Chapter 2
The lunchroom at my school is always crowded. The line for food winds through the hallways, people desperately waiting to get something into their stomachs. Normally, I'll just snatch something from the vending machine, like pop-tarts or something. But today, I'm not feeling very hungry.
Gripping my book tightly, I make my way over to the library, Michelle and I's official meeting point during lunch. Usually, I'm the first one there, because Michelle is almost always late for everything. But today, I'm greeted surprisedly by the temporarily colored gray haired girl with the washed out jeans and oversized sweater.
"Hey," I manage, setting myself down beside her. She's nose deep into something on her laptop, not paying attention to me, so I decide to just start working on my Geometry homework I forgot to do the night before.
It's not until I'm on the last essay question when Michelle finally says something. "So, I'm working on something," she says, releasing a long sigh, continuously tapping her fingers on the keyboard.
"Working on what?" I question her, my eyes wandering to the dim screen. A picture of a man and a woman holding hands and kissing catches my attention, questions popping into my head. "Is that a ... dating website? Since when do you like online dating?" I watch her fingers move delicately across the keyboard.
Michelle says silent for awhile, making me completely sure she didn't hear me, but I don't bother to ask again. She just keeps on typing, stopping every once and awhile to think and take a bite of her turkey sandwich. Instead of picking a fight, I decide to go back to finishing my homework.
Why do they make us learn this stuff anyways? I ask myself, rushing through the questions without thinking twice. It's not like I'm going to use all of this in real life. Everything in this textbook contains some sort of formula that I'll never use unless I decide to become some sort of rocket-scientist or veterinarian. And since the odds of that happening are slim ...
"It's not for me," Michelle states, drawing me out of my boring conversation with myself about math. With one last click of her mouse, she turns to look at me and smiles brightly, like she's just given me two million dollars and expects appraisal.
"What?" I ask, making her smile fade a little.
She rolls her tongue around in her mouth and turns her computer screen in my direction. I furrow my brows, not getting at what she's trying to tell me. My eyes scan the page, looking at the identification tab. The name reads Quinn Nicole Anderson; age 17; single.
As soon as I go to open my mouth, Michelle turns the computer back towards herself and holds out her hand, motioning for me to be quiet. "Look, I know this might seem a little bit unhelpful and stupid," she starts, talking really fast to keep me from interrupting. "But I think it's the perfect thing for you! I sent you the username and password for your account, so you can log on on your own time. Just take a change Q! I mean, this could be your ticket to homecoming!"
I sigh, taking a moment to think this over. "Suppose the guy I meet isn't from our school," I say slowly, rolling my eyes at the thought of talking to anyone from this trash can of a school. "And can't you just give up the idea of homecoming?! If it makes you feel better, I already have a date with my couch. And he's already bringing the snacks."
Michelle scoffs. "You can't just put off being in a relationship forever."
Gathering up my books and pushing a strand of hair behind my ear, I utter, "Watch me."
"Quinn!" She whines, pulling on my wrist and preventing me from getting up. "Come on! I'm just trying to help you! It's not like I'm just flinging some random guy on you."
"You know what, you're right Em," I tell her matter-of-factly.
Her face brightens up, and she squeals excitedly.
"You're flinging millions of boys into my face and forcing me to go to homecoming with someone I've never really met," I say coldly, shaking her grip off my wrist and pushing myself up off the carpeting.
Her face sags and she opens up the website again, scanning through. I push my bag up on my shoulder, fixing my hair up into a high ponytail to prevent it from getting caught in the strap. "You won't even try it?" Michelle asks glumly, taking her eyes off the screen and her gaze setting on me. "I'm just trying to help you. It feels great, you know ..."
"What does?"
"Love," Michelle states, her eyes getting glassy. "It's the best feeling in the world."
Michelle has been in various relationships, guy after guy after guy. I would always wonder why she did it, but I never wanted to ask her. It seemed like she knew what she was doing, so I didn't bother to question that. "But how do you know what love feels like?" I ask quietly, trying not to make my voice sound accusing.
Michelle just sighs, closing her laptop and holding it close to her chest. "It's hard to explain," she says, looking in the distance at nothing in particular.
I look at her with worrisome eyes.
