Incandescence

08: Best Intentions

Invisibility cloaks would really come in handy.

            This is all I can think as I stand fidgeting two people back from the front of the lunch queue, heart hammering as fast as the Concorde plane. I've no reason to be nervous. I've known these people for over two years now, I remind myself. But it doesn't sink in.

            A minute passes, slow and unrelenting, until finally I'm at the front of the queue. I get a beef burger and a hot chocolate, then turn to face what awaits me in the hall. They're all watching me, whether they realise it or not. Obviously. I'm only the girl from the bus crash, after all. The girl with the missing friend. Yep, I'm a hot attraction alright. 

            I scan the room for the usual table I sit at, with Lena and Erik and the ice hockey gang. But Lena isn't there, and with her absence, it doesn't seem too appealing anymore. Oh, crap. It's The Perks of Being a Friendless Loser, all over again! I cross the room with quick yet faltering steps – and then I surprise myself by taking a seat at a completely new and unfamiliar table. Beside a fiery-redheaded girl.

            Liv is hunched in her seat, focusing on a thick school textbook balanced on her knees. She doesn't notice when the chair beside her squeals in complaint as I pull it out from the table. She's got that intent look in her glistening green eyes, the one Mason used to get whenever he was immersed in the middle of an important game. Should I tap her on the shoulder and say 'hi?' Is that how it normally works?

            I'm still mid-debate over how to make my presence known when another chair is dragged across the tiled flooring, and a startlingly blonde boy – Peter? Patrick? I'm sure his name begins with a 'P' – sits down across from me.

            "April? Yae awright there?" are his first words. His accent isn't Canadian. He's from Scotland, somewhere near Glasgow, I think. And as if he needed another reason to stick out in this sea of normalcy, he towers over the rest of the cafeteria, a good few heads taller than most other students.

            "Erm, yeah. Sorry." I take a bite from my hamburger, deliberately chewing down on the meat slowly before swallowing. "I just felt like a change of scenery, I guess. Hi – Wait, you don't mind me sitting here, do you?"

            "As long as you hand 'er your invitation first." The boy chuckles, lifting his soda with an abnormally pale hand and taking a gulp. He's practically albino pale, with not a hint of colour in his cheeks and the tousled white-blonde hair and eyebrows to match. Wait, of course: I do remember his name. It's definitely Peter. Peter Delaney. . . only I'm pretty sure I've heard people nickname him Albino Boy in the halls. Creative, that one.

            "So they weren't joking, then." Liv sits up suddenly, glancing at me in interest. Oh, crap. Surely she hasn't figured out about the quasi-counsellor role I've been assigned? How am I supposed to explain–? "Your head has been mummified."

            "What?" I raise my eyebrows, but then remember the bandage. Mum changed the dressing the moment I got home on Saturday – because the one Daniel applied was already saturated in blood – but even though it's no longer bleeding, I still haven't gotten round to taking it off.

            "Did yae have tae get loads a stiches too?" Peter asks.

            I snort. "It's nowhere near that cool. I barely even hit it when we crashed – head wounds just always look gory."

            "Weren't you scared?" Liv asks, genuinely intrigued. "I know I woulda been."

            Seeing her like this reminds me just how much I like Mason's younger sister. She's not attention-seeking, nor is she the type to feel sorry for herself. Mason is gone, but she doesn't overdo the mourning period; she gets up and carries on, taking the kicks to the head like the Terminator. I think Miss Hudson and Mr Skye were wrong about her – Liv doesn't need a virtual-counsellor. She's doing just fine on her own.