These Classrooms Talk

II

The week passes in a blur. Emily slutting around, mom and dad arguing, and I almost saw Mr Thuston's abs.
It's finally Friday, the eve of the party.
Tomorrow mom is making me go with Emily.
It's not like she needs help being a whore.
I sit on the bus, on my way home, when Emily slides in the seat next to me.
"I think that sports teacher likes me," she says, "Mr Thirsty, he said his name was."
"Thurston," I correct.
"What?"
"His name is Thurston," I feel anger welling up inside. She should stay away from him. He's mine. Not hers.
"Geez, calm down." She lights another joint.
"Smoking kills, y'know." I say and turn to face the window.
We sit in silence, the only noise coming from our peers.
I hear Emily on her phone.
"NO FUCKING WAY!" she shouts, "oh my fucking god!"
"What?" I say, bluntly.
"Mr Thurston added me on Instagram." She shows me her phone screen. Sure enough, Leonardo Thurston has accepted her follow request.
"Honey, no," I say, a little bit happy by the confusion, "Leonardo Thurston is a ninth grader. He works at Maccas."
"Oh," Emily says, unfollowing him, "horny pig."
I try not to laugh.

~

Saturday morning, I wake to Emily singing. Her voice is smooth and even. It calms me.
"Girl put your records on, tell me your favorite song, you go ahead let your hair down."
I sit up in bed.
"Morning," I say.
She stops singing and looks at me.
"Morning," her hair is down, flowing, and she has the straightener in one hand, "you sleep well?"
"As well as can be expected," I rub some sleep from my eyes, "what you want for breakfast?"
"Oh fuck," she says, laughing, "your cooking is delicious but I have already had breakfast."
I frown. Why aren't I pissed with her? Must be because I haven't had my morning coffee yet.
"What'd you make?" I ask, not remotely curious, and it's not like she made me any. I'm just good at making small talk and keeping the attention away from myself. There's a faint smell in the air, "sausages?"
"Yeah, I can't be fuucked with the stove and toast is just extra cause you just cook bread twice, so I went to Maccas." She just rambles on, that girl does.
"Wow," I say, still the least bit enthusiastic, "so where'd you get food from in Ellensvale?"
"Oh," she says, like it's common knowledge, "my mum was done with cooking so Starbucka was my hefty hideaway like it is for most white girls that have a tumblr."
"What about Wendy's?" I snap. I know it's a sore spot. Up until her eleventh birthday, Emily was obsessed with Wendy's. She lived with her dad then. She loved him and looked up to him. Their relationship was strange, my mother was scared he was forcing himself on her, confusing an impressionable youth. It didn't help moms rumours when the Accident happened. On Emily's eleventh birthday, Emily's dad took Emily to Wendy's. Told her to wait at their table while he went to see why their food was taking so long. Emily was so focused on drinking her milkshake outside, she barely heard the confusion inside as her dad pulled out a gun and robbed the place. He ran out of Wendy's, and past Emily. The last thing she saw of him was the back of his head.
Emily had to move into a Special Care unit where her mom was getting treated with cancer. Over time, she beat it and fell in love with her nurse, Emily's second mother.
"I grew out of that," she says. She speaks with such poise and composure that one cannot know how innocent she truly is.
"So, that's why you went to Macdonalds," I say, prying open old wounds.
"That and because me and Leo were texting last night," she smiles a little, her cheeks blushing, "he is one hot bastard. I think he likes me."
"Wow!" I say. Differences aside, I always have a special place for boy drama.
"Oh, btw I got you Hotcakes."
"Thanks, cuzzie." I say, as she throws the take-away bag at me. It's such a relief to not have to cook first thing in the morning.
It gives me and Emily relaxation time. We spend the whole morning laughing, gossiping, bitching, and contouring. Or, trying to, at least.

~

Seven o'clock. An hour 'till the party. The nerves start itching at my toes.
I mean, sure I've seen parties on movies and Pretty Little Liars (R.I.P). But I've never actually been to one.
S

lowly the nerves reach my knees, and they quiver.

"You all good, Kenny?" Emily looks me up and dow. She's been...bearble lately. Maybe she's just gotten more mature over the years, although I highly doubt it.
The nerves have reached my hips.
"I don't feel so good," I mumble.
"Pardon?" Emily stops scrolling down her phone and looks at me.
"I snaid, I dun't freel ho kood," the words coming out of my mouth aren't the ones I want. What is happening?
"Are you drunk?" She asks, and this time, I can't answer. My mouth won't move. The nerves hit my chest like a ton of bricks and I stumble a bit.
"Wow, Kendall the great getting as drunk as fuck," she giggles, "I didn't think I'd live to see the day."
I try asking for help but all that comes out is a strangled cry.
The nerves hit my eyes, and I can't see. I'm blind!
"Kendall," I hear Emily. Must focus on Emily. Emily. Emily? Emily Blunt? Wait, who's Emily Blunt? Who am I? What is happening?
"Kendall, the drunk," a few laughs from somewhere. Emily? Who is Emily? "Hun, I'm gonna carry you to bed."
Bed? What's a bed.
I feel something small and slender around my back, as I'm lifted from the ground. Arms? I feel her struggling.
I can't move.
I try to call.
Emily Blunt!
Help me!
Then the nerves hit my brain and I fall asleep.