A Beautiful Torment

2. The Kiss

2. The Kiss

By the end of my first week at Maycrest High School, I felt like I'd been surrounded by boys and weighed down with the responsibility that comes with being older for years.

On Tuesday morning, Emma and Tina were sitting on the low, stone wall that bordered the parking lot outside the school waiting for Rachael and me to arrive. They were wearing matching denim shorts and coloured tights, their laughter echoing over everybody else's, and I could see the twins staring at them from their hiding spot under the old oak tree. Their arrogant friend wasn't with them.

When the girls saw us, they slipped off the wall and, arms linked, we walked up onto the large, expansive lawn. A few of the older boys were tossing a football around and laughing, and they whistled as we found a shaded, comfortable spot to sit near where they were playing. Emma, Tina and Rachael absorbed the attention with coy smiles but I hid behind my long hair.

At some point, Lauren, Georgina and Vicky wandered over, complimenting us on our optimum boy-watching position, and with them came the boys. By the end of the week, this became our spot. The popular spot.

I got through my first day of classes without incident, which boosted my confidence enormously. The day felt so much longer than what I was used to, but everything was so fresh and exciting that by the end of the day, I was almost sad to go home. By Wednesday, my favourite subject was chemistry and I absolutely loathed math with Mr. Emerson. I was okay at math, but Mr. Emerson's borderline sadistic method of teaching made me break out in a sweat right before I entered his classroom. He liked to "punish" students who got answers wrong by making them stand at the front of the classroom, chalk in hand, and correct their mistakes in front of the entire class without any help. He was merciless.

Mrs. Hathaway was my chemistry teacher. She was quirky and fun, and she paired me up with Caleb Sinclair, who, according to Vicky, was a total genius. He grinned at me when I slid onto the stool next to his and I smiled back, an embarrassed flush rising in my cheeks.

"Hi, Dizzy," he greeted, like we'd known each other longer for longer than twenty-four days. How he'd learned my nickname was beyond me, but I decided I liked it. I liked being Dizzy. Dizzy sounded more fun, more outgoing, more effervescent with energy and life. She was everything that the shy, socially awkward teenager inside me longed to be.

"Hi, Caleb," I smiled. "I like your shirt."

"I like your eyes," he smiled back.

I blushed.

That evening in study hall, Rachael leaned back on the hind legs of her plastic chair and whispered, "I think Caleb likes you," in my ear. Her breath was hot and tickly, but that wasn't why I shivered and ducked my head, my face turning red.

Georgina stared at me from her seat two rows over, like she knew exactly what Rachael whispered in my ear. She looked like she was sizing me up, her expression eerily similar to the arrogant boy's on the first day as he stared at us all from the gym floor. Bolstered by Rachael's words, I stared back, refusing to look away. I am Dizzy, I thought confidently. Dizzy wouldn't look away.

When Georgina finally dropped her gaze, relief rushed through me so fast, I thought I might vomit.

Halfway through fifth period on Thursday, a senior girl interrupted Mr. Emerson's class with a polite, yet scarily authoritative, smile. "I'm looking for a girl. Isabel Devane?"

"Present!" My hand shot up. I could have kissed her for her timely interruption. My homework was catastrophically bad and I had a feeling Mr. Emerson was about to pounce on my answers with sadistic glee.