Reliving Yesterday ✔

Chapter 2.

Shaking my head, I walked up the steps and into the crowded hallways and made a beeline for my locker, beside which Hanna was already fixing up hers. "What's with Wesley and the rocket engine?" I asked, trying to sound indifferent, but my love for hot sports cars was way too much.

Hanna eyed me, not really being into cars herself, she didn't say anything. "Parker's car?" she asked, "Yeah. He got it over the summer. From his mom, I think. He's been driving it everywhere."

"What?" I barked at Hanna. Him taking his new hot car all over the place didn't really surprise me, but the person who might have gifted him the car did.

She gave me a look, her brows knitting together. "It's his car, Alex. He can do whatever he wants with it."

"Yeah, but his mom?" I asked, lowering my voice, "She gave it to him? Is she even here?"

"Oh, she was," Hanna replied, a lot of untold things underlying her words, "She was here over the summer. No one missed the cool, calm business woman, who dressed impeccably and didn't have a hair out of place."

That didn't sound right.

"Are you sure it was his mom?" I asked, knowing that his mother couldn't have been anything like what Hanna just described.

"Positive," she answered, "Apparently she remarried some time ago and whoever she's with now, is even richer than Parker's dad. See you in homeroom."

And she walked off to Jackson, standing a distance away. He waved at me and I limply lifted my arm to wave back and then slumped into my locker.

I straightened up and stuffed my backpack into my locker, fishing out only my French books. As I turned, I met eyes with Scott Penning. He was smiling at me. That was a first. Vaguely, I smiled back at him, trying not to meet his eye.

I walked to homeroom as fast as I could, indistinctly mumbling at the "hey"s I was getting from people I passed. I slid into my seat, dropped my books on my table and let out a heavy sigh, dropping my head into my hands.

"Alex?" I heard Hanna's voice and I raised my head, happy to hear the voice of someone I knew and wasn't uncomfortable being around. She slid into the seat next to me and Jackson sat behind her, brushing his dirty blonde hair as he did. He looked every part the popular Jock and played it all, too, except for the part of being a proper boyfriend and a stand-up guy.

"Han," I breathed, leaning over to her, "Han, I don't know what's going on."

She rolled her eyes; a common task for her whenever she was around me. "Tell me slowly," she said. She had always accused me of having verbal diarrhea and being completely unable to talk slowly.

"People are talking to me," I told her, wide-eyed.

She waited for a moment and bent her head towards me, waiting for more. When I didn't open my mouth, she prompted, "And?"

I straightened. "That's - it."

"Alex," she said, softly, "That's normal."

I widened my eyes again. "No. No, Han, it isn't. People don't talk to me. Especially guys. Do you know who smiled at me today? Scott Penning. Scott Penning. The guy everyone has liked forever and who hasn't ever bothered to give me the time of day. There were so many people who actually seemed to know my name."

Hanna was staring at me with an amused expression on her face. I slumped my shoulders. "Verbal diarrhea?" I asked and she nodded, laughing.

"Look, it's fine. Just let it happen, OK? Maybe it'll get your mind off Parker. And it doesn't hurt that your shorts show off your perfectly tanned legs right from the tropical summer sun."

That's it. I'm removing shorts and short skirts from my wardrobe.

When Ms. Sorrento sauntered into class, the second bell had rung and the tables were filling up. As usual, the last people to pile in making boisterous noises were Parker and Co., comprising Eric, Dylan, himself, and a few cheerleaders including the simpering bleached blonde I'd seen disembark from his car. I rolled my eyes and sank lower into my seat, hoping to avoid their attention.

An impossible feat for me.

As he passed my seat, Dylan bent down to me and had the nerve to say, "I love the tan. Maybe you'll show me the rest of it," and walk off and yell, "Sup, Haynes," to Jackson, who nodded back at him. I felt disgusted all over again.

"Bonjour, class," she said with a slightly tired smile. It was only the first day back, first period and she was already tired with us. Probably because most of this class was absolutely hopeless at her subject, some didn't try and others just took the class to hear the popular guys drone out their French.

"Bonjour," the class echoed back and her smile brightened a little. Maybe after three years, we've finally got our French accent when we say Bonjour down pat.

She opened her mouth and a few French words came out, but then she stopped, probably realizing how hopeless we were and continued in English, "Class, let's get down to business. This year is very important for you all. And we've included a wonderful way for you all to improve your French," she said, but then looking around the class, her hope dulled, but she continued, "We've put in small plays into your curriculum and you will all play different parts in plays."

Her enthusiasm spread only as far as the front row, I think. Her shoulder dropped slightly. Poor woman. She tried so hard to get us to like French. I did, but some others didn't.

"You will all take part," she said, but got no response, "And I'll buy you all a treat if you do it right."

The hollers deafened me and I shook my head. Bribery went far in the world.

"The first play you will be doing," she said, handing out scripts to the class, "Will be an excerpt from an old play called The Final Week. It's not very popular, but it's simple, so it's wonderful for us to start off with. Go through the play and you'll notice that there are twenty characters in it for the twenty in the class. You'll all come and pick a name from this bowl to be your character, so that I'm not accused of anything."

She shook the transparent fishbowl at us. If possible, I think I sank lower in my seat. "Come on," she said, "Start with the first row."

And soon enough a reluctant group of Seniors lined up behind the bowl, picking out a little piece of paper that stated their future. I sighed and flipped open the script. The main was a girl named Sasha and a boy named Jean-Luc. The story centered around them and their friends.

Hanna nudged me. "Let's go."

I pushed myself up and joined the line. I saw Parker's head standing behind me, taller than any other person in the room. His dark, almost black hair, catching the light in the room, lit up with a gold tint at some places. I shook my head trying to get him out of my head.

"Alexandra," Ms. Sorrento said, as I came up and scribbled my name on a sheet of paper she had. I always loved how my name sounded with her accent. I craned my neck to subtly see who was who, but so far, no one was Sasha or Jean-Luc. "Have your pick."

I reached into the bowl, fished around and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over to her. "Sasha," she said, smiling, "Oh, you'll be wonderful with your accent."

I smiled at her, unable to deny her of the pleasure of getting something she might have wanted, but inside I was breaking into a million pieces. I shuffled back to my seat and sat down, ducking my head, not wanting another minute of this torture.

Ms. Sorrento let out an elated sigh from the front of the room. "My best students are the mains," she said, happily in her French accent.

My breath caught in my throat and I leaned forward hoping to God that I was wrong. But I wasn't. Because Parker was standing there, looking back at the class, looking aggravated beyond control. He was Ms. Sorrento's other favourite student.

My luck never changed.

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