Started With a Tube

Started With a Tube - Chapter 5

Started With a Tube - Chapter 5

I never thought it was possible to have such a perfect progression of days.

I realise that, after spending so much time with Alec, I've forgotten about the large pile of homework sitting at the end of my bed so, with only five more days off school, I decide to get it done. I set three alarms so that I can get an early start on the work, and eventually wake up at around nine o'clock, which is like six in the morning for me.

I grab a quick breakfast of tea and toast, then get to work. I silence my phone and turn off the TV in the living room so I can really focus. I take a few short breaks throughout the morning; when dad leaves for work, when mum leaves for the gym, when mum returns from the gym, when Mark leaves to go meet his friends.

At around two o'clock, I can safely say I've finished, and gladly because my brain feels like mush. I hate doing homework.

I stack up my books and folders and carry them upstairs to my bedroom. I dump them in the corner, and reach for my phone which is lying on my bedside cabinet. I turn it on and see a list of text messages from Jamie, Grace and Alec. I reply to Jamie and Graces' quickly, and then switch over to Alec's. There are just two words.

Movie day?

And he must be psychic or something, because that sounds like the only possible thing I could do after that mound of homework.

My house or yours?

And when he replies saying his house, I must admit I'm glad. Not in a creepy way, but I've wondered what his house is like.

Address?

I'll come pick you up. I'll be there in ten minutes.

I stand and quickly realise that I've not changed nor showered today, so I expertly jump in the shower, wash, dry, change and grab my bag in under the designated time space. I'm a pro at being late. My hair's still in a French plait from earlier, and I brush the loose strands from my face. My face is bare from makeup, and so I apply a single layer of mascara and leave it at that.

The doorbell rings, and I skip downstairs and open the door.

"Hey," I say, and Alec smiles.

"Hey, Cat," he says. "How are you?"

"I'm feeling slightly brain dead," I say, then fill him in on my day of excitement.

"Sounds rough," he commiserates. We walk side by side, and when we're halfway down the street, Alec links his arm through mine. "Now tell me, what's your favourite class?" I think for a moment.

"Probably art," I say. "Or English."

"Not bad," he says, clearly accepting my choices. "You look like an artist."

"How so?"

"You just look quite... creative? I don't know," he says, shaking his head. "Ignore me."

But I can't ignore him, because everything he says makes me want to know more. I want to drink up his words and fill my mind with them, because he always has something interesting or funny or smart to say.

"What's yours?"

"I like history," he says.

"'History is that certainty produced at the point where the imperfections of memory meet the inadequacies of documentation'," I quote, and Alec stops walking. He looks at me. "What?"

"That's something I love about you," he says. "The way you just come out with something so intelligent and philosophical."

"Thank you," I say.