One Week Friends

Chapter Six: A Birth Of Snowflakes

Monday

To say I was excited and anxious for Monday would be an understatement. Heck, If Isaac Newton thought that all the kids in the future generation would look up to him and became thankful for the fact that he found new theories right after the apple fell on his head... Yeah, that'd be the greatest understatement but mine would stay an apple's throw above that.

On the contrary, why in the hell did he sit under that apple tree? Dammit, I wish that apple would have been a grenade and just blow up his head. It could have saved us the trouble of not learning physics. It's almost like maths... But with science in it. The word 'hate' wouldn't even scratch the surface of the feelings I have for it.

I'm going off track. Reverting.

It's been two days since me and Charlotte hung out. Two painful and excruciating days of long waiting. I've been bogged since the moment I stepped foot in my house after our shenanigans on Friday. Feeling erratic I probably kissed Wakaba countless times to express how good of a day it was. Kissing Wakaba wasn't a experience I was willing to face again. He tasted salty. For a moment I thought if I added lemon and a little spice here and there I could make a decent meal.

What the hell was I thinking back then? I refuse to make a gourmet dish out of him. To compensate for the barbaric thoughts I hugged Wakaba and apologised for kissing him and thinking that a soup would make him taste better.

I think I really need to be aware of what I eat now. Subconsciously I might accidentally make a turtle stew out of him. Oh, I'm a mess.

Nevertheless, here I am, sitting on my bench. My mind racing in anticipation, my legs rapping to the same rhythm as my beating heart. I probably looked scary. My eyes flicking between Charlotte's bench and the door. I couldn't possibly wait any longer to hand over the present I had for her. It's was an idea for her to remember things if she forgot, I just came up with this idea just before I got home.

"Dude, cut that out. You look scary." Now that proves that. I flicked my eyes to Benson; his droning voice echoed in my mind and left the moment in entered. I stared at him, his lips were moving but I couldn't understand a word he was saying, it was like looking down at a paragraph, reading it over and over again just because you can't make sense of it.

I heard the familiar pace of footsteps, my head jerked to the entrance of class. Charlotte walked in. The voice of the class died down and nestled in a whispering voice. This did tick me off but at the same time I didn't care a rat's ass about what they thought of her.

I stood up for my seat, ignoring completely of what Benson was trying to say. I was almost going to wave to Charlotte, almost, until I noticed her eyes.

They looked dead. They looked lifeless. The same as the time before I ever tried talking to her, She didn't look happy. She looked emotionless. She sat down at her place and took out her books, ignoring the gazes of others.

"Charlotte." I exclaimed. I slammed my hands down to the table. The already hushed voices disintegrated to barely audible murmurs. All pairs of eyes took aim at us. My knees felt wobbly. I don't bode well with being the centre of attention. A lump formed in my throat, I swallowed it.

Charlotte looked startled, she dropped her pen and it rolled to my feet. I picked it up and handed it to her. I looked at her panicked eyes, the same deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression she had when we were at the art room few days ago. Her eyes looked as if she didn't recognise me. Is this really true?

She whispered softly for me to only hear it. "Who are you?" My eyes widened in shock. This is really true. She isn't faking it, her eyes can't deceive it. The fragility in her voice almost seemed as if she was afraid.