Duality

Chapter 4- A Pain

"Okay, tell me when."

"When."

She stopped tallying and counted the number of strokes she made. "Eight. Now this will take a bit, hold on."

"Miss Baker and Mr. Rothschild." Mr. Singer's voice sounded like he had one of the crabs from the pier pinching his nose. "This is your last warning, kids."

Blythe bit her lip and ducked her head behind her books. Mr. Singer was a stickler when it came to silent study hall.

I looked around the classroom to make sure no one was looking before I pulled the book out of my backpack. I slouched as far as I could in my seat and tucked the book under the top of the desk. Blythe glanced over and smirked, then looked back down at her paper. I grumbled and started to read Gregory Maguire's Wicked.

Delilah was forcing me to read it before she forced me to go see the musical with her and her rich cousins. You'd think I just wouldn't and say I did, but Delilah was quizzing me once a week on the most miniscule details you couldn't even find on Sparknotes. Blythe didn't even have to say anything for me to know how hilarious she thought it all was. I had been reading the book secretly during study hall for about a week with Blythe smirking every time she saw the cover. At least I was on the part where Elphaba was screwing Fiyero the whole time. God, I hoped that was in the play...

"Okay, here," she whispered. She passed the folded paper to me, keeping her eyes on Mr. Singer.

I opened up the "M.A.S.H. R.A.P." game, which supposedly told your future. There were several categories with different items in each. Blythe had counted each item off by eight then crossed it out until there was one item left in each category. In the title, "M" for "mansion" was circled along with "P" for "poor".

Under the category "Your Girl" Delilah was circled. The crossed out names included Blythe, a teacher, and a couple other girls in our grade. Under "Where you'll live" Mr. Singer's basement was circled. "17" was in bold and circled under "Number of kids you'll have". Joy.

The Oscar Meyer Weiner Mobile was circled with swirls and a smiley face beside it under the "What car you'll have" category. The rest of the possible choices had ranged from BMW to Mercedes. I looked at the circled item for "What job you'll have".

"Pelvic thrusts for tips? Really?"

She burst into a fit of laughter, trying to muffle the giggles with her sweatshirt. I grinned broadly, shook my head, and continued to read my book.

"Miss Baker!"

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. Her sudden laughter had vanished. Mr. Singer started to scribble furiously on a pad of paper.

"Detention after school until four o'clock in the biology lab." He ripped the paper off the tablet and pinned it on her desk. She grabbed the slip and stuffed it under her sweatshirt, as if hoping no one in the class would remember what happened if they couldn't see it. She threw me a side glance and the corners of her lips twitched. I grinned and continued to read.

Outside small trails of rain on the window maneuvered their way through the raindrops, swallowing them if they got in their way. You could only see the white and grey sky from these third floor windows and it tended to keep you in a trance if you stared at it long enough, which is exactly what I was doing. The bell rang, causing me to jump about two feet in my seat and rip the pages of my book.

Blythe stood up and swung her backpack over her shoulder. I stuffed the book in my bag quickly and zipped it up.

"You keep that M.A.S.H. for as long as you can- see if it comes true," she said in pseudo-seriousness. I rolled my eyes and walked to the door with her.

"Well in your M.A.S.H., I believe "Detention" would be circled under "Where you'll live,"" I said. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips.

"Hey, it's your fault I laughed anyway."

"My fault? How was I supposed to know you were gonna laugh?"

She smiled.

"This is beginning to be like a Seinfeld episode- you might as well have put a PEZ dispenser on my knee."

We walked into the hall and avoided most of the students' eyes. No one really understood why I was still friends with Blythe. Well, I couldn't really understand why they weren't friends with her, or rather why they even had a problem with it. Both Blythe and I were now fully aware of this strange prejudice against her. If Delilah and her posse ever approached me in the hall, Blythe knew that was her cue to split.

Once we navigated our way to the stairs we said our temporary goodbyes and she went straight while I headed toward Trig on the second floor. School always dragged when I wasn't with Blythe or any of my teammates; so Trig being Trig, plus being the last period of the day, plus having no friends in the class, eighth period went about as slow as the Elrich Pier's Ferris wheel.

After a long lecture on logarithms and time for classwork, I grabbed the day's homework off the cart and squeezed my way through the crowd of students and out the door, eager to escape Mr. Craft's class of doom. I jogged down the corridor, occasionally high fiving a fellow basketball teammate. I wasn't exactly sure when this ritual started, but whenever you saw a teammate in the hall, a high five was sure to follow.

Eventually I reached my locker and struggled with my stubborn combination lock. Opening the door, a wave of cinnamon aroma washed over me from the candle Delilah had glued to the top shelf of my locker. (She wasn't exactly a fan of the fresh smell of gym shorts in the morning.) Just as I was about to reach for my hat, the locker slammed shut.

"Hey, Baby. What's hangin'? I mean, besides the obvious." She looked me up and down, her eyes lingering just below my belt, and sneered at her own, um, joke.

But my god, there she was. Delilah Fredericks. Her electric blue finger nails reflected the fluorescent light; her hand was still pressed against the top of the locker from slamming it shut. Her other hand was clutching one of her curvy hips, which sported my favorite ripped denim mini skirt. Her legs, also the cliche curvy and tan, stood in a stance that sent a clear message to all other girls to back off and to guys saying come and get it. Her red top dipped down her chest, showing just the right amount of cleavage. My eyes did their usual popping out of my head before actually settling on her face. Her glossy lips curled into her sneer, the one that I would probably break up with her for if it wasn't for her... passionate personality. A strand of blond hair fell at the side of her face, just at the corner of her brown eyes that seemed to be burning as she stared at me. My mouth finally got around to closing itself.

"Hey, Liles. Chemistry dreadful as usual?"

She scoffed, "Ew, I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

"What?"

"Liles," she spit, her nose scrunching. "It's Delilah. Why can't you ever just call me Delilah?"

"Yeah, I have no clue what this week's Chemistry unit is about, either." I said, opening my locker again.

"Ugh, Sawyer, you're such a pain sometimes."

"I mean, what was Mrs. Kauffman thinking, assigning us all those pages from the book on the first day?" I raised my eyebrows at her, bent down and started stuffing binders into my back pack. Delilah turned and rested her back against the lockers next to mine; her legs locked and stretched five inches away from my face. My eyes traveled up her knees, past a freckle, over her thighs, to the ridge of her mini skirt, and-

"Hurry up; you're taking me home today."

I snapped out of my fantasy and zipped up my back pack. The bag swung over my shoulder as I smiled at Delilah.

"Hey, Baby."

She smiled back.

"Hey, Baby." She pushed herself off the lockers and wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me ardently. My hands lay on the small of her back, wanting to move lower but not daring unless I wanted a scene in the middle of the hallway. She broke away. "C'mon." She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the biology wing.

~~~