Why We Laugh (#Wattys2018)

4. I Laughed Because She Was Hilarious

Hey guys! I realized this book was posted under Spanish....whoops...sorry. So, before I introduce the next set of characters I am going back and showing more of the original three. I hope you enjoy. There will be a plot to this! I promise!

The sound was chaos in the cafeteria. It was a bunch of school slaves who found pleasure in the 45 minutes of pure-trapped freedom. They could talk about anything they wanted, yet people decided to shut themselves out. Stand on the outskirts of the zoo of high schoolers.

The girl who couldn't say the word crown correctly, stood, a few feet away, holding a book.

She leaned against the lockers, her eyes mulling over the novel. Her face went through rounds of emotion as she read.

"Wonder what book?" I said, not really caring, but still interested.

"Dunno, do you wanna ask?" Cacee glanced between the girl and me.

Caccee continued on her phone, because she didn't care at all.

"Sure," I shrugged, putting down my BLT sandwich.

I walked up to the brunette girl, hovering a foot away from her. I kept inching forward until my shadow covered her book, which was when she finally looked up at me. (That sounds too wordy...in grammar tips?)

"H-hello," she stuttered, grasping the book to her chest. She looked as panicked as she did the other day.

But then she smiled, suppressing her panic, "Hello," she said again.

"Hi," I responded, "What book?"

She bit her lip, holding the book out just for her to see. She swallowed hard.

"It's b-by K-kiera Cass."

"What's it called?" I repeated.

She suddenly looked sick, glancing back at the book.

"The-The Cray-cra-cro-crown," she muffled her words, stumbling to get the first-grade word out of her mouth.

"The what?" I asked, not understanding her. I think she said crown, which was ironic, and funny. And I wanted to hear her say it again.

"The crayo-cro-crown," she said all in one breath.

I snickered, "Crown," I pronounced it clearly, almost in a boastful manner.

She nodded, "Y-yes...yes...th-that word," She seemed desolate now, annoyed and upset.

I wanted to comfort her, and tell her about my speech insecurities, but I had none. I could read perfectly in Kindergarten and was the first person to pronounce Constanantnople correctly, without help.

"Is it any good?"

She suppressed a childish grin, "Y-yeah, it pret-ty good."

A few of my friends who weren't in my history class came up to us. They were curious why I was talking to this girl. I wanted them to know why, to show them how cute she is when she speaks. I smirked, "Tell them the name of the book," I prompted her.

She glanced around nervously.

"The Cray-own," she mumbled, giving a fake smile.

The others laughed, "That's funny," Neville said.

"Say it again," another boy prodded.

"I-I don't w-want to," she fumbled for the words as we laughed.

It was cute. She was cute the way she said it. It was cute the way she studdered over simple words. Cray-own.

But, she refused to say it. She squirmed, restlessly under our glance.

"Alright, see ya," the boys began to turn around to leave, migrating away.

I laughed once more, playfully, because she said it funny. I wasn't laughing at her, she was a good person, I was laughing at her way of talking.

I was not a bully.

I did not mean to hurt her; I was only playing around. And she knew that. I thought.

I turned my back on her, only saying a quick goodbye, and strutted back. I returned to my friends, who were grinning at my look.

"The book is called The Crown." I said. They knew what I was referring to.

They roared with laughter. I tossed a glance at the girl who was giving me a smile. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw her frown.

Later, I was walking down the hall. I had my trash in one hand and was prepared to throw it away when I saw a book in the garbage. I furrowed my eyebrows as I read the cover.

The Crown.

It was the girl's book. As much as I hated trash, I reached into the bin to grab it.

It was sticky with applesauce and grease, absolutely disgusting.

I opened it up, watching crushed french fries fall from the pages.

'Eliza' was written on the cover of the book.

"Eliza," I whispered her name under my breath.

In Chemistry, I asked someone if they knew Eliza. They never heard her name.

After school, I waited to see if the brunette would leave the front doors.

I wanted to return the book to her, but I never saw her.

So, I opened the book and read it cover to cover.

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