I think it's basic human nature to want to be around something or someone that makes you happy. And through all the new school stresses, I found ease with Camila – only because it'd be too soon to talk about tranquility and just pure, unadulterated contentment.
It'd be a premature assessment with such delicate vulnerability; like a soap bubble, carelessly blown into the atmosphere with hazards as harmless as a soft breeze. And even if it safely lands on the floor, it would burst and would be nothing but a round, soapy outline of the sphere it once was.
It wouldn't be a surprise that I had unconsciously and unceremoniously tucked the crumpled sheet of paper in my backpack like yesterday's news. Camila's notebook continued to lay unattended on her desk and the more I stared at it, the more intriguing it became.
The little paperback would mean a first-hand journey down the realms of Camila's mind through her heart, which were traced by her hand.
It had to be something personal to her, that the entire time I was in front, she'd never even spared me a glance.
At least, I didn't see her look up.
If we were to play whack-a-mole, she'd be the cunning mole I could not pound with the cushioned hammer.
But I knew she'd been writing.
The thought process of art is fascinating. The composition of words – the choice of words – and the thoughts they convey. They could simply be a narration of the writer's day, or a poignant poem with breathtaking metaphors. Either way, they would be a product of the complex labyrinth of the human mind.
Without an audience, they're the most genuine.
Camila and I talked for the remainder of the class.
She graciously asked me questions about the last four years of my life but remained within cautious borders and breathing spaces. None of them were intrusive and she was very respectful.
The most important factor about our conversation was how riveting it was, and just her eyes alone stirred my ability to remain calm.
It was embarrassing how my heart reacted to her. It was like a little child being thrown up in the air, laughing carelessly but knowing that whatever force propelled them there would catch them.
I am going crazy.
I think I need to have a little talk with myself, and maybe scold the giddy girl on a dangerous sugar high that if I allow myself some slack, that girl would ricochet all over the place.
I may or may not have acted like a damsel in distress, and asked Camila to walk me to my next class.
Trying to justify that would be impossible unless I simply say, I wanted to extend our time together after knowing we had different classes.
Yes, I blame the giddy girl on a sugar high because of course, she's not your typical poised Lauren.
But she's still Lauren.
So, blame Lauren.
Camila and I hurriedly collected our books from our separate lockers to be able to compensate for the limited time we had between classes. And while my actions created little bangs and booms within the metal compartment, Camila's were timed and efficient, a mark of a routine her hands had memorized.
We were finally on our way to my next class, navigating our way through the mess of students, determined to get to theirs without delay. I took my time to look for my brother, hoping to check up on him and see if he had a Camila by his side but to no avail. All the while, I attempted to familiarize the white walls and tangerine lockers, and identify it as some sort of a home.
A home of knowledge if I'm being overly dramatic or philosophical.
"Thanks for...talking to me. It made me forget I was in my newest school." Widening my eyes, I mockingly exaggerated the weight of the new environment and even threw my hands in there, wiggling my fingers like I'm some clown. "And for...clarifying things to me. The poem, I mean."
Somehow, I only acted a little goofy to mask my body's horrible reaction to having Camila closer to me.
It wasn't really horrible.
My entire body was just heating up with anxiety at our close proximity. My lungs persuaded me to hold my breath and my heart just decided to deprive my hands of blood, instead, pushing cold sweat out of my pores.
So, essentially, it wasn't horrible.
It was just...a little too soon and well...very unnerving.
Gavin never made me feel that kind of nervous. The anxiety around him revolved around how I looked and how I acted, and if he liked that version of me that I've been showing him.
In simpler terms, I was holding back and cramming myself into a puzzle that I could not fit in.
Camila chuckled and of course, my body's reaction was impressively embarrassing. The sound thrummed my skin, making it ripple with delight.
Delight? Seriously?
"Yeah, no." She shook her head, giving me her sweet, crooked grin. "You don't have to thank me. Anything I can do to help."
Somehow, those over-used phrases sounded more genuine than my boyfriend's profession of love.
Again, Lauren, you have a boyfriend and he thinks you guys are doing great. He thinks you're doing fantastic and Lauren thinks, we're fantastically screwed.
"I needed that." I insisted considering she had no idea of the gravity of her presence to me – to helpless little Lauren. "It's going to be a long day." I breathed, dreading my schedule.
"Are you packed for the year?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm pushing it just so I could graduate before I turn 19." I explained, inspecting her pensive features, and a part of me was flattered that she was listening so intently. "I wanted to regret all the fun I had while travelling but I just can't."
"So, don't." Determined, Camila coaxed a little too passionately. It was a part of her was challenged and she was going to justify her words, and my own in the process. "As much as I absolutely hate the acronym, you do only live once. And if you've used your time for fun, then I want you to just cherish it and never ever regret it. Sometimes, just staying within your safe zone takes away the thrill of living. You never know when the next chance might come, or if it ever will."
