Trying Not to Strangle the Bradley Boys

Chapter 2-I Love School! Note the Sarcasm.

Chapter 2-I Love School!  Note the Sarcasm.

I pulled on my baby-blue halter top dress that was tight to the empire-waistline and then flaired out gracefully to my knees.  I paired it with strappy heels of the same color.  I brushed my wavy locks that fell down gracefully on my shoulders, admiring the rich strawberry-blonde color that was completely natural.  I applied dark mascara to contrast with my bright green eyes, and did some smoky eye magic, all using dark shades of blue. 

I looked great.  I looked as if nothing could trouble me at all.  But what was underneat was a girl whose heart was quickly crumbling, a mind that could take no more pain, a will that was about to break.  That's why my motto was: "Just because I smile doesn't mean I'm okay."

So true.

I walked down the stairs and kissed Dad goodbye from where he was sitting in the living room, watching morning sports.  Why do they put sports on in the morning anyway?  It makes no sense to me.  Sports seem more like an afternoon or an evening thing, not a just-woke-up-eating-cereal kind of thing. Whatever, it's just my opinion.

As I walk down the street my heels click loudly on the concrete.  Somehow, the clicking brings me comfort.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not some shop-aholic who goes shopping just to calm herself down.  I got most of these clothes from friends, and from shopping trips they dragged me along too.  I hate shopping.  The clicking was a constant sound that took my mind off things.  All I concentrated on was the clicking and I would make it through this day. 

Click.  Click.  Click.  Click.  Click. Click.....

As I was concentrating on my clicking, I walked right into someone.  We both flew backwards and landed on our butts.  Luckily my heel didn't break.  Rubbing my back, I looked up into the face of the person I had rudely walked into.

It was a very handsome face.  He had dark golden brown hair, and...green eyes, just like man, but slightly lighter.  His features were perfectly chiseled, and man was he BUFF.  I could see his eight-pack through his shirt and his biceps.  He wasn't RIPPED ripped, like disgustingly ripped, but ripped enough that he was handsome.

Coming out of my reverie I say, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

"No, it's okay, I wasn't looking where I was going," he admitted gazing at me with his green eyes.

Getting up, he offers me a hand and I take it.  He pulls me up to my feet.  I'm standing inches from him, he's still holding my hand. 

He lets go and says, "Hi, uh, my names Alexander Bradley, but, uh, call me Alex, please."

I nod and say, "I'm....uh......Elle....."

"Just Elle?" he asks, raising one eyebrow.

Damn, how does he DO that?! I can't even do that!

"Um....well.....no....but...you see...um...please don't laugh....," I say, staring down at the ground.

"I won't, I promise," he says, and I look up into those sincere green eyes.  I believe him.

"My real name's Margarita Noelle Wilson.  Mom's kind of an...alcoholic...so just call me Noelle, or Elle, or Ella, doesn't matter which," I blabber.

Dammit, SHUT UP ME!!!!

He looks me at me amusedly. 

"Well, I gotta be off, gotta get to the store," he says.

"You don't go to school?" I ask. 

"Oh, I do, I'm just skipping the last day.  See ya round, Elle!" he calls as he walks away.

I stand and stare after him.  Wow....  Wait a minute...SCHOOL!  I take off running down the street, IN HEELS.  Have you ever ran in heels?  It's not exactly a walk in the park.  I finally arrive two minutes before the bell rings.  I shove my stuff into my locker and hurtle into homeroom, closing the door behind me as the bell rings.

"Miss Wilson," Mr. Retpac says to me.

"Yes Mr. Ra-urm-Retpac?" I ask, almost saying the name I always call him, Mr. Ratpack.

"Hmm...well....I can't punish you, you're already in here," he says, looking disappointed.  "Get to your seat."

"Yes sir."

I'm greeted by a couple of wolf whistles, but I smack each guy upside the head.  Serves them right.  I sit in my seat in the back of the class, hoping no one will stare that much.  But they do.  How can they stare that much when I'm in THE BACK OF THE CLASS?!  Beats me. 

Suddenly a little piece of paper lands on my desk.  I glance up to see what Mr. Ratpack, excuse me, Retpac is doing.  He's just reading his notes at his desk.  I carefully unfold the paper.  It says:

Why so late?  TAH?

xx Kat

TAH means Troubles At Home.  Kat always knows what's bothering me.  Well, she should, she's my best friend.  I write back:

Yeah, State came.  But that's not reason.  Met incredibly hot guy on way here.  I knocked into him.

I pass the note down the line to her.  I peek over to see her reaction.  As she reads it her mouth forms an "O" and she hurriedly scribbles back, passing it to me:

OMFG.  MUST GIVE DEETS.

I chuckle.  Oops.

"Miss Wilson, is there something you would like to share with the class?" Mr. Ratpack asks me. 

"Um, no sir.  Just, um, laughing at a memory that came to me while you read your notes...," I say, hoping he'll drop it.

Not a chance.

"Well, why don't you come up and share this memory with us?"

"Um, no thanks, I'd rather not....," I say.  Damn damn damn!  MAYDAY MAYDAY!

"And why not?" he asks.  DAMMIT!

"Um....I....I twisted my ankle on the way here in my heels," I say, dangling one out to show him.

"Hm.  I see.  Do you need to go to the nurse?"

"Um, no, I'm good, I think I'll be fine by the end of the class...."

He sighs.  "Alright then....," and continues reading.

YESSS!!!!!

The bell finally rings an hour later, after droning and monologuing and continuous note-passing, and I am FREEE!!!   I tell Kat all about Alex Bradley on the way to Algebra.  Then we split up, she has a different class. 

The whole day passes considerably well, and at the end of the day I don't think I've done TOO badly on all those pop quizzes they gave us.  I mean, COME ON, it's the LAST. DAY. OF. SCHOOL!!!

But apparently they don't care.  I say goodbye to Kat as she carpools with some people who live on her street, and I head off through the construction site.

The construction site is the quickest way home, it connects the school and my house, see, there used to be houses right next to the school, run down houses like mine that nobody lived in.  Recently they decided to tear them down and build some administration building.  Whatever.  I walk through the piles of dirt, sand, metal, under the cranes and bulldozers.  When I was younger I would climb up the metal structures and swing like a monkey.  This construction site has been here a long time. 

I hadn't taken it this morning, cause they work in the morning.  They don't work in the afternoon, though.  Thank god...  I walk through unscathed and unharmed, and finally get home.  I get out my house key and unlock the door.

I do a double take when I see Dad sitting on the living room sofa still.

"Elle," he says, standing up.  Uh oh.  "I need to talk to you."

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