She is Not Made of Roses

three: let's sit in the zen garden and work on your chakras

THREE: LET'S SIT IN THE ZEN GARDEN AND WORK ON YOUR CHAKRAS

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ELLA HALL IS one of those girls who is breathtakingly beautiful – and knows it.

She could be a movie star, because God knows she has both the looks and probably the talent, but the little blonde head on her shoulders keeps her grounded. The world is lucky to have a soul like Ella’s walk its earth with her pretty little feet; generous, beautiful, kind, and smart, one might think Ella would be a dream, if they didn’t know that so many people had been touched by her splendor.

At least, that is what Peter Bevan has always known – what he didn’t know was that Ella was so good at being so…

Unreachable.

“I’d like to call this meeting of the Senior Class Council to order,” Secretary Gregory Chan announces, standing from his seat. He holds a stack of papers in his hands, glasses hanging on the tip of his nose. His sweater vest makes him look about 20 years older, but his pocket protector reminds Peter that he must be in high school, because he’s trying far too hard.

But Gregory can go on and on about lists and numbers and dates and appointments – Peter is immensely preoccupied with the shape of Ella’s lips and wonders how he never noticed how perfectly symmetrical they are until he can no longer kiss them.

He sighs.

“Now, I’ll do roll call,” Gregory reads, taking his clipboard in hand, putting pencil to the names.

Raj groans, leaning against his desk beside Peter. He throws his head down against the table, “You know we’re all here, Greg. Why do you have to do this every time?”

But Gregory ignores him – as he tends to do. “Class Council President, Peter Bevan?”

“Here,” Peter says softly, watching Ella to see if she reacts to his name. She doesn’t.

“Secretary, Gregory Chan—that’s me.”

Raj chuckles halfheartedly, “Wow. Thanks for that.”

Gregory goes on, unfazed, “Vice President, Ella Hall.”

“Present!” She chirps. Her voice is like honey. Her voice is like satin. Her voice is perfection, in every form of the word, and Peter wishes he could hear her speak forever.

“Historian, Evan North.”

Evan, a tall and lazy gangly blonde boy who ran for class council to make his parents happy, raises his hand. “I’m here—”

Raj slams his desk again, “Before I die, please!”

Gregory eyes him, scowling. His voice drops an octave, “And lastly, Treasurer, Swaraj Patel.”

Raj smiles at him thankfully, and while Gregory sits down, eyes set towards him angrily, Peter stands up and clears his throat. “Okay – now that the meeting has commenced, Raj, how about you read us our financial reports?”

Raj picks up the files, arranging them neatly on his desk. He smirks, eyes pointed towards Gregory, “Gladly. And I’ll make it quick, too,” he says, standing up while Greg mumbles something under his breath. “Okay, so, right now, we’ve got about $4,000 saved up for prom. Not bad, but we could do better. Recently, we’ve racked in about $300 thanks to bake sales organized by the cheerleaders as well as Interact club,” he reports, going down the line of his notes. As his eyes skim further, a look of worry passes his face, and he grimaces, “Although…recently, we have spent about $1000 dollars on field trips and other club related expenditures.”