One Step in the Same Direction

Chapter 3

"Take out a pen or pencil, whichever writing apparatus you prefer, and make your desk free of any redundant materials," my English teacher Mr. Fenton ordered his seventh hour students. I selected my favorite teal mechanical pencil from my pencil case and placed it in the pencil groove indented on my desk. I kept my spark notes as well as some post-it notes on my desk, but everything else was now in my backpack. Just before I zipped the small pouch on the front of my bag, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Um, Charlotte. Is it possible for me to borrow a pen or pencil for this?" Weston's familiar voice rang in my ears. I removed the case from my bag and found a standard yellow pencil that I don't care.

"Here you go," I said handing him the pencil.

"Thanks," Weston smiled as he took it.

"I'll be passing around one sheet of loose-leaf per pupil. If anyone needs to acquire a second sheet, extras shall be on my desk," Mr. Fenton explained handing each student a sheet as he passed by them. "Remember pupils, this is just the practice essay. Take your time and don't scramble to finish it before the bell indicates the termination of seventh hour." He licked his finger to separate two sheets. "I'll even permit you to work in groups of no more than three." He finally handed me my paper and thankfully, there was no saliva on the corner. He made his way up and down the remaining two rows and finally handed the last student his loose-leaf. "Begin."

Chad and I locked eyes and I signaled for him to come to my area. The girl in front of me was absent, which left an empty seat with Chad's name written all over it. As Chad collected his materials, I glanced over my shoulder at Weston, who was diligently writing his introduction.

Weston is probably... the smartest kid in my English class. That's a safe assumption. He always gets 90s or above on any test he takes here. It's like he goes home and talks Shakespeare with his family or something. When we read Shakespeare, he read it flawlessly. I would always stutter and mispronounce words, but he would say it with ease. He said it better than Mr. Fenton. And Mr. Fenton has been reading it for ten years. I can't help but get jealous of Weston sometimes. He's a genius. A literal genius. I don't know how he does it. He's in all honors classes and practically steps all over the other kids in them. I refuse to let him walk all over me in English. That's my thing. He can have everything else but English.

Ever since the two of us started snapping one another, I've noticed that he's more than just a kid who lives in textbooks. He's so chill and easy to talk to. I can't help but admire that quality in him. He also plays lacrosse like I do. I find it so adorable when he wears his jersey to school on gameday because it's so loose since there's no gear underneath it. He's awesome at it too. I've seen him play and he plays attack. He attacks the ball alright. I never really took notice of the kid to be honest. He just kind of existed to me. But ever since we've been talking, I've seen a different side of him. I wish I'd seen it earlier.

"Charlotte? Are you fucking deaf or something?" Chad whisper screamed while waving his hand in my face. I snapped out of my thoughts and picked up my teal pencil.

"Right, essay about reflections, positive, good," I said, unintentionally coming off stupid.

"Not what I said, but okay," Chad shook his head and began writing something. I stared at him with confusion smeared all over my face.

"What did you say?"
"Don't worry about it."

"Oh," I said twirling my pencil around. I decided to just do it solo since Chad wasn't being much help. We have to write an essay about why reflections are important in life. I looked at my spark notes and began to write the first sentence of my introduction.