Papering Over The Cracks

Chapter Three

A few days later, I find myself standing in the outrageously long canteen line, with a five dollar note and an intention of buying nothing but bottled water. After waiting for a good fifteen minutes, in which I swear the line only advances two metres at most, I decide to just walk out. But before I can take a step, a familiar voice sounds in my ear.

“There’s a spot open in Year 11 Biology. You should transfer.”

I spin around to find the boy from the library standing behind me. He stands, taller than me, with his feet apart. His hands are in his pockets, and he is wearing the same crooked smile I saw in the library on his undeniably handsome face.

“How long have you been behind me?” I ask.

“About…” he stops, looking at his wrist. Consulting an imaginary watch. “10 seconds.”

“Oh,” is all I say.

He grins. “One day, I’ll teach you my awesome sneaking-into-canteen-lines skills.” He stops, frowning. “Right now, however, you seem to need sneaking-out-of-canteen-lines skills. Better to start with the basics.”

“I’m already an expert.” I leave the line and walk out of the canteen, barely supressing a smile. Outside, he jogs to catch up with me.

“What’s your deal?” he asks me. “Are you just, all quiet and mysterious? Or do you merely dislike me?”

I keep walking.

“I’m Ash, by the way,” he says, offering a hand.

I don’t shake it. “I’m Girl-Who-Is-Wondering-Why-This-Totally-Random-Hot-Guy-Is-Following-Her-Around.”

“Personally, I thought you looked more like a Rose.”

I look at him. “Well, unfortunately, I’m a Cassia.”

“Cassia,” he says, trying it out. “Cassia. You have a beautiful name. Cassia. I like it.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I mumble.

“Anytime,” he grins. “What’s your last name?”

I stare at him suspiciously. “Why are you so interested? Who are you?”

“I told you,” he says. “I’m Ash.”

I roll my eyes.

“You know,” he says airily. “I don’t just do Biology.”

“Um. I kind of figured.”

He smiles. “I do Chemistry too.”

“In that case,” I say to him, “If you’re any good at it, you’ll be able to see that there is no chemistry between you and me.”

“You and I,” he corrects. “And quite the contrary. I think there’s plenty of chemistry. You’ve just got no eyes.”

I stare at him. “And you’ve got no brains.”