Broken Strings

Speeches and propositions

“I like English,” he says filling the silence with a statement I already figured.

“I thought you would.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you write,” I reply, piecing the puzzle together for him.

“Well isn’t that clever,” he chuckles under his breath.

“There you go with the clever, don’t let me get the wrong idea,” I giggle before poking my tongue out.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” his eyebrows raised and his voice grew higher.

“Sure,” I punch his arm trying not to look too flirty. I honestly wasn’t trying to come across that way. I didn’t plan to come across that way.

“We better get to class, before we earn a lunchtime detention,” he sniggers. “Which way?” I stand confused. I knew this school like the back of my hand but this mysterious sole standing by me seemed to take my thoughts away from what mattered. “Amelia?”

“What?” I shake my head in an attempt to rid him from my mind.

“Which way?” he repeats.

“This way,” he follows me past rows and rows of lockers before we stop at an all too familiar door. “English,” I indicate to the red door before us.

“Thank you for the tour,” he reaches a hand out to shake my hand.

“Sit by me?” he nodded before swinging the door open and barging in before me.

“Age before beauty,” he chuckled. I had to think about this for a long few seconds, he referred me to beauty.

“Whatever you say,” I hit him on the back as we walked through the door. It seems we were late because when we stepped through the door twenty pairs of beady eyes stared us down. I quickly adjusted my expression.

“Amelia? Why are you late?” Mrs Hurley asked not pulling her eyes form the chalk board.

“I had to show her something,” Peter interrupted. “It’s completely my fault,” he saved me.

“Why’d you say that?” I whispered up at him but before he had the chance to answer Mrs Hurley assigned us to two lonely seats in the back row.

“Now you all know about the school dance coming up next week and I need numbers,” Mrs Hurley is the head of the dance committee so she’s been banging her old drum about this dance for weeks.

“You going?” Peter whispered. Looking up from by books I met his eye.

“Don’t have anyone to go with,” I explained. His eyes widened in surprise but he leaned back in his seat without a word, oh how I would love to know what’s going on in his head right now.

“So raise your hand if you’re planning on attending,” Mrs Hurley called. Almost every hand in the room pointed to the sky. “Okay so almost everyone,” she seemed to scrawl a number down on a small coloured notebook. “Thanks guys. You can continue on reading,” I pulled out a classic. Pretty Woman.

I couldn’t seem to concentrate. It took me about ten minutes to read a page and even then I couldn’t recount any event that took place. What’s wrong with me? Maybe making friends isn’t such a smart idea for me. Peter’s icy finger’s brushed past mine as he slipped a white slice of paper into my diary, “My number,” he indicated.

~*~

“Amelia? Are you alright?” I envied his speech, every letter was pronounced just like the teachers spoke in first grade.