Killer Queen|✔️ (Book 1)

3. Quiet Riot

      My class schedule came in the mail the Monday before school started. I had taken it to Ally's house to open, for moral support. We were sitting at the kitchen table, amongst our snack of pita chips, hummus and diet cokes with whole limes floating in them. I always loved their kitchen. The walls surrounding the table were all glass, so it was filled with natural light. The warm sunlight shining through had me almost asleep and forgetting the anxiety for a few blissful minutes.

Ally's house
   

     Ally slammed her hands down on the table, as I shot up in shock.
A: "We have business to take care of! Get with the freakin' program."
I watched her study the envelope like if she stared at it long enough, she'd magically be able to see through it.
A: "Alright, on the count of three. One, two-" 
T: "-Ten! Can we do it on the count of ten?"
A: "What's the difference?"
T: "There's like seven numbers difference, moron. That's my future in that envelope, so I said count to ten."        
A: "Fine. One, two, ten!"

      She ripped the envelope open before I could yell at her for that shyster count. Her praying mantis green eyes lit up, like it was a map to glorious buried treasure, and not my uncertain death. My anxiety was sky rocketing. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a bon fire and being poked with the spears of angry natives from all angles. My vision was blurred and my body was vibrating like all the atoms and molecules that made up my being were drunk driving and crashing into each other.
A: "First period is art."
T: "He wouldn't be in there. I saw a shirt he made for a pep rally once...it looked like he was coloring while having a seizure."
A: "Second period is French."
T: "He always had a Spanish text book with him last year, so no." 
A: "Third, fourth and fifth are history, anatomy and business math."
T: "They're all seniors only." 
A: "Next is lunch. He could be there again."
T: "That would just be a replay of last year. I don't want that, it gets me nowhere."
A: "True. Seventh and eighth are Religion and English. Seniors?" 
T: "Bingo! Next." 
She squinted at the paper and flipped it over to inspect the back.
A: "...That's your last class, Tayl."

   My stomach sunk like a burning ship. I felt heat rising around my eye sockets. I could barely stand, like my legs weren't sure how to do their job anymore. They felt weak and every step was an unsure movement, like the tin man before he got oiled up. I snatched the paper from her and examined it myself. I had no gym and no study hall; the only mixed grade classes we could still have together. I had to change this schedule.
T: "I thought you said you had a good feeling, you little twit!"
A: "I did, I swear!"
T: "Well, it must've been heartburn, 'cause this shit sucks." 
I ran out the door, jumped in my car and sped home, which was only five minutes away. I was getting light headed from the anxiety, shifting in and out of awareness, as I swerved the whole way.