And Then There Was Vince

Chapter 2: Death By Mr. Bartlett

I'd always been a fan of creative writing even though I never finished the stories I started and I got too long-winded to hook. I fantasized about publishing pieces some day and couldn't wait to take a class on the subject, an opportunity that opened itself to me in my sixteenth year.

About two days prior to the incident, Mr. Bartlett, the beloved writing teacher, had hinted at some group work coming up the following week.

Group work was already insanely insufferable, but I was sure it would be even more so when not a single group would want me. Ashley and the girls had enrolled to fill their rosters, and it didn't occur to me until that Sunday night that they wouldn't be including me when the time came around.

I felt early-school-years' anxieties creeping back up on me.

I slid into my seat early that day and watched the less-than-merry procession of students forced into the subject by general education necessity. Lynn Walters, uninspiring cheerleader, Ronnie Cedwick, theatre junkie, Bradley Jones, a prematurely starving artist, Alex Ainsley...

"What's up, Henley?" He'd asked, using my last name as if I were one of his buddies on the football team.

"Oh you know," I responded nonchalantly. "Living the dream."

Was I too young to already be saying this?

"No," He countered shortly, shaking his head. "Living the dream would be going to Snowflake with me."

Ah, I should have known he would bring up the dreaded, re-hashed, beaten-horse subject of winter formal every time an opening presented itself.

"Actually, it would be you accepting my first answer and finding a different date," I replied, equally shortly.

He rolled his eyes at me and opened his mouth to protest.

"You should ask Ashley," I offered, not allowing any dead air for foolishness.

"Look," He said, exhaling and positioning himself as if he were preparing to explain something simple to a small child. "Ashley is great and all, but I've told her no probably ten times since last week. I'm not interested, plain and simple. I want to go with you."

I looked away, feeling aggravated. There were few things in the world that frustrated me more than men who couldn't take no for an answer.

It would be lovely if humans could control who they felt things for. This trait would have saved a whole hell of a lot of friendships and could have possibly altered a ton of horrific historical events.

I felt sorry that he liked an uninterested person, guilty that I didn't like him back, and upset that those same dilemmas were being faced in reverse by Ashley.

"Alex, look...," I began a bit more softly, just as a cascade of blonde curls bounced into the room, followed by brunette and scarlet locks. 

Ashley. Corrine. Mandy. Three of the Four. 75% of a whole I'd once been a part of.

Ashley noticed my mouth open in Alex's direction and stared daggers, probably sincerely planning my untimely death by murder. I stumbled on any words I'd been planning on saying, choking a bit and emitting a strange noise that caused all of the students sitting near me to chuckle a bit in return.

I cast my eyes down at my desk until Mr. Bartlett entered to save, no, further crucify me.

He was wearing a shirt and tie that didn't match, as well as the same pair of brown loafers that never went with anything. He was very openly colorblind, but it never failed to amaze me that his wife let him leave the house in so many contrasting colors.

He stood behind his desk and grabbed a stack of papers that he then walked around the room to distribute on everyone's desks.

I glanced at the sheet set in front of me. It was the guidelines for a group project, or more appropriately, my impending doom.

"Alright guys," Mr. Bartlett boomed, "I mentioned this last week, so it shouldn't come as a shock to anybody. Next Monday we're going to start filming five minute silent films, and you have to work with at least one other person on them. I'm going to assume you all worked on sorting yourself into groups of no more than four over the weekend?"

"We've picked our group already, sir!" Ashley chirped up over-enthusiastically. "Mandy, Corrine and I will be together."

The beast made a point to look back at me when she said this, flicking her curls and flashing a petty smile full of pearly whites while she did.

"Alright, that works for me," He responded. "Anyone else set?"

Voices chirped up around the room and I looked desperately for welcoming faces that didn't belong to my best friend's crush. However, he was the only one that even offered.

"I'll be working with Vanessa, Lynn and Eric," He supplied, making every nerve fire itself off simultaneously in my body.

I avoided Ashley's gaze as fervently as possible.

Mr. Bartlett was about to accept these groups as final when he scrunched his brow in confusion. I thought I saw a small hint of sadness fall over his face.

"Vincent," He said. "Mr. Vincent Perino. Who are we putting you in with?"

I unashamedly glanced back at the raven-haired teen, wearing a face that clearly didn't want to be given so much power concerning this decision. I jumped at the chance and spoke quickly without thinking.

"Actually, Mr. B," I said, "Vince and I were planning on doing this project together."

Vincent looked at me with a mild expression of shock, quickly hidden. I smiled at him and Mr. Bartlett.

"There can't be 5 people in a group for this, Ms. Henley," the teacher stated.

"Oh I know," I interrupted. "We were planning on working on it alone."

I hoped my smile wouldn't come across as insincere as it was. I had never had a problem with Vincent, but I wouldn't openly admit my only desire to work with him came out of pure necessity. Accepting Alex's invitation would mean never having a close friendship with Ashley again.

"Well, that works for me then," Mr. Bartlett nodded, scratching the changes down on a list. "Why don't you all sit with your partners, then. I'll be bringing the theme box around."

Alex was staring at me open-mouthed, actually, sincerely open-mouthed, as I walked down the aisle and toward my partner.

And that was how it all started...A small lie in the middle of an unimportant fight.