Camila was quite worked up and it seemed as if I had hit a certain sensitive topic.
But somehow, she never allowed the impact of the explosion to taint my resolve.
Her words surged with ardor and the same fire crumpled her features, furrowing her brows as tension dug her skin. And as much as I'd like to only stay within the content of her impromptu speech, I found myself admiring the way she spoke.
Camila is opinionated and I seemed to have starting yearning to hear her views and uninhibited thoughts.
I glanced at her in awe. I was spellbound and I have no way in telling how I looked or if my smile was a little creepy.
At least, Camila returned the gesture, and I was grateful to have diffused the tension that was bothering her.
"And whatever happens in this school, just remember not to take it personally." She breathed, seemingly back to addressing my blatant concern. "I mean, whatever teachers say. There's just the one scary teacher you have to look out for and you will figure it out without me telling you. The scolding will throw you off in the beginning, yeah but you will get used to it somehow."
Camila and I shared a laugh. It was preceded by the mischievous curve of her lips, smirking like she knew that there was a trap set up for me and I was about to blindly run into it; submitting myself to my own demise.
And yet, I appreciated the part where she warned me but gave me the opportunity to figure the rest of it out. She gave my autonomy and that's one of the most important factors of a person's growth.
I didn't like being coddled but I appreciate sweet gestures.
In a way, she seemed to have been looking out for me and helped me pave the road but allowed me to explore; to wander with confidence that I'd find my way back.
Camila's heart is in the right place and with her, I have not tucked strands of my hair behind my ears nor have I checked if my clothes were free of creases.
"Thanks?" I told her, unable to wipe the smile off my face.
"Tell me about it when you have time?"
"You'll be the first to know."
Before I could even contemplate on my actions, I had allowed my left eyelid to bat down as my lips molded into a half smile.
Wink!
I was definitely flirting.
Wait 'til the boyfriend hears about this.
Oh, wait. He won't.
Oddly enough, Camila ducked her head – averting my gaze and raised her hand to bring stray tresses behind her ear.
And every bit of my body was screaming, celebrating the achievement of finally making the mountain bow down to me.
Before I knew it, Camila had brought me to an open door that was my World History classroom. She had walked ahead of me, only to swivel in her place and face me completely – a proper goodbye.
"This is it." She breathed, giving me the sloppiest salute I had ever seen afterwards. "My work here is done. Have fun, Lauren."
Dork.
I rolled my eyes despite an adoring smile, silently telling her I may or may not appreciate the little greeting that definitely possessed more than just wishing me a fun filled trip to history.
"Thanks, again." I mumbled, choosing to ignore her playful words. "Have fun in yours, too, Camz."
"You bet I will! Until later, Lauren."
"Later!"
With that, Camila began taking a step away from me but not before giving me a slight nod, a silent farewell.
It isn't much of a surprise that I followed her body as she leisurely sauntered to her next destination. Her hips looked like a pendulum gracefully swaying about, accentuating the enviable curve of her rear. The swell following her slender waist is enthralling.
And suddenly, I was color blind. Everything else lost their color while Camila's shone lustrously, beckoning my full attention.
And Lauren is staring at a girl's body – Camila's gorgeous body.
Huffing, I attempted to screw my head on straight again and decided to activate the part of my brain required to function in lectures.
World History is an overwhelming subject to handle in the early hours of the day. But I'm bound to be sitting in that class eventually anyway, and I figured I should deal with reality while my energy is at the highest.
And yet, I would like to stress the part where it wasn't my choice. Most subjects were filled; the fun ones I liked at least.
I went straight to Madeline Dubose, my middle-aged teacher and introduced myself respectfully, which I preceded with a greeting. She was not the friendliest little character. All that came out of her mouth was "do you have the syllabus", and when I told her I did, she sent me away.
I was really happy she didn't make me introduce myself once again. I could only imagine my horror.
You can have that, Miss Dubose.
For some reason, I ended up sitting in front row, which might not be such a terrible idea when I have to remember names, dates and just everything that I may not care about. I somehow struggle to comprehend lessons if I sit way in the back, where the distractions and attention-seeking bastards, plus human-attention-seeking bastards are rampart.
But if Camila was in a class, it'd be a different story.
Camila.
I swam in my meditation, thinking about the girl I met at homeroom while Miss Dubose carried on with the class. I nodded unconsciously in response to my thoughts as I blankly stared at the whiteboard with a dumb, dreamy smile on my face. There were scribbles on it that I had not really read and I should.
"Questions, Miss Jauregui?" Miss Dubose asked in a harsh tone with her hands on her waist.
She was particularly irritated by my secluded reprieve, leading me to assume that she had a vendetta against grins – and then again, it could have been students who don't pay attention. As her voice boomed through the walls and into the cavern of my head, I realized her question was something more than an inquiry.
