On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Twenty-Four - "Pitter, Patter And A Leap"

“I’ll be here at four,” she replied.

I smiled and with all the courage I could muster, made my way across the elongating sidewalk and up to the grandness that was Fairless High. I didn’t look back; I didn’t need to. I knew she was still there. She always was.

*

It wasn’t half bad. Actually, it was kind of cool.

After the awkward entry – heads turned, people glanced, I was introduced: This is Chloe Lane. She’s new – I found a seat on the side, where I proceeded to make myself as small as possible.

History.

It was beautiful.

After a rehash of all the things I already knew, I was starting to figure that the point of a lot of the classes was for the upcoming May SATs and basic advanced classes, with some intertwining classes set aside for – besides appealing to those few who actually chose to take further classes – people who were behind or simply failing.

If the latter was the case, the classes were surprisingly full.

We had an hour of History, and then, there was a swap, and another teacher came in – English.

I was introduced again. So was another guy at the back. I tried not to look around too much, but honestly, I could barely help myself. They were all so . . . what’s the word? Polished? Clean? Glamorous?

Apparently, the uniforms could be customized somehow, because there was nothing uniform about the class in any manner. The skirt, yes. But that was about it.

The girl next to me turned and said, “Would you like to share?”

I stared blankly in confusion.

“Yeats,” she said, holding up a book, “You don’t have one.”

“Oh, thanks.”

She moved her chair over and put the book down, “It’s fine.”

And she didn’t say another word for the next hour of alliteration, metaphors and oxymorons. In my head, I was thinking, ‘do I have a friend in the bag?’ It was the grade school scenario all over again – ‘would you like to share my sandwich?’ and suddenly, you had a best friend.

However, high school is very different. Because, when the bell went off, she picked up her book, her purse, and with a polite smile, she was out the door.

Maybe people were just that cordial?

I made my way out through the door, wondering just what to do with myself. Everyone was heading towards the open rustic picnic-tabled space outside at the end of the hall, but I wasn’t entirely sure what following the crowd would do for me in this scenario.

So, I made my way over to sofas in a café-like place – called ‘The Fairless Hub’ as I gathered from the signage, and tried to look busy.

This was going to be so much harder than I thought.

I already had a text from Sarah. Suddenly, I missed the bliss of her apartment; my lazy days spent lying on the cushions in front of her library of books; my room, and my time at Jay’s campaign headquarters.

Hey. Checking in. How are you?

I replied: I’m fine. Thanks.

What else was I going to say? I’m nostalgic for the bliss of idleness. She’d gone through the trouble of trying to better my life; there was no way I was going to complain. Not for any reason whatsoever.