The John Hughes Club

Chapter Eighteen

Ring! Ring!
God, that's the bell, and I'm a mess. Staring down at my compact mirror, my reflection is giving me the confirmation that I really am a mess. Ripping off some of the toilet tissue, I'm wiping my eyes; wiping away the damp traces of my black-stained tears. Sniffing hard, half of me is tempted to just walk—walk from this cubicle, into the corridor, out of the school—walk to somewhere that isn't here. However, if I do that, it'll only cause trouble—with the school, my parents, with the few friends I have—questions will be asked; questions that I won't want to answer. Dad will then want me to have more counselling, but I don't want to go through all of that again. I'd got as far as I could with my sessions. In the end, I just felt like I was going around and around in meaningless circles. I suppose it helped being able to talk about Anais at first, but it's never stopped me feeling all that I do about her death. I still feel accountable for it happening. I still have the bad dreams about my sister. No, this is something that I've just got to coexist with. Inhaling hard, inhaling a breath that's supposed to strengthen me, I stand up. Get to class, Mindy! Get this day over and done with! Like I always do, I push down every negative emotion that I'm feeling; pushing those painful memories to the dustiest corners of my brain. It's time to pretend. Time to fake that I'm okay. Opening the cubicle door, I'm breathing in more of the air that my lungs need, bravely lifting my chin. Rushing out of the toilet, I'm now just wanting to get to class. As I'm battling with a war within myself, I'm about to go into History to fight with the curriculum about the War in Vietnam. This is my life as a Year 10; a Year 10 who hides her own harrowing story behind the blackest eye makeup she can put on and a pile of textbooks. I've got real good at burying my head in those books while I'm burying all of thoughts and feelings about Anais. I don't rightly understand why I'm so utterly rubbish in drama, because it seems that most of my days are spent acting as though I'm okay. I suppose some days, I can be. But then there are the days like today, the kind where I deserve an Oscar for my portrayal of being a normal and happy teen. As I'm nearing the class that I need to be in, it would seem that I'm not the only straggler—Ros is also hurrying to get inside. With a smile that's a mixture of politeness and sympathy, I gesture for her to go on in first.

As ungraciously as she possibly can be, she rushes past me. "You look how I feel...crap." Is cattily muttered from her.

Heavily sighing, I ignore her comment. Instead, I turn my attention to finding somewhere to sit. Unfortunately, the stragglers that we are, have now forced Ros and I to sit next to one another. As I'm reluctantly taking my seat beside of her, she's loudly tutting. Again, I ignore her. It wasn't all that long ago that I was feeling sorry for her...now, I'm feeling more sorry for myself.

**

For nearly an hour, I've had to endure nothing but tuts, grunts and overly rude eye rolls. I thought I was a tough nut to crack, but Ros is so much tougher. I thought I had attitude, but this girl's attitude is like nothing I've ever come up against before. Everything that I've heard come out of her mouth during this entire lesson, has been coated with acid. God, I hope that the death of my sister hasn't made me that acidic. I'd hate for anyone to think the way about me that I'm now thinking about Ros. She's scathingly sarcastic. She throws around humourless humour and petty put downs. Half of me truly dislikes her, while the other half of me is still feeling deeply sorry for her. From what I can gather, Ros was already a teenage handful before the death of her sister, but now, that teenage handful has grown into a grieving monster. That alone, surprisingly makes me want to reach out to her now that the lesson is over. "I know you and I haven't exactly gotten off to the greatest of starts since I've been here at Archleigh, Ros, but I think the two of us could actually have more in common than you think."

Pouting and frowning, Ros is giving me a dubious sideways glance as she's shoving her books into her bag. "I very much doubt that." Now, she's sneering at me. "For starters, I know how to apply my makeup properly. Secondly, sitting next to you for this lesson has actually been unbearable for me. I've had to be in close proximity to the person who has swanned into this school with all that crap on her face and all the crap that comes out of her mouth, to then watch the boy I've liked for years fall for all of that crap within days...I can assure you, we have nothing in common."

I'm staring at Ros, studying her for just a moment. On the outside, she looks harmless. Her long brown hair is messily tied back off her face. Her eyes are bluish-grey in colour and her frame is willowy and pale. But when you look at her for longer, that hair of hers is tied back like she couldn't be bothered to do it. Those cesious eyes are the coldest shade you'll ever see, and her waiflike body sits like it's buckling beneath the weight of her own negativity. Ros is cocooned within a hardness that I'm not even sure she can escape from. So, I'm still staring at her, wondering whether I can even be bothered to reply to her bitter words that she's just thrown at me. "You know, I was feeling sorry for you earlier. I was feeling sorry, because I saw how much Chas means to you. I get it. I do. It must be hard liking a boy who likes someone else, but that doesn't give you the right to talk to me in the way that you do. I'm just a girl who has started this new school, who just so happens to click with the boy that you like. I can understand why that would upset you, but I'll not apologise for us liking each other. You can't blame me for Chas not wanting to be with you, Ros." Stopping what I'm saying, I'm wanting to give her some time. She's certainly listening to all that's coming out of my mouth, as her expression is now one of mute stubbornness. Being as she's still here, I decide to go on. "I'm not saying we'll ever become best buddies or anything, but like you, I've lost a sister...I know how that feels."

A glazed look of anguish starts spreading across her pale face. "You've lost a sister?" Ros quietly asks me; a thawing present in the tone of her voice.

"Yes, when I was nine and she was three."

In her eyes, I see the dull pain of her own sister's death. "Veronica died last year." Her reply is exact; cold and exact.

Knowing her pain, knowing that cold detachment, my own expression now softens on Ros. "Like I said, I don't expect us to become friends, but if you ever want to talk to someone who truly knows the loss of a sister...then you know where I am."

As her chin lowers, there's an air of possibility surrounding the aloof Ros. "If I can handle looking at that dodgy makeup, I might." She's not exactly smiling, but at least the sneer of disgust that's usually a set default on her mouth around me, has now gone.

Saying all that I wanted to say, I then reach over, grabbing my books and my school bag; ready to leave the History class and Ros, behind.