The next day I had Literature again, which is the class I share with the girl made of fire. I went over the class list printed on my schedule four times trying to discover her name by reading all of them and matching them with her eyes. A girl with that kind of fire must have a killer name! She couldn't be a Mary, or Julia, or Alexandra. That fire must have come from something, and since a name is the first thing you get in this world, it must have had some kind of influence. But still, I couldn't find her name on the list, I could figure out which one it was. So when the teacher went threw the list of names, I watched her carefully. Since my last name starts with a B, I was in the three first students to be call, which was great since I could really concentrate on her.
-Esther Parker, the teacher called and she pulled her hand up.
Esther Parker. Esther. Of course! Esther. Why is it so obvious now? One of her friend said something and she started laughing, smiling, lighting up in fire. I could see in her open bag a sport shirt, but since all our sports uniforms are the same I can't figure out which sport she plays. The class starts and the first thing the teacher says is:
-Today we're starting a group project.
Shit. No. I hate group projects.
-I will assign you a book in teams. Each one of you will be a character in the book, and there will be a narrator. You need to read the book all together, and then perform a small part of it in front of the class.
No, no no no no no no no no no no no! He walks down the rows of desk, distributing books to everybody.
-Match up with the other students who have the same book then you.
I look at mine: Of Mice and Men. Good thing I've already read that book last year in my other school. It's a short book, will be easy to read. People in the class start talking to each other, asking who is with who and laughing. I take out my sketchbook. I start drawing that same sailboat.
-It's pretty, someone says over me.
I look up and then there's fire, smiling at me, her book in hand. Of course! Life couldn't let that one get away. We had to be together. I close my sketch book and bite my nails. She sits down on the chair in front of me. A boy comes and sit with us. He looks out of place, wearing a shirt with a beige polo over it and nice clean pants. He looks like he's going to church or something. They start talking.
-Greetings, Esther, the guy says.
Ok, he's definitely not in the right place. He must come from 1942 or something.
-Hey Barnaby.
Barnaby! Fucking hell, he's not from this century, that's for sure.
-And you are? He asks me.
-Ivy.
-Ivy, the girl repeats with a smile. Nice to meet you.
I give her a small smile. She makes me nervous. The teacher tells us we can leave the classroom and find a place where we can read.
-And if you don't do it, he says before we all leave, I'll find out when I interrogate you next class on your work.
I grab my bag and fly it over my shoulder. I follow the two others out of the room. They walk around like they live here, they know exactly where to go. The guy pulls a key out of his pocket and opens a door. We are standing in a room full of papers stickd to the walls and hanging from the ceiling. What is this place? I ask myself. The guy must have pick up on my question because he answers me:
-This is the school journal room. I'm the director, that's why I have the key. Nobody can disturb us in here, so we can read and scream as loud as we want.
Does he realize how wrong and creepy what he just said sounded? Nobody will disturb us, we can scream as loud as we want! Seriously?
We sit on three chairs, facing each other. They split the characters. I'm George, the girl is Lennie and the guy is the narrator. Barnaby starts reading and somehow, with him making gesture as he read, the awkwardness fades. When it's my turn, I start reading, but I'm cut short after a few words by a small scream:
-You've got a british accent! She says, fire in her eyes and a gigantic smile on her face.
-I'm sorry, I say.
-Don't be! No! It's nice! Are you british?
-Kind of, I answer.
I can see that both don't get it, so I explain myself:
-I spent the three last years in a private school in England.
-Why? She asks, looking really interested.
-My parents wanted me to go there, so they sent me there. My brothers too. They made us all come back this year. My older brother is in college and my younger brother is a sophomore here.
-Why did you come back? She asks.
-My parents just wanted us home, that's all.
Actually it's not, but I'm never going to tell them the real reason. There's a silence in the room. Then I pick up my book again and keep on reading. I can see in the corner of my eyes that she's looking at me, and that makes my stomach curls and my heart race. We read till the bell rings and then we leave. Barnaby literaly bow in front of us and then says goodbye. We all walk in different directions, but somehow I end up walking toward her after I went to my locker and she winks at me. Esther. Fire. My fire! Oh God! What is wrong with me!
