Who I am

Chapter 2

Connors POV

I sit in my seat, hardly believing this is happening. This is bullshit. Complete, and total bullshit. No way in hell did I get to be Fiona’s partner by chance, there’s got to be another reason and I see the smirk on the teachers face. She must hate me to do this, not just a little bit, really, really hate me. You see, everyone knows that me and Fiona don’t get along. Not at all and we never have done. I’m real, she’s superficial. The only thing my presentation is going to be about is how much makeup she needs to make that face of hers pretty before she leaves the house, the way I see it. If that’s what I need to do, that’s what I will do. I just want this whole experience to be quick; I’ll be out of this class in no time.

“Connor, come and join your partner.” The Teacher snaps impatiently, a hint of laughter still passing in her voice. I offer nothing but a cold stare before standing up to join Fiona. I stand next to her, looking her up and down.

I can tell there are at least ten pairs of eyes watching us both, to see our every move. The great spectacle which is Fiona standing next to a nobody like me and I’m sure she feels the same way. I’m surprised she didn’t argue but I guess even Fiona Aston wouldn’t risk an automatic fail. I can’t help but feel uncomfortable standing next to her, looking at the atrociously pink material of her dress I grimace. I stare out into the class and see her best friend, Aimee sitting there, a smug smile on her face almost mimicking the situation wearing an even more atrocious outfit. Who wears a sequin dress to school?

Another thing about Fiona, she honestly believes she has billions of friends. All Aimee ever does is bitch about her behind her back. I guess you could use the term ‘takes a bitch to know a bitch’ on their friendship. It’s almost comical that all both of them want is to be extremely popular and I guess they achieved it. It’s like they don’t know that there’s life beyond the walls of the institution that we call school. I hope they realise soon else it’ll be one big waste of time.

Fiona smiles at me like we’re buddies and I just avoid her gaze. She’s not going to get away with anything when she’s my partner, I can tell you that.

We watch as every person gets paired up with someone else in the class. It’s pretty weird that they don’t know anything about each other if you ask me. I don’t have deep dark secrets, I don’t even have normal secrets or light secrets. There is nothing about me that doesn’t meet the eye that I believe she can learn and talk about so this is going to be pretty easy. I don’t think there’s much that doesn’t seem apparent to everyone about her, she likes make up, pink and being popular. Her friends are backstabbers and in Fiona world everyone loves her. That’ll be an interesting talk to give to a class full of her groupies.

“You can go anywhere in the school but if I find you’ve left your partner then you will be in a lot of trouble. I will be expecting this final project to be shown in a week. Be creative about it, not just show a powerpoint slide. I hope that you all do extremely well. Best of luck to you! Don’t forget to collect a sheet of paper explaining it in case you somehow don’t understand the concept.” She raises a large pile of paper letting it fall to her desk in a heap and one by one we all collect one.

The other pairs all rush out of call in a frantic hurry, probably not knowing what to do or wanting to get away from everyone else before they can steal their ideas but I just stand there and stare blankly, holding the sheet of paper in my hands. This means nothing to me. Eating lunch with Fiona, Looking at Fiona’s house, Meeting Fiona’s parents? all completely useless activities.

“Come on, lets go out into the field. We can talk there.” Fiona says, turning to leave without so much as a glance back.

“No.” I stand my ground and me and her exchange a look. Her face contorted in horror and confusion and the Teacher sniggers from her place in the class.

“What?” Fiona whispers, her gaze settled on me, the paper crumpling slightly in her hand, her horror clear on every level. It’s almost as if she doesn’t understand my words. It’s not that difficult. Just two letters, N. O.

“I said no.” I confirm with confidence. Crossing my arms to make a statement with my body language too and she seems to clench her jaw shut. I’m not entirely sure why I said no. It’s not like I have a particular problem with the field, it just seemed like I should protest. It wasn’t the best of ideas. I know that from the corner of the room the Teacher is watching silently and probably enjoying the show.

“Okay, where do YOU want to go?” is the question that Fiona comes to after a minute at the least of awkward silence.

I shrug with a gormless expression and she bites her lip, hiding her annoyance well and plastering her famous smile across that made up face of hers. I think I hear her mutter okay but I can’t quite make it out because it’s so quiet.

“You know what, I will come to the field!” I suddenly decide out loud, walking out the door before she can even pass comment and letting it swing after me.

She has to run to keep up with me in her stupendous heels and I keep my frustrations with her limited to in my head. My hands pushed into my jeans pockets, my fists clenched tightly. Not because I want to hurt her, more at her mere existence. I don’t know what makes me so angry about her. It’s just how superficial she is.

We reach the field and I sit on top of the table part of the bench, my fingers trace the rough etchings of the bench and as she catches up with me I look down to read it. “Fiona is a slut.” I announce out loud and she flicks her hair off her shoulder, rolling her eyes as she sits down on the seat part making her seem a lot smaller than me. “I wonder who wrote something so terrible about you fifi!” I say sarcastically although for some reason I feel like there’s a slight hint of sympathy in my voice.

“Fifi?” she asks, “Really?” and I nod, really. She straightens out her dress in a way I’ve seen her done a million times before and she studies the etchings of the wood closely, her eyes narrowing. “Tanya McCarthy.” She announces sharply which catches me off guard.

“What about her?” I wonder out loud, confused.

“She’s the one who did it. You asked Connor.”