Dragonfly Wings

mayday

School ended at 1:37 PM, with our Math teacher keeping us late by 7 minutes. My stomach was grumbling, and I looked over at Jordan who had his math books still open and his eyes were narrowed at a math problem that he was trying to solve.

"You might not want to do that," I said. I took the pen from his hand and re wrote the equation for him. "Don't forget the coefficients."

He gave me a smug look, "smarty pants."

"Nope, just smarter than you," I said,

He feigned a cross look and grabbed his pen away from me, "that's not very nice Furmanski."

"Can we please depart from here? I was hoping we could get lunch together."

Jordan packed his books, in all perkiness, and shoved them in his Kanglom. If there ever existed a brand that made backpacks that looked there were from the 1960s era, with leather straps on either side, it was Kanglom. The brand made it a point to make the bags look like they were wearing suspenders. Jordan thought it looked classic, where as I thought it looked hilarious.

The food at his sister's dance studio cafeteria was, needful to say, horrendous. The taste of the food made me look like I was trying to transform my face into the contorted face of a warthog.

I saw Jordan's sister, Jackie, talking to her older brother, demanding to know why he was late. The little thirteen year old had a fiery temper, with the same features of his coffee coloured hair and ski-slope nose. Only, her features seemed more delicate and refined compared to her older brother who had various scars and marks across his face. She looked cross with him, spitting out French in fits of anger, her two pony tails bobbing along the amplitude of her voice. I took another bite of the stale, oily food and watched in amusement, swinging my ID card around my index finger. They only spoke in French when some serious shit was going down.

Jackie was relentless like weight gain and Youtube commercials. But Jordan was calm. Yes, he did justice to the language of love, speaking in a serene, yet unapologetic tone. They both finally ended by on some mutual agreement that I didn't understand and walked towards me, Jackie in a huff and Jordan in a stroll.

"You got one heck of a dose from little Langevin," I commented.

"Oh, but she'll never win against the older Langevin. Either way, I daresay any boy would never dare to get on her bad side."

I laughed. He blindly took a bite of the fries, and before I could warn him of the unpleasant crap he would put in his mouth, he gagged.

"This shit is so nasty Tal, how are you eating it?"

"It's called hunger."

"Can we go home already?! It's already quite late! And I don't like being late," came Jackie's loud voice, with much irritability.

"What will you be late for, Jackie? Another episode of that show you love to watch," he looked at me, his expression asking me to prompt," the one where were some chick goes missing and—"

"Pretty Little Liars," I offered.

"No Jordan, something else, now let's get moving," Jackie huffed, with an air of importance of course, as she briskly walked towards the front door. We followed her like two body guards. The way to Jordan's house is a secluded, yet ornamented path with lovely fallen leaves of autumn.

I started loudly singing Billy Joel along the way, and Jordan added in his own rendition of Vienna, which is one of my favourite songs from Billy Joel.