The Rarest Possibility of Us

01 | dwight

{ his point of view }

i.

I've always been labeled as a nerd. It may be because I never missed a class, never got late, never been into detention, and never received bad grades. I don't wear cool, trendy clothes and I never take off my spectacles because of a really bad case of astigmatism. I don't blame all of those sleepless nights that I spent reading a lot of fiction books, though. It's pretty much my fault, but I had no regrets or whatsoever. Although, is it my fault to just be myself and get judged by so many people?

It's not like I care about what they say behind my back, but I think it's just getting overboard. And as a human being, I am capable of having feelings. Who wouldn't be hurt when they name you things that you aren't even true?

So, um. Maybe I do care about what they say, but hey, can you blame me?

Here in school, we have variety of people. We have the good ones and the ones that should be avoided--the ones that have nasty personalities. The worst of them all is Jacob Ferland, along with his oh-so-great (minions) friends. They're like a bunch of walking nightmares. If there ever was a genderbend version of Mean Girls, it would be them.

All of my school days from freshmen to junior high were terrible because of him. I don't really want to call myself as a victim of bullying, but I guess I am. There are only a few occasions that I would able to get away from him: the weekends, special holidays, days that he was absent, days that I am absent, thanksgiving, Christmas break, and summer.

And you what today is? Today's gonna be the last day until summer vacation.

Just the thought of it makes me so fucking happy.

I don't bother listening to the teacher scolding us for the results of our Algebra exam, knowing that I'm not one of those students with low scores. I chew the end of my pen as I look at the time on the wall clock. I start counting the minutes, my foot tapping against the floor to match the beat.

“I don't even know what to do with y'all,” comes the annoyed voice of Mr. Gallagher. “I can't say that I'm not disappointed.”

Fourty seconds left till it's over.

“Of course, you have to retake the exams.”

Thirty seconds.

“And yes, I think you have to spend your summer studying in order to do better on the make-up exams—”

Twenty.

“—which you will also take during your summer vacation.”

Eleven, ten, nine—

“Well, isn't it just fun?”

Six, five, four, three, two—

“So—”

RINGGGGGGGGG

As the bell rings, I quickly shove the pen inside my backpack, pull it over one shoulder, and stand up.

“Enjoy your summer break,” is the last thing that I heard from Mr. Gallagher as I leave the room in a hurry.

Loud laughter and cheers fill the crowded hallways. I try my best to squeeze my way out from the sea of people. The time that I spent running towards the exit is probably the fastest that I ever had.

ii.

The bells jingle as I open the door to my favorite bookstore. I am immediately greeted by the man behind the counter.

“Ah, if isn't my favorite costumer!” Mr. Dodds, the 52 year-old bookstore owner, exclaims as I happily approach the counter.

“Hi, Mr. Dodds,” I say with a huge grin.

Books have been the bridge of my friendship with Mr. Dodds. I discovered his bookstore two years ago when I was walking around the downtown area. The place was situated between two large buildings; you wouldn't even notice it if you won't look closely. Even if it's small, there are still a lot of books and the atmosphere was nice and comfortable. I found myself coming here every day, reading tons of books and borrowing some from time to time. I remember Mr. Dodds approaching me for the first time, asking if I wanted to borrow more books. Since then, we've been pretty close.

Mr. Dodds smiles at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I just received some new books. You can check them out if you want.”

“Sure,” I reply and start walking down the aisle.

I pass by a few people reading as I scan the shelves. It's really nice to watch people smile and laugh while reading. Come on, let’s be honest. Who wouldn't be happy if you have a book in your hands?

I run my fingers over the spines of the volumes as my eyes wander to some interesting book titles. It is then that I hear footsteps. I hesitate before I casually take a peek through the space of the shelf above the books and see someone startlingly familiar.

Hestia Coleman.

I immediately think about hiding, which is pretty stupid. It would've drawn so much attention that she'll eventually notice me.

On other thoughts, what is she doing here? Doesn't she have a party to attend? Why is she holding a book instead of a make-up kit? And why is she smiling while reading? It is pretty unusual for a popular girl for having so much interest about reading.

I've clearly been staring at her for so long because her eyes meet mine.

-

published: 09/08/14
rewritten/edited: 01/20/17

so, it's been quite awhile, huh?