exactly. I think it went like ‘don't judge a book by it's cover', " He said looking up at the ceiling as if thinking really hard of it.

I blinked at him, dumbfounded. Shaking my head, I looked away, my focus going back to the all-too-familiar figure standing a few paces from me.

Her blonde hair framed a face I couldn't forget, the memories tied to her presence weren't ones I welcomed. Despite the history, I kept my composure, masking any sign of recognition as she continued with the introduction, answering questions from some of my —our, apparently— classmates.

By the time we were released to finally go attend our first lessons, I couldn't have gotten out of the class any faster. I quickly picked up my file and the books I'd gotten from my locker before I went to eat breakfast, and dashed out. My hurried pace didn't falter even in the hallway, as I tried to navigate my way through hordes of students heading in different directions.

The further away I was from class E3, the more relieved and funny enough, I felt myself breathing again. It even started to feel like I hadn't actually seen her at all. As if she had been just a small figment of my imagination that had occured out of the blue. However a part of me wouldn't let it got just easily. The whole situation was nagging me.

How had she ended up in Crestwood?if that was her.

Did she notice me?

Did she remember me? And if so the innocent oblivious vibe she was giving, was it for show or she really was clueless?