Chapter Seven,
Hagley Community College spread out before us.
We drifted through the side entrance. As per usual the long bed of grass that sat at the borderlines of the college was still cordoned off—as if the grass was a serial killer or a pit of quicksand that threatened to swallow unsuspecting students’ whole. We followed the spindly little path, and soon were accosted by a brick wall of students all filing into the gym.
“I can’t believe we are back already,” I groaned and checked my phone: 10.30 somehow we had made it in time.
“I know,” Elise sighed. “I swear the holidays just started yest—RUDE” Elise was punctuated midsentence as a curiously dressed girl barrelled into her, knocking her to the ground.
The girl righted herself, adjusting her unique and exquisite black corseted lace dress, and flipped an auburn waterfall of hair over her shoulders.
Each one of her locks rippled down her back, bouncing playful as they settled around her shoulder blades.
“I am so sorry,” She said breathlessly to Else.
She scooped up Elise’s denim satchel off the ground and passed it to her; Elise clung to my legs and dragged me down as she pulled herself up.
“It’s ok,” Elise shrugged.
“I just really need to pee,” As she stood there, she crossed her legs and hoped a little on the spot.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Elise smiled. “We all know those feels,”
“Thank-you,” The girl said doing this sort of awkward half-bow-half-curtsy-thing. “Well, it was great running into you—no pun intended,” and then the girl flew off, slipping merrily her hair swaying side to side, shimmering under the cloudless rays cast above from the January sun.
“E—Eden!” Elise snatched at words and at my wrist. “Look at her boots!” she forced my head to the side, the same direction as her.
I saw the copper-colour-hair girl with the weak bladder, and as she flicked her heels up like a Can-Can dancer, I saw the boots Elise was talking about. “How did I not notice them earlier?” I said. Truthfully because I was too busy admiring her black lace dress, it was divine. There was such a burlesque beauty behind its design and amethyst lace corset, I think that’s why I loved it so much.
Her boots were knee high combat boots, reinforced with a thickcoating of steel and armed with a row of spikes on each overlapping strap.
“Can I marry her?” Elise asked as we dragged our attention away from the mystery woman and her bootilicious boots.
“You don’t even know her,’
“And?”
“Elise . . . Never mind,”
“Look, just because I don’t know her name doesn’t mean I can’t love her,”
“Oh, pur-lease, you just love her boots,”
She nodded. “Well yeah, you saw them,”
“Ahuh and I know why you love them—and her,”
“Why? Because they are a bootgasam, that’s why!”
“A bootgasam?” I queried.
“Yeah,” She shrugged. “It’s an orgasm of boots,”
‘Yeah, I got that much . . .”
“Then don’t ask,” She snapped. “Damn I want her boots,”
We filed into the gym in silence, both of us strangling a fit of giggles. Both of us just had such a unique way of inspiring each other’s most bizarre behaviour—it made for fantastic and disturbing late night deep and meaningfuls.