It was an interrogation and I was going to jail for not listening to her.
Nerves crawled up my skin, tingling from my chest and out to the rest of my body. Fear is a compelling emotion that twists my gut and agitates my heart.
And when embarrassment is in the mix, it's lethal.
Miss Dubose must be the teacher Camila was indirectly warning me about.
Now that smirk made sense.
That little crap.
Amid my perturbed soul, I fought the urge to smile at the memory and shook my head. Swiftly, I averted the petite woman's gaze and found myself beneath everyone else's.
Way to go, Lauren! And you did it on your first day!
I think I deserved a medal for my achievement.
Miss Dubose merely grunted in her response, introducing me to her signature spiteful stance: an exasperated leer, curling her upper lip as the tension of her furrowed brows pushed it closer to her eyes.
In a way, she was the complete opposite of Mr. Moore. Her energy, her entire aura exuded malevolence that elicited chills to course through my body.
I have never seen her smile; even when I entered the room.
I wondered what had happened along the way, and whatever made her the person that she is. I've always been fascinated by psychology and because of that, I was aware that people don't just become, for the lack of a better word, bitches if their childhood had been happy.
Was it her parents? Was she deprived of love? Did she go through a traumatic experience?
I was curious but had no voice to verbalize my questions.
I had no right to ask anyway.
Sitting by the door and closer to Miss Dubose's table, I realized the reason why nobody ever sat there. The woman is a little bundle of bloodcurdling surprises and her wrath may be stifled if I was at least a row back.
Uncomfortably, I adjusted in my seat and opted to read the syllabus atop my opened notebook as Ms. Dubose continued to talk about Japanese history. It was something about geishas and samurais; quickly summarizing the lessons she had discussed before I showed up, probably as a recap for them to introduce the next topic.
"Jauregui?" A girl to my left whispered, again interrupting my reading. "Your last name sounds familiar."
Unlike Camila's, her hushed voice was clear and distinct, which made her sound to be in complete control of everything; not really feminine but not leaning towards raspy and low either. It sounded a little mature and glided out of her mouth smoother than mine or Camila's.
I looked pleasantly surprised with her statement.
A lot of people usually furrow brows and wait for me to pronounce my last name for them in the fear of butchering it, cutting it to maladroit pieces and hanging them up for sale.
But this girl sounded like she has said it before.
Cagily, of course, upon checking on Miss Grumpy Pants, I glanced at the stranger to see what she wanted while my racing thoughts wondered if I had met the girl before.
My inquisitive and intrigued features were met with a haughty smirk as she released a vicious huff. Without caring about anyone, including Miss Dubose, the girl extended her hand to shake mine.
"Jette. My parents thought it sounded cooler than Janette." She explained, raising unimpressed brows to offer me her defiant attitude that should have intimidated me.
But it didn't.
Jette is the kind of person that I hang out with actually.
I will rephrase that. Jette belongs to the crowd that I hung out with.
She was familiar to me, judging by the way she carried herself. It wasn't Jette per se, it was the air around her.
I liked parties and the carefree people it attracts. I don't enjoy getting drunk but I have been in the past, and let's just say, regret always comes after. I just love the thrill, the fun of momentarily forgetting about internal turmoil that I refuse to confide to anyone about; like, I don't know, my sexuality and how I feel trapped with my boyfriend.
And as for reputations, I had none...except that I loved to dance.
Jette's torso was wrapped in a tight tank top, her bra straps poking out over her shoulders with only her blonde hair to conceal her skin. Her jeans were suffocating her legs, squeezing the life out of them.
Jette. Unique name.
The more the name bounced around and the harder it pounded in my head, the more familiar it became. I probably don't have the best memory but it felt as though I had said that name before.
But when?
"Lauren." I mumbled and offered a toothless grin; slowly accepting her hand and gave it a firm shake before letting go.
"Right." Jette's blue eyes bore into mine as soon as light flickered within them, snapping her fingers with the recollection we both needed to hear.
She could have done it without that devilish grin that's getting increasingly irritating, though. With a face like that, it looked like she always had an ulterior motive – something that I never saw in other people.
I guess I haven't really been out and about enough yet.
"Sixth grade."
It then hit me straight in the head, kind of like the time when the ball landed on my forehead instead of my softball mitt back when I tried playing the sport in middle school. She had just handed me the last puzzle piece I needed to alleviate the inquisitiveness of my soul.
But...I was struggling to remember the particular year, and well, her face.
At least, I knew her name.
"Hold on..." I lifted a finger, taking a sharp breath upon that little flash of memory...of her name. "Janette Zack?"
"Yes!" In her excitement, Jette exclaimed a little louder than she hoped and sure enough, Miss Dubose heard her.
