In Fair Verona

XXIII

"Hey," a girl says to me as I walk out of my English class. I recognize her from the bookstore a bit ago.

"Oh hey," I say.

"Sorry but I can't remember your name?"

"Casey."

"Oh. I'll save you the struggle of trying to remember mine. Penny."

"Oh I knew that."

"Oh wow then I'm the asshole who forgot," she laughs.

"Hah I dont blame you. I think you and that kid Jason are the only names I know from our class."

"Well, I'm honoured to be one of them," she laughs.

"What do you have next?" I ask.

"Drama."

"Oh. Did you need an art credit?"

"Oh no I already have grade nine and ten art. Grade eleven piano and then grade ten, eleven and now twelve drama."

"Okay then you've got plenty. Mind sharing because I've still got to get a art credit to graduate. It's odd."

"What's odd?"

"That you need certain credits. Back where I used to live, we chose all our own courses. Here, there's a lot of mandatories and things. At home you needed like forty credits to graduate here it's thirty but here you get one credit per class at home it was four per class depending on the class."

"What? That sounds so much easier. That's like ten classes!"

"Well academic classes didn't have four credits and academic and applied is different there. It's all very different."

"I might just have to move to... where?"

"Vancouver."

"Oh. That's far. Why the big move? Parents get a new job?"

"Ah no. I uh came to live with my dad."

"Your dad? Did you not live with him."

"Not exactly. He lived out here with his family and I lived with... mine."

Which consisted of one person, my grandma.

"Oh. So does this mean you have siblings here?"

"A couple."

As we walk through the halls, Penny is very curious on my life story. Part of me is reluctant to share but oh well what harm.

"Oh. Who?"

"Phoebe and Auguste."

"Oh I know Auguste. He's was in my piano."

"Piano?"

"Yeah. Advanced. He's pretty good."

"Hm. Didn't know he played piano."

"Yeah and Phoebe was in my drama in grade eleven. I don't know how she got there but I remember her. Very happy."

I wave to Auguste and Isaac when we walk by. I walk and talk with Penny for the whole fifteen minute break, making me almost late for class.

We chat all day. At break that day I invite her to sit with my friend group and she gets along with everyone nicely. Even hours later when I'm at home sitting on my bed I'm texting her.

"Twenty... two... days," Isaac mumbles as he writes on my white board. Pausing between the words to give himself time to write. "Till... Christ... mas."

"Who you texting?" He asks as he clicks the marker shut.

"Penny."

"Oh that girl. Are you guys friends now?"

"Well I suppose. Today she sat with us at lunch. Plus she's in my English and I don't really talk to anyone in English."

"Hm. I don't really know if I've ever really spoken to her. Amber, maybe. She probably wouldn't even remember."

He walks over to my bed, grabbing the book on my dresser in the process, and sits down.

"You're just reading The Great Gatsby now? I read this in grade five."

"I mean I don't think eleven year old me would be all to interested in that."

"Eleven year old me was," Isaac says. "I remember reading Catcher In The Rye in grade seven and now that was boring."

"'Not in the mood right now' or 'that depresses me'," I mock the character in the story. "God, he was never in the mood to do anything or call anyone."

"You like crapping on books a lot."

"Only crappy books," I smirk. "Ah just kidding I liked that book but it took place in a couple days and it was so painfully long for such a short book."

"Hm. I'm currently trying to read Edgar Alan Poe. Having to search up every other word is a little tedious but I can deal with it."

"I think the only thing I know by him is The Raven. There was a Simpson episode based off of it that I remember watching."

"Well yeah that's one of his most known ones. Another being The Black Cat. Which I personally love."

"Haven't heard of it."

"It's great. Right now I'm reading Ms. Found in a Bottle."

"I've got an idea. I will read The Black Cat if you read a short story called the Scarlet Ibis."

"Okay, deal."

"It's by James Hurst from nineteen sixty."

And so I search up an online version of The Black Cat and he does the same for the Scarlet Ibis.

Next while we sit on my bed reading in silence. I find that we do this often. As we're reading Auguste walks in. A little surprised.

"Isaac? What are you doing here?" Auguste asks.

"Came after school."

"Oh. I didn't know you two were friends?"

"You're interrupting our reading," I say.

"You came here to read? Aren't you supposed to talk? You could read at home."

"Again," I say. "You're interrupting our reading."

"Okay then," Auguste says leaving and shutting the door.