Chapter Eight
“Dylan!” I yelled to the boy a few feet in front of me. He turned around and smiled, walking back over to me.
“Hey, babe,” he said.
“Do you know where AP Biology is?” I asked, hating the fact that I had to lift my head ever so slightly to look him in the eye. I hate it when people are taller than me.
“Aren’t you going to get arrested for talking to me?” he asked, eluding my question.
“No,” I shook my head.
“Where do you need to go?”
“AP Bio,” I repeated, hoping that I wouldn’t have to seek help of yet another individual.
“Yeah, I think I know where that is,” he nodded. I smiled, picking up my pace so we matched strides. “So, how was your first full week at Madison? How far did it not exceed your expectations?”
“Actually, it was good,” I said lightly, thinking back to how the week had flashed by. I had spent majority of my time with Lauren, Tara, and Alice. They were nice. Not whom I would generally choose to spend my free time with, but they were nice. A little on the strange side, but they were nice. I would’ve been more in my element talking to someone like Dylan, but I survived.
“You’re lying,” he commented, half catching me. “On a scale of one to ten, how sucky was it?”
“One being the suckiest?” I questioned, as we continued to walk down the long length of halls.
“Yeah.”
“Uh… four and a half,” I answered.
“That good?” he asked skeptically. I laughed, as a thought crossed my mind. If Dylan knew who I really was, would we seriously be having a conversation about my week right now, or would we be talking about the best basketball players of all time? It wasn’t worth it, but what if…
“The people here are very… nice,” I determined.
He let out a low laugh, as his entire face was engulfed in the emotion of joy and disbelief. “No, they’re not.”
“Maybe the ones you know aren’t, but so far I’ve only had positive interactions with others,” I said, putting the other strap of my backpack over my shoulder, something rather atypical for me.
“Who? The three bitches and the Prince of Prepville?”
“Lauren, Tara, and Alice are all sweethearts, as is Eric. They’re nice,” I said, having a surprisingly strong defense to people I barely knew.
“I’ve known each of them since kindergarten, and believe me, they’re not ‘nice’,” he said, nodding at someone as we passed.
“They are,” I objected.
“You’re cute, you know that?”
“They’re nice,” I reiterated, ignoring his comment.
“Like really cute.”
“Shut up or I’m not going to talk to you,” I threatened.
“Most girls would say thank you.”
“I’m not most girls,” I said firmly.
As we went through the multiple corridors, turning every so often, we discussed the pros and cons of the school. Dylan wasn’t a fan of the people, teachers, or institution itself. I claimed that it was an okay school with okay people and okay teachers (which was partially a lie). It wasn’t the best school in the world, but it wasn’t the worst. If I had to survive ten months, I could. It wouldn’t be that hard.
Suddenly, he stopped in the middle of where we were walking. I too halted, no having the slightest clue as to where we were going. He tossed his backpack on the ground, and kneeled down to retrieve something. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but waited patiently for him to finish.
After taking what felt like an eternity, he slung his bag over his shoulder, and held something in his hand. Once I took a second to analyze the object that he was holding, I realized it was merely a bottle Gatorade.
When I was younger, I lived on Red Bull and Gatorade. Those two drinks were the majority of fluids that made their way into my body. It was something about the fact that they were for athletes that I was drawn too. Also, the people around me were drinking them everyday so I was slightly pressured into drinking them. I liked the taste, and they were simply a part of my everyday life.
As I got older, energy drinks and I grew apart. It wasn’t that I had lost the taste for them, but more the people who had introduced me to them I had lost. We grew apart…
Dylan unscrewed the cap on the bottle, and shoved it in his pocket. He took a large gulp of the red liquid, and then began walking once again, the cylindrical container remaining in his hand.
“Want a sip?” he offered, as I realized I had been staring at the bottle.
“No, I’m f-” I started to object.
“Here,” he said, interrupting me, and placing the drink in my hand. I looked at it doubtfully, and then at Dylan. He nodded, assuring me it was fine if I took some. I wondered if my drinking Gatorade would affect his opinion about me, but dropped the thought immediately, the red fluid practically calling my name.
I drew the container closer to my mouth, and went for it. My lips grazed the top of the bottle, and I tilted it at a thirty-five degree angle up. Rapidly, the sweet taste of the red Gatorade made its way into my mouth, and dripped down my throat. It tasted great, and brought back a fond memory of the first time I had drank this bright flavor…
I was about six at the time, and we were at lunch in my elementary school’s cafeteria. I was sitting with my group of five or so close friends, (all of whom were boys) and we were discussing our favorite dinosaurs and baseball players. Then, one of the boys extracted a brightly colored bottle from within his Spiderman lunchbox. It caught my attention, so I questioned what it was. He told me, “Red Gatorade”. I asked to try some. He obliged.
On that day, I was wearing a white Celtics shirt with a green basketball in the middle. I remember, because on that same day, my mother forced me to get rid of the shirt due to a red stain I had somehow acquired from drinking the Gatorade- red Gatorade.
“I guess someone likes Gatorade,” Dylan laughed, as I gave him back his drink.
“Eh,” I shrugged, smiling.
“You like Vitamin Water?” he questioned, placing the cap back on the top of the bottle.
“Nope,” I shook my head.
“Good,” he said, “it’s nasty.”
“I will attest to that,” I agreed.
“So Liz, how does a chick like you end up in AP Bio?” he asked.
“I’m smart, I guess.”
“Well obviously,” he rolled his eyes.
“What about you,” I said, “what classes are you in?”
“The dumb ones,” he answered lightly.
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Look Liz, I’m sure this hard for you to believe, considering you’re perfect, but not everyone’s a genius,” he said, as I noticed his eyes begin to scan the doors that we were passing.
“Me? Perfect? Sorry but you’ve got the wrong girl,” I laughed.
“You’re blonde, pretty, smart, funny, and from what I’ve grasped in the small amount of time that I’ve known you, pretty cool,” he complimented.
“I’m not perfect,” I said, once again not noting his use of flattery.
“You’re pretty damn close.”
“Oh Dylan, if you only knew…” I shook my head.
“Well, here’s the room,” he said, stopped his feet in front of the entrance of a room. The number on the door read, “251”. I briefly peered in, determining that I was indeed in the right place after seeing various objects generally found in a lab.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Sure. Have fun being brainwashed,” he said, departing. I watched his retreating figure, and then entered the classroom.