Chapter Three
Shove It.
After science, there was break- the luxury five minutes during which there's a relay from the science room to the lockers, then to the canteen and back to the classroom for next lesson. It's so peaceful. All the hideous thugs shoving and swearing and blocking the way leave me in such a state of serenity. This happens every day by the way, unless you need the loo- in that case, you might as well just wet yourself, because unless you want to be half an hour late to your lesson, I wouldn't go there. It's best to stick at the sidelines if you don't want an elbow breaking your nose- I think it's better to be safe than to have a knuckle-duster headshot, and go flying into a locker nose-first. Believe me, that happened. It was not good.
I met up with Helen after walking to the canteen with the rest of the JAAM to the canteen. We were only a third of the way through our epic quest for survival, but I needed a Fruit Shoot to keep my cranial clockwork going. I got into the queue, which, surprisingly, wasn't that long. Everyone was probably ill from the holidays- it would make sense, because everyone gets the flu in winter, but this was good because I'd maybe even get time to spare. I had the chorus of 'My Own Summer (Shove It)' by Deftones in my head and I nearly whacked the dinner lady in the face with my air-guitaring. She gave me a very funny look.
I was finally allowed to get a drink after the queue had slowly disappeared and lined up to buy it, when a girl with peroxide blonde straightened-to-death hair and fake tan nudged me back and wedged herself uncomfortably in the line. Brooke. I seethed as one of the people I hated the most stood in front of me, and had a look around. The rest of the JAAM and Helen were waiting at the other side of the counter, sitting at a canteen foldable table. I hand signalled to them silently, watching as they laughed at my impression of Brooke. She turned around and shot daggers at me. With her eyes, of course- though the amount of mascara was enough to kill anyone in a matter of seconds. Then her trail of sight went behind me, and suddenly that overpowering odour of Lynx mixed with a disgustingly vinegary sweat smell made me look behind me, as Brooke's over-glossed gross Barbie-pink lips upturned, exposing her perfect pearly whites. A jock-chav (A mix of both. It's frightening.) named Ryan was standing behind me, his eyes obviously judging me. "Hey honey- haven't seen you in ages! How were your holidays? Come here and tell me about it..." Brooke added an obviously fake shrill laugh, yet still delivered it with sickly sweetness. "That's alright, isn't it Aimee? You wouldn't mind waiting just another minute for my Ryan, here, to buy his slice of pizza, would you?" she added with a smile which made me want to whack her in the face with a hockey stick. How Ryan couldn't see the fakery, I will never know. Maybe he should've gone to Specsavers. All of a sudden I was shoved violently backwards, and swiftly apologised to the person behind me. Ryan. I kicked the back of his thigh as hard as I could, then made a feeble attempt to spark up a lovely conversation with the person behind me, who looked at me like I was a filthy rodent. I mean, I knew I had acne, but come on.
Anyway, I swayed on the heels of my feet, and then when the line got shorter, I fell forward, smacking my chin on the hard plastic floor, pushing the line forward like dominoes. I looked up and saw Brooke glaring at me- boy, if looks could kill, I would have died nine times. She bent down, balancing herself on her high heels and began whispering to me violently- something about her boyfriend Ryan, me being a female dog, blahdy blah etc. I only realised what an idiot I'd made of myself (again) when I stood up and handed over my money. Literally everyone had stopped and was staring, like in that film 'American Werewolf In London', or the Old Gregg episode on the Mighty Boosh. I gulped down my Fruit shoot and walked over to where JAAM were assembled. "Hell, that was probably the least discreet thing I've ever seen. Swift move, Aimee." James said jokingly, and Annabel stifled a laugh. Let's only hope she did that because she's his girlfriend. So, yes, that was about an average break time. All I got out of it was a bruise on my chin, a Fruit Shoot, and a helluva damaged reputation. But as they say, Que Sera Sera, whatever will be will be. Onto ICT.
