Eggcorn

Chapter Four | The Surprise Saviour

Quince.

My mother named me after a flower that is originally called the chaenomeles. People call this fruit bearing flower the "flowering quince". It's reddish-orange, pink, or white in colour, and blooms in late winter, or early spring, usually growing in Eastern Asia.

The reason I was named after this flower, is because my mother believed that a flower that could withstand the hardships of winter, can overcome many problems in life. So, she named me after a flower that to her, symbolized strength and beauty.

But, no matter how much strength my name symbolizes, in the situation I currently stand in, it might as well symbolize nothing.

Because I feel as if I may break any second. Where did that strength go?

I sit paralyzed in my seat, next to the devil himself. His dark aura pulses throughout the classroom, making it seem as if hell had been brought down to Earth.

My cheeks ablaze, as if they had caught onto the fire seeping out of his body. I can even see the horns on his head--sharp--threatening to stab me as soon as they get the chance to.

I stare down at the paper in front of me.

It's blank.

I didn't manage to write down any of the notes Mr. Jefferson had put up in front of the class. They concerned basic time tables, rules and regulations, plus a couple "tips" on getting an A in math class.

He had also handed out a couple notes that the principle had printed out for everyone, and said that these should be given to our parents.

I was given my schedule for the entirety of the the semester as well. I had math and English in the morning, followed by computer tech and French in the afternoon.

But all that was less important at this moment in time.

See, I had always thought--or wished--that I would get to live a sufficiently long life. Little did I know, that death would come so soon for me. Not to mention make the bold move and sit down right next to me, as if to mock me for the seconds to come, before it efficiently manages to strangle me.

Peter is sitting there, acting rather normal, as I casually move my head to look at him every so often. The reason I do this, is because I'm scared he'll make a move to attack me, before I get the chance to react.

He's doodling little pictures onto his paper, never swiping that sly, boyish smile off his face. He's plotting something, and I'm not just saying this because I'm paranoid.

There's a moment--like a flash of a couple seconds--when our eyes meet. His flick over to mine, that had been staring at him. We just look at each other again, and I can tell he recognizes the sheer terror on my face, because he manages to let a laugh out.

"And so," Mr. Jefferson continues, "I hope you all get along well with each other this year, and manage to make lots of new friends." He's looking at me as he lets the words out. "I also hope that you find your place in this busy system soon. Grade eleven was always a year that featured exploration, or finding oneself, if you will."

The bell rings just then, giving my cue to get up and beeline for the door. My next class was English, in room 203, and thanks to Mrs. Burns, I knew exactly where it was.

But, fate is a scary thing.

The rest of the kids started getting their things and standing up, the sound of chairs screeching across the floor made my ears want to yell at them.

"Quince!"

I'm halfway down the row towards the exit as well, when Mr. J calls me out. I turn to look. Peter is standing with him, smiling with that devious grin. God, I wish I could punch him hard enough, so that that smile would get up and run away, never to return.