Broken Cages

Chapter 3

Mrs. Emerson looked up from reading the role call.

“Micaela, Buenos días. Could you mark yourself as tardy and put outside?” She handed me the sheet with the class’s names on it and I set about erasing the dot under my name. Tristan walked up to Mrs. Emerson.

          “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Tristan. Are you Mrs. Emerson?”

          “Si, es mi nombre. Bienvenido a nos clase de Español. Hmm, let’s find a spot for you. Where’s an open desk, everybody?”

          “There’s one over here!” Paco called out. That’s not his real name; it’s just his Spanish one, like my name’s Beth, but Mrs. Emerson called me Micaela.

          “Well then, Tristan, you can sit behind Paco. Ustedes, ¡sacan papel para escribir notas, por favor!”

          There were groans and sighs as we pulled out paper, and class began.

                                                          ;D

          The high-pitched bell sounded again-finally- and no one could get out fast enough.  I met upwith Claraand Zoe, and together we laced our way through the crowds, headed toward the Music hallway, and in Clara’s case, the Drama room.

          “Why were you late?”

          “Oh, some senior knocked me over and then Tristan helped me get all my stuff off the floor.”

          “Tristan?” As if on cue, I felt a light tap on my shoulder and turned to see Tristan standing behind me.

          “Mind if I walk with you?”

          “Oh, sure, why not?” I said. Hey, it’s not surprising; he doesn’t know anyone here. I bet I’m the first one he’s talked to. And with his all-black attire, he probably doesn’t fit in anywhere else in that class, despite his looks. Our school is just like that; the more confident and dress-to-kill you are, the more sucked in you get.

          “Clair de Lune, you mind?” I asked. She beamed.

          “Not at all. So your name’s Tristan? Nice to meet you. I’m Clara.”

          “And I’m Zoe, nice to meet you.” She appeared next to me out of nowhere and grinned mischievously.

          Tristan smiled across at them, that being the only reply he could manage; we were being buffeted around by the masses.

          We walked the next few feet trying not to lose each other. Eventually, I grabbed onto Clara’s backpack and motioned for the others to follow suit ad we continued in the tango line until we met up with Isabella. She laughed at our backpack train, but she grabbed onto the back of Zoe’s. Finally, we made it to the main hallway, which is bigger by far than the one we were previously navigating. We let go of each other’s bags and formed a horizontal line.

          “Morning.” I said, giving Isabella a hug.

          “What’s up?”

          I let go and motioned to Tristan.

          “This is Tristan, he’s a new student. Tristan, this is Isabella.”

          “Bella.” She smiled at him and extended her hand.

“My pleasure,” Tristan shook it.

“Where’d you transfer from?” Clara asked.

“Private school.”

“The one by that elementary school?”

“No, but my little sister’s thinking about going there.”

“You have a little sister?” I repeated. He smiled.

“Technically, no, but we’ve lived together all our lives.”

“I’ve got two younger brothers and a little sister and they drive me insane!” Zoe complained. That started a sibling comparison debate that lasted until we made the Chorus room. I still say my little sister and brother are the worst.

We left Clara, who left for the Drama room, and Tristan, who disappeared upstairs.

While waiting for class to start, Isabella, Zoe and I belatedly exclaimed over Tristan’s cuteness.

“I mean, if only he didn’t wear black!” Zoe was exclaiming. I sighed.

          “Yeah, Zoe, ‘cause you need another guy following you around like a puppy. Don’t lie,” I said when she opened her mouth to protest, “Don’t even say anything.” With her dark hair and generous and athletic shape, Zoe was popular among the opposite sex. She sometimes even got hit on by girls- don’t ask.

          She closed her mouth and stalked off playfully.

          “So, yeah, I don’t think that it matters what they wear, as long as-“

          “They’re cute.” Isabella finished for me.

           “That’s not what I was gonna say!”

          “No, but it’s what you thought.”

          “No, I meant that it was okay as long as they’re sweet and funny. But their being cute is also great.”

          She laughed. Mrs. Perry called for us to move into our places, and we moved to the soprano side.