Till Next Time | completed | currently under re-edit

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Author's Note: I had a holiday today, so I decided I would just write. Hope you like it!

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Miss Jane fumbles for her words as tries to gather her wits about herself. Anastasia sits as calm as a millpond with a wise smile across her face. Breaking the excruciating silence, the teacher is excused by the bell going off at an opportune moment.

"Well, I guess that is it for today? See you all next week!" Miss Jane says as the students slowly file out of the hall. I watch Miss Jane subconsciously wipe her hand on her faded jeans.

Out of the hall, I pull out the schedule again. Third period. Calculus. Mr. Laurence. I stuff it back into my pocket without much care, making my way through the labyrinth of hallways aimlessly.

It takes me about two minutes to find the right course, and within those two minutes I figure out that the new girl must have the same class as me. She was wheeling hot at my heels.

Upon reaching the class, I hold the door open for her. She smiles. "Thank you." Mr. Laurence's beady eyes follows us through the rims of his glasses gingerly finding our way about in his classroom and then checks his watch. "Find yourselves a seat," he says before long. He wasn't going to waste a second of Differential Equations.

The girl, in the meantime, had managed to get herself stuck between the narrow lanes. I help her, mostly feeling obligated to, while being more than aware of all the eyes on us. I shrug it off and occupy the seat in front of me.

*

Five minutes into the class, a note falls on my desk.

Thank you, new guy ;)

A winky face. Classic.

I crumple the note and stuff it in my pocket.

A little later, another note.

Expectation:

New Guy: Don't mention it. It was my pleasure. I am (sorry, I didn't catch your name) by the way. ;)

Me: Hi, I am Ana from Anastasia from Minnesota. Very nice to meet you. It was very sweet of you to help me, you know, with my stupid legs and every other second of high school disaster (cue coy laughter)

NG: Well, only too happy to help ;)

Reality: ... (awkward one-sided silence)

I grin to myself.

I quickly scribble, I don't make small talk, and throw it back on her desk.

It takes her a while to reply, and just as I was about to think I may have discouraged her, a paper falls on my desk again.

Does a companionship based off of our evident mutual aversion to Behavioral Mod. interest you?

I absentmindedly nod.
Before I can scribble my answer down, someone raises their voice over the teacher's. "Mr. Laurence, I think the new kids are passing notes to each other."

Almost immediately — "Oh, shut up, Ruby!"

Mr. Laurence turns around, points to us and says, "Warning for the new kids and Mr. Andrew, behave," and turns back again to his board.

I try concentrating on filling the stark blank page of my notebook for a while and then test my luck again. I scribble inside the little note in the swiftest and most ineligible hand possible, all the while checking on Mr. Laurence like a nervous frantic. Then I pass it to her from under the desk before I can overthink.

My name is Brooklyn.

*

I had just put my homework down when Mom walks into the room and takes her usual seat by the French Ottoman.

"Hi, Brook. How was school?"
"It was cool." I answer her like I could not be bothered.
"Do you like it there?" She moves closer to me, a bold move already.
"It's okay." I answer.

With every step she takes in my direction, I can feel the density of air shift around me.

When she is close enough, in a surprise, she runs her fingers through my hair moving a few stubborn strands back from my temple. And I half want her to rip it out and give me some reason to back away from her.
My breath tightens up, and I do not even make an effort to hide it. I just want her to stop touching me.

"Child, are we losing you?"

Oh, no.

"I don't know," I say, scribbling untoward lines at the edge of my notebook to avoid eye contact.

She continues to stroke my hair for what feels like an eternity, her nails running along my scalp like a screwdriver forced across a blackboard until I say, "Mom, I need to finish my work."

She smiles at me. I can feel her hold secrets and boulders back. She retracts her hand and slowly takes her leave. And just like that, the breathlessness that had seized me evaporates away like tangible fingers squeezing my throat.