"Q, you know I've been in, like, dozens of relationships ..." Michelle says patiently.
"I thought they were just pointless," I told her, sitting back down beside her. "Like, just to keep you company."
Michelle looks confused, tilting her head to the side. "They did mean something," she snaps. She sees the hurt in my eyes, and the next thing she says softly . "Some of them were pointless, don't get me wrong-"
"Like Derrick Williams," I mumble, earning a laugh. "I honestly don't know why you-"
"Okay!" Michelle interrupts. "Okay, can we not talk about that right now? I'm pretty sure I can tell what guys I've dated before that I probably shouldn't have."
I laugh, giving her the chance to speak.
"But there have been some I remember that were really close to it. But, that's not what I want to be talking about right now," she says quickly. "All I want you to know is that I don't want you to be missing out. That's all."
I watch her shrug her shoulders, giving me a sympathetic smile. I wanted to ask her so many questions, like who she thought she dated that was good enough for her and made her feel loved. I wanted to ask her what made her change from being that shy, innocent goth girl I knew in eighth grade to being this courageous, independent, and apathetic woman who couldn't give a damn what everyone thought about her. She could be with millions of guys and get called names like slut and whore and act like everything was normal and life was great. I wish I was more like her. Without the guy part.
"Hello?" Michelle asks, waving her hand in front of my face. "Wake up bitch!"
I shake my head, coming back into reality. "Sorry," I tell her, looking down at my lap.
Michelle sighs for about the millionth time. "Look, it doesn't matter to me anymore. You'll take interest in guys when you're ready. Just think about the website, though. It may be able to help you." She gets up, brushing off the back of her thighs and clinging tightly to her laptop. "See you in fourth period gym?"
"See you," I reply, watching her walk out of the library with her lunch bag in one hand and laptop in the other. After a few moments, I relax and inhale the dusty smell of the library. Michelle and I picked this spot sophomore year, when we had the confidence to move to places other than the lunch room. This was mostly because she was so shy and afraid of getting yelled at. All Michelle wanted to do freshmen year was hide from the upperclassmen and act like she wasn't even there.
The library was barely ever crowded; the only people who were regularly in there was Mrs. Hicks, the English teacher, and Mr. Allen, the math tutor. We talked once and while, about what books we've read and how old the library seems because of all the dusty books. I kept telling her that Michelle and I would come here after school and dust everything for her, but I never really brought up the energy. Plus, after school the library was crammed with people trying to finish their homework in peace.
After about fifteen minutes of inhaling and exhaling the smell of old books and musty carpeting, I decide it's time to head back to my locker to get out my books. All of a sudden, the bell for third period rings loudly in my ears. The sound frightens me, making me jump up and drop my geometry textbook on the ground. I groan, bending over to pick it up.
"Need some help?" Someone from behind asks me. At first I thought it was Mr. Allen leaving the room early to get some coffee, like he usually does. But instead, it's someone knew.
"Um, no-" I stammer, struggling to pick up my notebook paper. "But thanks." I shove my textbook under my right arm and look up at him. He was tall, with long-ish blond hair, the roots looking a bit brown, and blue-ish green eyes. He had on a long-sleeved white shirt (even though it's over eighty degrees out) with tight black pants and all black vans. His face was oval-shaped and his teeth were pearly white. I was sure I had never seen him before, especially in this library.
"That bell," he starts, "it gets me every time. I'm still not used to it." He had a little bit of an accent, but I couldn't figure out what it was.
"I know," I tell him, looking around the library, watching students pile in. "So, I should probably get going."
He nods, watching me shuffle my books in my arms. "Yeah. Oh, I'm Niall. By the way," he adds, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Nice to meet you, Niall," I reply, smiling politely.
He raises his eyebrows.
"Oh! Um, Quinn Anderson," I tell him, my brain completely clouded. He nods his head slowly, turning on his heels and waving as he walks towards the back.
"Nice seeing you, Quinn," he adds as he disappears in the tall shelves of books.
I laugh, shaking my head and making my way towards my period.
Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Sorry it was so short, I'm sort of rolling with it and seeing where everything takes me. Don't forget to VOTE & COMMENT lovelies! xx
-Sara