"Is there a problem with the way I teach this class, ladies?" Miss Dubose seethed and her features were crowded by crimson shade of her fury while her eyes bulged out. "It's your first day, Miss Jauregui. I would assume you'd at least pretend to listen to me."
"I was merely showing her the notes I took of your class, Miss Dubose." Jette retorted too calmly as she pulled out the notebook that was lying idly on her desk.
She seemed to be undeterred by the ridiculously intimidating woman that stood before us while I felt as though ice water had been poured from my head and down the entire expanse of my skin.
"In fact, we were talking about studying after school in her house later. Right, Lauren?" Janette turned to face me with a predominantly eerie smirk that made shivers descend upon my spine after the first one I had endured from Miss Dubose.
Perfect combination.
Why don't we go straight to being to close we'd practically be like sisters, Jette?
Confused was only the beginning of the tangled chaos within me. I was quite uncertain as to where the conversation was going.
Jette had just invited herself to my house. Or did she? Something told me she was intending on catching up at some point.
I bet she would love to see all the cardboard boxes lying around. And I can't forget about the still plastic wrapped sofa in the middle of the jungle of a living room we have right now.
Cozy.
"Y...yeah..." I stuttered, obviously debilitated by my teacher's presence.
With Miss Dubose around, I felt as though it was her gaze alone that sunk me deeper in the quick sand Jette had set up for us.
Hurry, Lauren! Snap out of it before you drown.
Frantically, I shook my head in an attempt to jolt my focus away from my own cardiovascular organ, sucking my ability to speak it had managed to take my breath away and dry my mouth up.
"Yes, Miss. She's...she's right. W-We were planning on studying later." I flashed a tight grin that quickly faded when Miss Dubose raised a condescending brow at Jette and I.
The middle-aged woman took her time, making sure to bring all our defenses down or pierce through it.
She was mostly successful. I was practically wounded and on the ground and Jette, well Jette is fine.
Partially satisfied, Miss Dubose turned her back on us and continued on as if she had not just embarrassed me the second time.
Yes, lady, just go and pretend like you haven't killed me.
That's fine.
Camila was right, the first time did throw me off and the second. Hopefully, there won't be any more.
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and checked to see if Jette did the same. But then, I found the girl cackling like a devil, eyeing me as if I was crazy.
What is up with this girl?
I started to consider that she was too much for me. I liked to hang out with girls like her because they were usually just untroubled, happy-go-lucky. But Jette, Jette is something else.
In fact, she screamed trouble and that was the thought that had been badgering me since I laid eyes on her.
And what did I say about distractions?
I'd like to leave Jette in history because the thrill I got from her would consume me until nothing of my real identity is left.
"So, you and Camila?" Jette suddenly asked me as I was gathering my things at the end of class.
A part of me was assuming she was psychic or a secret, creepy mind reader because I had every intention of accidently bumping into Camila in the hallways.
I managed to act as nonchalant as possible, even pursing my lips to sell the act. I kept my relaxed pace, tucking my copy of the syllabus between the pages of my notebook, subsequently tucking it in my bag.
"What about us?" I asked, glancing up at her momentarily as I slung the strap over my right shoulder and fluffing my hair out after some got stuck beneath.
"You seemed close." She vaguely regarded, failing at portraying indifference at how she avoided my eyes.
By the way she turned her head, I was face to...jaw and found it clenching as our conversation progressed.
Either she was exercising her facial muscles or she was uncomfortable to the subject, and something tells me it's the latter.
What did Camila do to her? More importantly, why would a person like Camila be involved with a person like Jette?
I wanted to doubt Camila's sincerity and just her grace, maybe I'm biased because I may have a bit of a crush on her but I was sure whatever part of her she was showing me was genuine.
Jette, on the other hand, has been successful at playing the wicked witch. But they can't always sneer and cackle as they fly away.
And right now, she had lost her façade.
"Oh, she was just helping me get here. You know...I'm new and she was being nice." I explained evasively, in the hopes that she'd steer the wheel of our conversation. "She's really nice."
"Yeah...yeah, she is." Jette scoffed, evening rolling her eyes as if the thought of Camila repulsed her. "She's square. Prissy."
"Excuse me?" I bit, genuinely appalled by her comments about Camila.
I stepped closer to her, daring her to say those words again. My tenacity was back and I was drunk with it.
"Oh, don't mind me. I don't know what I'm saying." Jette shrugged, forcing a smile before grabbing her own bag and began walking ahead. "I'll see you later, Lauren. We're studying together, remember?"
Jette left me dumbfounded and aching for answers as I mindlessly followed her out with no desire to catch up to her. I lingered in my thoughts far too long and I'd attempted to search for answers without clues, leaving me on a wild goose chase.
It shouldn't bother me as much. Camila and I were merely acquaintances at that point.
And yet, I figured she'd mean something more to me in the future.
That thought was the scariest and the most electrifying.