The Forgotten One

Chapter Nine

              Lunch came quickly and I made my way to the courtyard to find Chase. There were more students than usual milling about in the warm afternoon sun. I found Chase sitting under a tree in a patch of grass, a spread of food scattered around him. When I joined him he smiled up at me and motioned to the sandwiches, chips, juice boxes, and cookies. I couldn’t help but laugh at the grade school status of the lunch he had packed, more sure than ever that he had made it himself.

              “Your table, my lady. ” He bowed as I sat down across from him and helped myself to a sandwich.

              “I’m starving.” I peeled the paper off the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, smashing some barbecue chips in between the pieces of bread.

              “A lady after my own heart.” Chase watched me devour the now cruchy sandwich, grinning.

              “It’s a trick an old friend taught me when I was a kid.” I blushed, thinking of Trystan again. He had been on my mind all day, no matter how much I had tried to push him out of it.

              “I’ve been doing that for as long as I can remember. So, do you know what color dress you’re going to wear to homecoming? According to my mom, we have to coordinate our colors.”

              “Mrs. Reynolds is going to take me to the mall this weekend to get a dress. I’ll let you know as soon as I pick it out.” I wiped peanut butter from my lips and looked down at my lap. The nerves were building up inside of me in anticipation of my first school dance.

              “Good. I’m sure whatever you pick, it will be smashing.” Chase reached over and wiped a crumb from my nose.

              I looked up toward the other side of the courtyard and saw Trystan sitting with a short, petite, blonde woman in her early to mid twenties. She had a pixie hair cut and elfish features, and she was blindly lost in whatever she was saying to him. I could see that Trystan was watching Chase and I, though he clearly had his friend thinking that he was hanging on her every word, because she was chattering away and motioning wildly with her hands, erupting in fits of giggles. Trystan had a slightly amused look on his face and he was nodding occasionally, but he never took his eyes from our direction.

              “Who’s that teacher with Miss Fishman?” Chase looked up and saw me watching Trystan and the woman.

              “That’s Mr. O’Connor. He teaches creative writing. Is that Miss Fishman?” I realized that the woman was the music teacher that Trystan had a date with on Saturday night.

              “Yeah. She’s my choir teacher. Are they dating?” Chase was watching them now too. Trystan must have realized because he turned his head toward his companion and was now listening to her intently.

              “I don’t know. He’s just my teacher.” The words came out sounding defensive and I immediately regreted it.