Birthright: A Phoenix is Born

Elaine: Part 1

Hello peps, feel free to critique. Like and appraisal comments appreciated.

Catch you in my stories,
GaisceKid.

After a brutal game playing the helpless goalkeeper. I dashed back to the changing room then clambered back out, palms tightly screwed over the ears. Mandem entered as I left, their conversation reduced to mere muffles.

My journey to Home Economics sped past like a movie reel, a collage of my many failed attempts to avoid Doyle Park's numerous obstacles. Overworked teachers, anxious sixth years* and vain, self-righteous *first years.

An empty class greeted me upon arriving. I slipped into my seat at the back and exhaled, forcing the rising nerves down. From my current position, the entire class spanned before me. Arranged in five rows from top to bottom, each row segmented into three bundles. And in every bundle sat two students. A red wine carpet made up the floor. Its fabric wisps sprung up at the corners.

Positioned at the top of the class was the teacher's desk. An orderly array of stacked paper and mugs. To the bureau's left, fastened a strangely blank whiteboard and finally, the entrance to the room at the top left corner.

Sunshine poured through the adjacent window, depicting scenes of the semi-flooded astroturf and kids playing on the school's green. The view stole my attention for the first two minutes of term. Until the real distraction got assigned the space next to me.

The rest of the class slowly filed in. Their glum faces instantly brightened at the sight of a blank board. My feet tapped hard against the floor. Mrs Hadragon possessed a notorious reputation for never missing class. My neighbour took her seat and nudged my shoulder gently.

"Sorry, just want to know what's keeping miss so long."

"You should be happy Damo. It's not everyday HD gifts us a free class." Chirped Elaine.

Elaine also boasted a notorious reputation for sticking everything with a nickname. It took three straight weeks of protest to stop her from calling me 'The D-man' when we first met.

I swivelled to face her. Sunlight showered her too and left a glowing outline. Her hair was a dark brown chestnut. She claimed it came from her mother's side. But in this light, I always saw firecrackers between the tips of her hair. She had a babyface, round and clear. Except for a string of acne on her chin resembling a heart. Her eyebrows coloured in the same dark shade as her hair and her latte skin tone matched her family's pattern of strong colours with delicate features. I joked at how she looked like a cherub with a tan, which didn't wander too far from the truth.

"Hey, did you get the last three questions in Mr Branson's math homework?" I asked. "Spent like two hours on them before it hit midnight. And he's my last class today after this."

"I think I got them after Irish dancing practice last night. Took a while though." She pulled out her homework copy and I did the same. A quick flick of the wrist and she found the exact page, dated and titled neatly. Leaving enough time to douse herself in her favourite fragrance, Black Dahlia.

It was a different story for me.

"Are you sure you even did the homework?" She arched her eyebrow.

"Hey, it's all a part of the process." I answered back.

"I'm sure forgetting your ingredients for lasts week's cookery exam was also a part of the process?"

I stared stone-faced into her maroon eyes. She met my gaze with equal frost. Yet her facade broke as a tiny smile emerged.