The Wrong Choices

5. "and we use kangaroos instead of taxis"

Chapter Five.

"Wanna do something tomorrow night?"

Disappointment. That's what I felt when Damon asked me that yesterday evening when school was over. We had walked together from the last class, a study class that we don't often have together. We stood just outside the school exit, where the last part of roof covers the ground.

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, great."

"Great," he repeated. He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek and I tried to remember the last time we kissed properly, on the lips. Three months and we've already stopped kissing on the lips. That must be some sort of record.

Then he ran to his bus, pulling up his hood as the rain was pelting down again and turning to shout back that he would text me.

I was remarking about what an interesting day today would be. Earlier that day after maths class, Miss Edwards told me that I had an appointment with Freya at twelve o clock today. Freya is the school counsellor, she also gives us the awkward talks about puberty and shit like that. She's the only member of faculty who insists that we call her by her first name because we're her 'friends', not her students.

So, at twelve o clock today, exactly seven minutes from now, I'll be entering the water room, or as the piece of card slotted into a plastic cover says, F.Winters' office. The student body have nicknamed it the water room because so many people have cried in there and people frequently come out with red, puffy, unattractively splotchy faces.

I won't be one of those people.

Hopefully.

I'm in Irish class, tapping my pen on the table impatiently. I've always had an overwhelming distaste for Irish class which is worsened by the fact that I'm scraping a D in ordinary level.

Tap tap tap tap.

The teacher is trying to teach us the correct format for a formal letter. I can't think of any time in the future where I'll need the skills of writing a formal letter in Irish.

Miss Brady looks at me, she has strangely small eyes that look like she's sleepy all the time. "Lilli," then she says something in Irish and I gape at her dumbly.

"What?" I say, scrunching up my face into an extremely confused expression.

She sighs. "I said, are you writing the notes?

No.

"Yeah, I am," I answer, quickly starting to scribble down on my page.

I stop when she turns back around, drowning in my thoughts once again. This evening, we're watching a movie. What a mainstream thing for a couple to do. I could think of lots of more interesting things to do; watch the stars, walk in the rain, watch paint dry, anything but watch another movie.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

11:57, too early? Nah, close enough, class finishes at 12:04 and I want to get out before there's a rush-hour in the corridors. I shoot my hand up and ask the teacher if I can leave, then gather up my books and swiftly dump them in my bag, scurrying out of the classroom attempting to ignore all the eyes trained on me.

Freya's office is only a corridor away and I'm there in what seems like only a few footsteps. I pause at the door for a few seconds, despite it being just Freya, my heart has quickened pace. What if I say something I shouldn't?

Shut up, Lilli.

I take a breath and lift my hand to knock on the door, but it opens before my knuckle makes contact.