heartstrings

Chapter 21

Evangeline
November 23rd 2017

Why the fuck do I have to learn the gender of every damn word?!

It's like some sort of cruel joke.
Honestly, who even decided that objects need to have genders? As if learning the words themselves wasn't hard enough, now I have to remember if a chair is male or female.

Spoiler alert: I don't care.

Cass was sitting next to me looking like she's seen a ghost. Her eyes were wide, and she kept blinking rapidly as if she could somehow blink the confusion away.

That's what French does to us.

We chose it this year, thinking it would be an easy elective, but if I'm being real: WE'RE BOTH SHIT AT IT.
I mean, how hard could it be, right?

Apparently, we severely underestimated the complexity of this so-called romantic language.

Every time I sat in this room, I understood less of what the man in the front was talking about. This didn't feel like French; this felt like fucking torture.
His words blended into a continuous stream of gibberish that made my head spin.
The chalk squeaking on the board as he wrote out sentences that might as well have been in hieroglyphics didn't help either.

"I understand shit of what he's talking about, Eve," Cass whined beside me. She sounded on the verge of tears. "I can't do it. I'll never understand this."

I patted my friend's shoulder in a feeble attempt at comfort.
"It'll be alright. But I definitely will choose a new subject next year. French is bullshit."
I said it with such conviction that I almost believed it myself. Almost.

That's when I felt something vibrate in my pocket.
Cass noticed too, and her eyebrows shot up in curiosity.

"Who is it?" she whispered, leaning closer.

I didn't tell her about the date yet. I didn't know what we were, so it was better that way.

For now, keeping Nic a secret felt safer.

I shook my head and looked down at my unlocked phone.
There it was, a message from an unknown number. There weren't many people that the number could've belonged to, but thank god it was my favourite option.

Unknown: Hey, meet me in the parking lot in 10
Smoker boy

My heart warmed at the message, but at the same time, I felt my stomach twist with worry. WHY THE HELL WASN'T HE IN SCHOOL?!

Eve: I'll be there.

I raised my hand, hoping the teacher would let me go without too much fuss.

"Yes, Evangeline?" he asked, his tone dripping with impatience.

"I'm not feeling well. Could I please go and see the nurse?" I tried to sound as pitiful as possible.

The teacher looked annoyed with me but finally let me leave.

I stood up, gathered all my stuff, and tried my best to ignore Cass' confused stares.

I almost flew down the school stairs and ran out the front door, my mind racing with thoughts of Nic and why he wasn't in class.

The ice-cold November breeze made goosebumps spread across my skin as I hurried across the parking lot.

I quickly noticed Nic standing by his car, the usual cigarette locked between his fingers. He looked effortlessly good in his school shirt and trousers, a hoody loosely falling across his shoulders. His hair was messy, not too messy, but messy.

I tried to keep my voice steady, not wanting to sound too desperate for a good explanation for him skipping school. "Why aren't you in school?" I asked, my breath visible in the chilly air.

He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he drew the smoke into his lungs. "I didn't feel like it anymore," he finally said, his voice flat and devoid of any real explanation.

That was exactly what I meant by a BAD explanation. I rolled my eyes internally, knowing that pressing him for more details would be futile. By now, I had learned how to get information from him. He was like a vault, tightly sealed, and prying too hard would only make him shut down further.

I had to pick my battles, and this wasn't one worth fighting.

Instead, I changed tactics. "So where are we going, smoker boy?" I asked, watching as he stubbed out his cigarette with deliberate slowness, crushing it under his boot before flicking the butt into the gutter.

He opened the car door for me, a rare gesture of chivalry that always took me by surprise.

"You tell me, milady," he replied, his tone lightening as he gestured grandly for me to get into his car.

I giggled at his theatrics, sliding into the passenger seat. The interior of the car smelled faintly of smoke and his cologne, a scent that was both comforting and familiar by now.

"I mean, we could go to my place," I suggested, buckling my seatbelt and turning to face him.

He paused, his hand on the door frame, and looked at me skeptically.

"I don't think your parents like me very much," he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

It was true; my parents aren't really his biggest fans, I don't really know why, but there's something about Nic that drives mostly my dad crazy.

"They're not home!" I explained quickly, hoping to ease his concerns. "My brother isn't either. My dad works until late, my mum's at my aunt's house for the next two days, and my brother is hanging out with a friend until late. So, what is it, smoker boy?"

He took another deep breath, this one less laden with smoke and more with consideration. He seemed to weigh my words, the familiar furrow appearing between his brows as he thought it over. "Let's go then," he said finally, closing his door with a decisive thud.