Notes Of A Love Stricken Dork

A Beautiful Blonde

I make it through French, which after English, is my favourite subject. I find that French is like math, only without the numbers. You add things together to get a verb tense, it's easy. I am the only boy in that class though, which gives Lawson and his tag-alongs yet another reason to shout "fag" at me. But I always enjoy the class none the less. It helps me to know that in 20 years those assholes will still be working as a cashier at McDonalds.

After the class is over I head home, normally on Tuesdays I would stay and write the editorials in the school paper, the Glenview Soar (don’t even get me started on the name) but Mr. Cole has somewhere to be tonight so I'll write at home tonight. Mr. Cole catches me in the hallway as I’m leaving.

I explain what I plan to do about the editorials.

"Yes, write the column at home tonight and bring it to me tomorrow." Mr. Cole tells me.

I nod and begin to walk away, but Mr. Cole starts talking again.

"Do my assignment first though Will. I am anxious to see what you write about." Mr. Cole then comes closer to me and whispers "Perhaps, a beautiful blonde."

I turn bright red, thanking God that Mr. Cole whispered that. I quickly leave him standing behind me, smiling at his own remark. 

I grab my bike and ride home, which is kind of painful considering it is the middle of winter and everything, but I have no choice, it’s my bike or walking. Biking is much faster. While I ride home I think about how Mr. Cole is right. He always is. I am going to write that stupid letter about Bella. And everyone would know it, tomorrow is going to be awful.

When I arrive at my building, I pull my bike into the storage closet and walk the 10 floors up to my apartment, there is a note on the fridge from my mom "There's some money on the table for take-out. Have a good night sweetie. I love you!"

My mom works the night shift at the local cherry-canning factory. I'm not joking. And because of that there is never any home cooked meals, except on Thanksgiving, Christmas and my birthday. I live of take-out, or that's what I let my mom think. I usually go out to the corner store and try to find something that isn't smothered in grease. I don’t really feel like clogging my arteries you know? A salad, or a wrap, maybe a can of juice are some of the staples for my meals. My mom would be devastated if she knew. It would make her feel guilty for not being around more. She's stuck between a rock and a hard place my mom, she wants to spend as much time as possible with me but at the same time she wants to send me to university, which means she needs to work more hours. I tell her I'll pay for it, I have a job for that very reason, I work part-time at the local book shop, and I have enough money to pay for a semester of university, plus, I'll probably apply for loans, and work during my time in school. My mom shouldn't worry about me is what I am trying to say. I’ll make it through somehow.

After warming up, I go and get my dinner, tonight it's a garden salad, a pear drink and a cookie for dessert. I enjoy my meal immensely.  I then start on my math homework, struggle with it, then decide it isn't worth doing.  I do my French, which of course is incredibly easy, we just started the subjunctive. And then of course, English. I am doing it last for a reason.

I try to write but can't think of anything, usually the words just flow out of me like water from a tap, but tonight they won't. So I leave it. I go and watch the last little bit of a Few Good Men, play some Windwaker then I go to bed.

I wake up the next morning, and realize that 2 out of 3 homework assignments are not done. Well the math doesn't matter, but Mr. Cole will have my head if that letter isn't done. I sit down and just think for a couple of minutes. Mr. Cole never said the letter had to be long. That gives me an idea.

"I am right here, right in front of you. Please, just look around. I'm here."

I write that and pray no one will figure out this is my letter. I’m kidding myself; everyone will know I wrote it and everyone will laugh at me.

 I gulp down some breakfast and prepare myself for the bone-chilling bike ride to school. 

Once at school, I go to my locker and find Ben waiting for me. He seems pretty excited about something.

"Guess who you have a date with on Friday?"

I feign interest, "Who?"

"Anne-Marie!" Ben putts up his hands for a high five. I slap it half-heartedly; I still don't really want to go on this date with him.