PSPA

2

"What knows he of love who has not been obliged to despise just what he loved" - Friedrich Nietzsche

"Can I have your daughter, for the rest of my life, say yes, say yes, cause I need to know" I sing softly walking toward school.

I look at the street in front of me, teeming with boys rushing to school and some just leaning against their cars full of used books.

There will be chaos on the way out.

I enter through the gate casting a quick glance at the school's populars who are smoking and seem untroubled by the delay they will be making, while I lift my glasses, which have come down a bit, and climb the steps to the entrance where above my head rises the blank sign of the school "Classic High school G. MELI."

I look at the resigned sign and turn up the volume of the music.

Welcome to the prison.

At the entrance are the usual janitors are drinking coffee and laughing with each other, a bald janitor casts a glance at me and I immediately give him a weak smile pulling straight before he can catch me a reprimand for being late.

In front of me stretches the agora, Greek for "square," where speeches by school representatives are usually held, various activities take place during assemblies, or simply teeming with guys at the break time

I swallow to think that I will have to spend another year at this school, and without wasting any time, I go to the board to find the classroom number of my class.

I start panning the map with my eyes in search of 5D and wince when I realize they have us perched on the third floor, also nicknamed "tower" I look up at the ceiling and curse under my breath.

I'm late and I also have to make it three floors of this huge school.

I turn around in defeat, leaving room for the other late kids like me who, unlike me, run like horses as soon as they see their classroom number.

How can they be so active in the morning?

I put my backpack on my back and reluctantly move to cross the agora, when, however, my eyes are drawn to the vending machine on the corner at the entrance to the school cafeteria.

I contemplate accompanying the long climb to the third floor with a relaxing hot tea, but I would be further delayed, and by first period I would have math. On the other hand, however, the teacher is never on time and always arrives fifteen minutes late.

I shrug and head for the machine, screw math.

I'm already late...what's another three minutes late?

I reach the machine with apparent calm and glimpse the various hot drinks the machine offers.

Why get a hot drink when it's boiling hot outside? Queue up the questions that are never meaningfully answered.

"Hot tea..." I whisper to myself, as if I have discovered hot water.

I nod my head and pulling out change from my wallet, I slip in 2 euros to get tea that costs 60 cents.

I add sugar and wait for the tea to come out, resting my wallet in my backpack and concentrating on following the black lines that show me where the tea is brewing.

I stare at the scrolling dashes, almost in a daze, and when the bar goes completely black, I sigh with relief.

No breakdowns like last year, when I spent the whole recreation time waiting for a technician to open the machine and fix the gearbox. Always to me.

I slowly grab the edge of the glass with one hand so as not to burn myself and wait for the machine to give me the remain back, but nothing falls out.

I tap my foot against the floor waiting, but still nothing.

Come on... Hurry up... I'm late! I had to run to the third floor and not waste time having this stupid tea, damn me!

I start shaking the machine with my free hand but nothing.

Oh come on...I shake it even harder, but nothing.

I sigh nervously and releasing all the tension from just the beginning of the day, I start to kick the machine, hoping to get something, but nothing!

I moan in frustration, grimacing, damn remains-eating machine!

I'm about to give it one last kick, just to hurt it again, when I suddenly hear a male voice saying, "You'll break it this way"

I turn around in fear with the tea in my hand, and without thinking too much, I throw all the boiling liquid in the face of the guy behind me to defend myself.

From what? I don't know, ask to my stupid mind.

I immediately make a regretful face and take a few seconds to realize the damage I've just done. I don't know what the hell came over me.

"Shit!" the stranger yells, suddenly backing away.

I take a quick look at him, trying to figure out who it might be, and my eyes widen to see that he's a nice guy, a really nice guy. I observe his tall stature, more or less six feet tall, with an amber skin, curly hair, chocolate brown eyes and a full pink mouth that is adorned with a well-groomed dark beard.

He's wearing a tight white shirt that accentuates the shape of his muscles and imposing shoulders, a pair of black pants that look like they were couture and shiny shoes on his feet, who the hell is he?

I step back as well, putting as much distance as possible between us, but he comes forward sternly and blurts out in annoyance "Are you going to stand there or can you give me a handkerchief to clean me up?"

"Kindly" he adds at the end to remain polite, but in vain because he spits it out with pure arrogance.

I immediately search the pockets of my backpack and, thanking God for having put a pack of tissues, I hand him the whole pack.

He snatches it from my hands and taking a tissue, he abruptly throws the package back into my hand "One is enough."

"Sorry" I whisper, clutching my backpack, I'm dying of embarrassment.

"Yeah..." he mumbles arrogantly, not even looking at me as he cleans his shirt.

I put the package back in my pocket and put the backpack back on my shoulders I murmur mortified "I didn't mean to hurt you"

"Hurt me? You almost burned my face. No, let's remove the almost" he continues, humiliating me.

"I don't..." what can I say, other than prostrate myself at his feet asking for forgiveness.

"Can I fix this somehow?" I ask not knowing what else to do or say.

He looks up at me annoyed, but then stops to study my face and raises an eyebrow in thought. "Actually, yes" he states, giving me relief.

"Tell me, I'm so... mortified. I just got scared and..." I say, torturing my nails in anxiety. "Don't worry," he interrupts me, slowly approaching me until he passes my living space.

I immediately look at him, strangely close, but I remain still even when he puts his mouth close to my ear and whispers hoarsely "To get forgiveness, we could get to know each other better by turning around the corner, what do you say, babydoll?"