My Favourite Part

01: thursdays

1.8 billion. That's the number of young adults in the world, as it stands. They say that your poker face is best somewhere between the ages of 17 and 25, hence the difficulty of understanding the average stony-faced young adult. I'd say they're right. And paired with the fact that every single one of us is different, with a different combination of a thousand things running through our minds every moment, I can appreciate that it's a little hard to gage what we're thinking at any given time. But a little insight goes a long way. Allow me to shed some light on the inner workings of the complex teenage mind.

CARA

Is Adderall abuse, like, illegal illegal?

I've got no clue what term we're in, and I couldn't tell you the date for the life of me, but I know it's a Thursday for a few key reasons. 

One, lunch was shit, which is what usually happens the day before a really good lunch on Friday.

 Two, Ms. Madison didn't give us homework, because she wants a free Friday night to do God knows what. 

Three, on Thursdays, I take the early train home with my girls. Really, if not for my girls and the gorgeous lake view, this ridiculously long train journey would not be worth it. But it is. Although, for the past couple months, our English TA Mr. 'Magnificent' Macklin (Mag-lin, as he's popularly known, thanks to me) has been blocking the lakeside view. I'm not mad, though. I mean, that chiselled jaw, and slightly pensive look and glorious soft and firm voice - I suppose he's easy enough on the eyes and ears. He's a good teacher, and nice enough, but the baseless rumour mill always seems to have something to say about him and some Year 13. If only that Year 13 was me...

BARBARA

God, think I've got the flu.

I've been nauseous all day. Cara says it's because I don't eat lunch at school, but it's like, what am I supposed to do? Thursday lunches smell like roadkill, so there's no way they're going anywhere near my mouth. 

Besides, Mum's usually home for her lunch break on Thursdays, which hopefully means there'll be a meal that actually tastes good on the table when I get there for lunch. I have to catch the early train to get home for my lunch with Mum on Thursdays, but I'm not complaining. Especially because leaving early means no assembly. Caz, Angie and I just say we have a gig babysitting for some alumni and we're out the doors without any questions. Although, that Mag-lin's always on the early Thursday train with us, which is weird since we leave so early, and I'm pretty sure teachers aren't allowed to bunk assembly. But hey, he smiles and doesn't ask us anything, so we don't ask him anything - it's an equally profitable situation.

ANGIE

Note to self: wax.

When I roll down the window on the early train, I feel free. The air's crisp in a way unique to the afternoon. Of course, I only get that sensation on a Thursday - that's the when me, Babe and Cara have shit afternoon schedules, so we skip the rest of the day and chill together for the hour long journey on the early train. 

Cara's driver, Bennett, picks her up every other day, and she says the only reason she takes the train with me and Babe on a Thursday is because she doesn't want her Dad to ask questions about why she's finishing school so early, but when I see her smile and laugh, loudly, I see her heart and I love her. And Babe used to spend the whole journey glancing at her backpack, anxious about skipping an entire afternoon, but now she tosses her bag into the overhead hold without a care. I love her, too, and who she's becoming. So, unsurprisingly, over the past couple months, Thursday afternoons have become my favourite - I finish at 1:00, and take the 1:20 train with my girls.

"Bye Caz!" Babe and I call from the Aldwych platform. We get off here, but Cara goes a little further.

In typical Caz fashion, she blows a kiss topped off with a middle finger as the train rolls on past the station. Babe and I laugh and start walking, talking about Liam and Miley, then Greg and Amber, then we're home. Well, Babe's home. She lives at the bottom of Goldstein Ave., and I live right at the top.

"Bye, Babe." I wrap my arms around her and sigh deeply.

"Angie?" She whispers. Her voice is close. "Angie." She sounds odd. Panicked?

"Yeah?" I answer, matching her low tone.

"Don't look now, but I think Mag-lin's stalking us."

I jolt, but I'm careful to look slowly. Mr. Macklin's walking up the hill. His house is up there, near mine. Babe knows he lives there. She's kidding. I take a deep breath out and roll my eyes,

"Ha-ha, very funny. I wish." She laughs back, and her beaming smile makes my day just before I turn to walk away.

"Goodbye, Evangeline!"

"Good night, Barbara! Tell your mum and Bea I said hi!"

I walk and I walk and I remember that I hate this hill and I walk some more, until I arrive at a red door. I don't press the bell, I know how this goes. I look at my sneakers - they're a little dirty, but I like them that way. Soon I hear footsteps behind me, approaching, and then I look up and left. I see Mr. Macklin's face, and I smile as he opens the red door, walks in and then holds it open for me. Did I mention Thursdays are great? Here comes my favourite part.