Honey Buns

6

Lunch is my favourite period. Meg, food, no writing, no worries, pure bliss.

I had called her last night and told her everything. She sat on the phone and consoled me, remembering all those awful memories from so long ago. She even picked me up this morning knowing I still hadn't spoken to Jason after our tiff at The Garage. At least one person understood my frustration.

As I sit here and eat my tuna sandwich, Meg rants about the crappy mark her English teacher gave her for an essay she did the night before.

"I really don't see why she couldn't just give me a B-! I worked hard on that paper!"

"Meg, you literally called me at 1 in the morning, the day it was due might I add, to help you write the INTRODUCTION. Don't be surprised that you got a C," I tease.

"Hey, sorry if I have an actual life! Maybe essays just aren't my thing," she concludes with a defeated sigh. I shove a cookie in her mouth to cheer her up.

"I'll help you next time. As long as you don't leave it to the very last minute," I laugh and finish my sandwich.

"FYI, I was busy that whole month and plus, I hate English. But I am definitely taking up your offer," she replies with a full mouth.

Suddenly, the bell goes and Meg shoots up.

"Oh shit. I was supposed to leave 10 minutes ago to meet Mr Riverland about my art portfolio! I gotta go! Ciao bella!" And she sprints off into the hallways. I get up shaking my head at the retreating blonde and make my way to my locker. By the time I reach it, the second bell goes off. I'm about to sprint to my next class when I realize I don't have the stamina to move that fast after my sandwich.

Oh, fuck it.

I open my locker and a note falls to ground.

Another one?

I open it up and there's another drawing. This one has the same girl from the first note but instead of sitting on a window sill, she looks like she's about to slip. The girl is holding a wrench in one hand and holding on to a car for dear life with the other. She's got black spots all over her face and her curly hair is now tied up. At the bottom of the page, there's writing:

Oil looks good on you.

Oh fuck off.

I angrily scrunch up the drawing now knowing who's behind it. I grab my books and decide to run, yet again, to class.

I sprint down the now empty hallway and see my classroom. I check the time. 15 minutes late. I run towards the door and shove it open, huffing and puffing, partially from running but mostly out of annoyance towards that stupid drawing.

"Miss Korentoz, I'm glad you made it so... early," Mrs Gallard says sarcastically.

I mutter an apology and make my way to my spot. But smile falters as I walk towards my, now occupied, desk. 

First the bike, then the drawing and now my desk. I feel like the universe is fucking with me.

"Get out of my seat," I sigh, already over everything and everyone.

"You see, Darya, if you had come earlier, you'd be aware that we have a new student in our class: Andre Brookes. You can take the empty seat in front of Andre instead of disrupting my class for the second time today ," Mrs Gallard says, waving her hand dismissively. I glance over to Andre who raises his eyebrows in mock surprise.

I suppress the urge to yell and slowly walk towards the desk to sit down. I try to mask my face into indifference and take my seat.

"Hey Korentoz, there's always a spot on my lap for you, baby. Don't worry, I don't bite!" A guy called Seth calls out from the back. I lift my head up to see his face as he wiggles his eyebrows.