The Phantom of Scranton Hill

16

A week into school, there was an accident.

"Why can't this be easy?" Charlotte nagged from the floor beside Justine's bed. "I mean basic stoichiometry was pretty fine, then he started to reteach Hess's Law, which was kind of pushing it. But when he asked us to find dingo 'H'-"

"Delta 'H'," Justine corrected as she wrote down the next math problem assigned for homework, though still vaguely listening to Charlotte rant about their AP Chemistry class.

"Whatever," Charlotte rolled her eyes. "And who gives an exam on a Monday, anyway? That's some serious minus points." Charlotte, looking like a king ready to declare war during the Middle Ages, stood up and pointed into the sky. "In fact, if Snape were here, he'd say something like 'Twenty points from Markowitz.' That's how awful my life is."

"Well, that's nice," Justine stated nonchalantly.

"Yeah, well, it's nice to know you care, Jus. Thanks." And she sat back down on the bed. "Exasperated sigh," she breathed and went limp from exhaustion.

"So, if you're done ranting, can you help me with this problem I've been having?" Justine asked, someone setting a cage of butterflies loose in her stomach. She'd been wanting to ask Charlotte her opinion on this subject, but a part of her felt like Charlotte would pin her as a desperate lunatic.

"Hmm? If it has anything to do with math, you know I'm not the right person to ask," Charlotte grinned, filing her nails with disinterest.

"No, Chaz, not math."

"Ew! No! That nickname is so weird," Charlotte shouted, now jumping on her bed like a monkey.

Justine couldn't help but laugh. "And that's why I use it, Chaz."

"You're helpless, you know that?" her friend scoffed playfully and landed cross-legged as she bounced a couple more times. "So, down to business. Step into my office, young lady."

"You sound like a forty-year-old pervert when you speak like that. Anyway, I've been, uh, sort of imagining things lately. Like things that aren't really there. But I want them to be there and I just... I don't know." Justine collapsed beside Charlotte on the soft mattress.

"You shouldn't be worried about going insane, Jussie." Justine cringed at the new nickname. And she thought Chaz was bad. "You've got freaking Chase Samuels wrapped around your tiny little French finger."

"I'm not French," Justine laughed halfheartedly.

"Well, you speak it," Charlotte deadpanned.

Justine looked at her blankly. "So..."

"So, why would you learn a language if you're not part of a culture associated with that language?" Charlotte pointed out, and it made a lot of sense. Justine had a hard time coming up with a response, but finally came up with a lame excuse of one.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe because it's supposed to be a romance language? Oh, and French boys are pretty hot."

"Don't forget rich. Never forget rich. It's a wonderful trait. I hear it's genetic, too." She wriggled her eyebrows in a wave-like fashion. "You think Chase is French? But it's not like you need to do anything else to make him like you."

"Enough about Chase," Justine demanded in a half annoyed, half amused tone. "What about you, huh? Do you hanker after anyone?"

"Hanker after? What is this? Fourteenth century England?"

"Fine. Do you fancy anyone?" Justine fixed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Ah, I see we've advanced quickly to twentieth century England," Charlotte stated expressionless, a sort of entertaining twinkle in her eye.