Facing the Music

The Experiment

(Chris' P.O.V.)

"You want to go first, partner," Samantha says.

I freeze for a few seconds, lost in my own thoughts.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm your partner," she pauses, "for today."

Only for today?

Samantha sits down in the seat beside me. She carefully puts her binder and textbook in a neat pile near the edge of the table, but not to close to where they'll fall off. She looks back at the whiteboard in the front of the room, taking mental note of the instructions.

"It's a height experiment," I say summing up the instructions I read a couple minutes ago, "and we're supposed to measure each other."

"I know," she says.

I look back at the board, and seconds later, I hear her mumble something under breath. She says it to quietly for me to interprit though.

Without asking her to get up and get anything, I make my way to the supply closet in the corner. I grab the measuring tape and walk over to the table to grab the fill-out-form. I make my way back to the table, and Samantha is waiting patiently for me to get back. I set the measuring tape down, inbetween us, and I hand each of us the form.

"Do you want to go first?" I ask after we've had time to look over the sheet.

"Sure," she says nervously, "let's just get this over with."

I roll out the tape and set the begining, the 0 inch mark, at her foot. When I'm getting back up to measure her, I notice her stomach. I see that it's width is smaller than her t-shirt, and let me tell you, her t-shirt is small; maybe a size XL in kids or a XS in juniors.

I look up at Samantha, still crounched next to her legs, and see that she's staring at me. We stay like this for a minute or so, me, looking into her perfect green eyes, and she, staring into my blue ones.

She snaps out of the trance we've been in, and looks forward. I take that as a sign to hurry up, so I finish measuring her and give her her height to write down.

"5' 9"," I say.

She scribbles down her height on the form, and I quickly stand tall so she can measure me. Samantha starts with the 0 inch mark at the bottom of my shoes and begins, going up. Only, she doesn't reach my full height, so she grabs a chair from beside the table and finishes the last off my height.

"6' 2'," Samantha says in her same quiet voice.

"Thanks," I reply, writing my height in the box on the sheet, "do you want me to take your form to the front?"

"Sure," she says handing me her form.

I take it from her hand and begin walking to the front of the room. I reach Mr. Porter's desk, and I set the sheets on top of the pile he told us about in the directions. I walk back to Samantha and I's table, and I see that she has put everything up. I sit back down, and wait for the bell to ring for Lunch.

(Samantha's P.O.V.)

I finished putting everything up and sat down to read my book. I can't really focus on the story though, becuase my stomache keeps growling. It's not loud enough to cause any attention, but it's "strong" enough to make me feel as if I have to throw-up. I wrap my free arm around my stomache, trying to make myself feel better, but it doesn't work.

All you have to do is make it to lunch, then you'll be fine. Just calm down and breath Samantha.

====================

The bell is about to ring for lunch, and I swear I feel vomit coming up my throat. I start breathing in and out, very slowly, so my stomache doesn't hurt. Thankfully Chris, or anyone else, hasn't noticed, so I don't have to explain my "problem" with eating.

5 more minutes pass, and the bell finally rings. Everyone gets up and practically runs out of the classroom. I, on the otherhand, can barely get up and walk. I slowly manage drag myself to the cafeteria, and get some food. I sit down at a different abandoned table than the one I sat at this morning. Since I haven't eaten a full meal since 2 months ago, naturally, I stuff my face whenever I take my first bite.

When I went through the line, I selected the chicken sandwhich and an apple. It isn't nessicarily considered a "meal" to the school, but hey you got to do, what you got to do.

The chicken, the bread, and the sauses together, is so good; I could swear that it was made home-made. I finished the sandwhich in a matter of minutes, so I started on my apple. I also finished that in under a couple minutes.

I look to my left and see the popular table. As I look around, I can spot a few faces I know: Chris (of course), his girlfriend, Marcie, and Chris' friends that I saw this morning. Besides having the "populars" sitting at the table, I can see the suck-ups trying to suck-up to them to become popular and all that crap.

Idiots. Once you hit rock bottom, you're stuck there forever. Trust me.

I get up and throw my sandwhich trash away. The bell rings right after and I walk out of the cafeteria with perfect timing.

Back to Mr. Porter's class. Wee. (note my sarcasm)