I love reading the comment section on this book. You guys are so funny~
You make my day ♡
I want to thank ScreechingLife as well for helping me with this. The Primrose Corgi’s would not exist without her~
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The gym features traditional wooden bleachers positioned by the wall parallel to the entrance; by invisible agreement, most students sit five or ten feet away from one other, providing multiple buffer zones. The floor has been polished to perfection. A netted bag of softballs lay in the centre of the floor. On the adjacent wall, dangling directly below the high-walled windows, was a banner with the sloppily spray painted words ‘Primrose Corgi’s 4 the Win!’
You quickly pick a spot on the edge of the second row and give Élise a nudge in the ribs. “What in the hell are the ‘Primrose Corgi’s’?”
Her eyes roll as though she’s embarrassed to even admit it. “The Primrose Corgi’s are this school’s mascot.”
“Mascot?” You quirk a brow. “Most school’s usually select a dangerous predator to represent themselves rather than a domesticated animal.”
She leans back and crosses one long leg over the other. “This school was founded by the Disraeli family in the eighteen hundreds, and the first Viscountess Beaconsfield had a pet corgi which she adored.” Her eyes met yours. “Need I go on?”
A silent shake of the head is the response you give. The teacher still hasn’t arrived, so you take the time to crane your neck and inspect the other students. There a quite a few faces which are familiar: Jacob, Evie, Cesare, Lucrezia, and...Kadar!
Kadar angles his head in your direction. At first you were taken aback by the ability of telepathy which he seemingly possessed, but then you noticed that everyone else was staring also. Embarrassingly you had physically shouted his name without realising. A heat crept onto your cheeks, but all embarrassment was quickly sucked away when Kadar turned away.
What the hell?
“You must have done something scandalous if you were able to make this school’s very own Ralph Wiggum upset with you.” Élise mused, head cocked in Kadar’s direction.
Yes, but what?
The blowing of a whistle detracts your focus from Kadar. You’ll have to get some answers later, but for right now you have to focus on the teacher in the middle of the room; a vigorous bear of a man in his late thirties. A whistle hangs around his neck and his white polo shirt was tucked into a pair of blindingly red shorts which leave little to the imagination. A name tag was pinned to his front pocket which read: Bartolomeo d’Alviano.
“I am disappointed.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “I came in here expecting all of you to be in uniform, and instead you sit here, letting the time tick by.” He began to pace, shaking his head. “Molto deludente (Very disappointing).” He looked back up. “Why are you still sitting there? Si muova (Get a move on)!”
The bleachers groan under the combined weight of everyone’s sudden movements. The boys shuffle into their separate changing room with enthusiasm, whilst the girls saunter towards their changing room as though they had all the time in the world.
“So,” Élise started, pulling her sweater over her head, “anyone caught your eye yet?”
“Caught my eye?” You know exactly what she’s talking about, but you’re more concerned with the fact that you had neglected to pack accordingly. No gym clothes. Now what were you going to do?
She changed into a shirt with the words ‘Primrose High’ on the front, and a chibi corgi sandwiched between the words. “Don’t play stupid with me, kitten. We all have our favourites. Surely someone has captured your attention, hm? Some dreamboat that has gotten those loins of yours to quiver?”
There was a disgusted noise from within one of the stalls. “Why do you have to be so foul when talking about guys?” Evie’s head pops over the top of the stall and a shirt is dropped into your lap. “Here, (Y/N), you may borrow one of my shirts.”
You blink. “Thanks.” You’re quick to switch into the shirt she had given you.
Élise’s eyes twinkle in amusement. “Who’s being foul? I only used the word loins. Or, uh, does the word quiver make you squirm?” A smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth and she replaces her stilettos with a pair of snow white sneakers. “See, now I could have been really foul and ask something like ‘which guy here makes you want to drop your panties and bend over?’ But I was enough of a lady to refrain from doing that.”
Evie’s nose crinkles as she emerges from the stall, but before she can comment, Élise is back to talking. “And I wouldn’t be acting so innocent if I were you, Miss Frye. We’ve all seen the way you lust after Henry.”
The other girls giggle at the sudden reddening of Evie’s freckled cheeks. Except for you. You blink up at her innocently. “Who’s Henry?”
Élise giggles and strums her fingers atop the bench. “Henry Green. He’s—”
“Nobody!” Evie interjects, slamming her locker shut with more force than necessary.
An awkward silence befalls the group, everyone’s eyes drifting after Evie’s retreat from the changing room. Élise arches a delicate brow. “What’s her problem?”
“I’m surprised you find it necessary to even ask that.” Lucrezia speaks up for the first time today. “Everyone is very well aware that she’s a complete loner and a freak. Along with that idiota (idiot) brother of hers.”
The corners of your mouth tug down into a slight frown. Not only was this girl insulting the two people who have treated you with nothing but kindness since arriving on the island, but everyone else seemed perfectly fine with that.
“You shouldn’t speak that way about them.”
By nature, you were not a confrontational person, so your voice lacked the conviction you wished it held. However, it appeared you have captured Lucrezia’s attention. No backing down now.
Lucrezia turned just as you were rising from the bench. Her painted lips twisted to form a cruel sneer, her eyes burning with an unprovoked hatred. “I would watch you say to me, puttana.”
You frown. You hadn’t a clue as to what you did to deserve this unwarranted abhorrence, but she was seriously upset about something. “Or maybe...you should watch what you say to me.” The words come out slow, but at least they’re steady – which is more than can be said about your heart.
Élise rises from her seat but makes no further movement.
Lucrezia takes a threatening step forward, and you resist the urge to retreat. “Have you slept with him? Did you enjoy it?”
Who? What? Huh?!
You fumble to conceive a proper response to such a crude accusation, but currently your mind was spinning. “I haven’t slept with anyone!” And you weren’t only talking about since being on the island. You’ve never even been in a relationship before. It always seemed like so much effort; The emotional drama, the pressure to impress a potential partner, the expected act of intimacy, and worst of all...having to shave your legs. You shudder. So much bother.
Lucrezia slams her fist against the door of her locker, startling you and everyone else hovering in the background. “You expect me to believe that?! Why else would Cesare be sniffing around you so much?! It certainly aren’t your looks that are keeping him coming back!”
So far, you’ve come to the frightening conclusion that this girl was Fifty Shade of Crazy. And not only that, but she knew precisely where to hit so it hurt the most. Something shrivels inside you as she snarls and storms out of the changing room.
There is an uncomfortable silence left lingering; even Élise has ceased the loud and obnoxious chewing of the spearmint flavoured gum in her mouth. Well that was...something. So the reason behind her incomprehensible contempt was all because her brother – who you didn’t even want to be around in the first place – was speaking to you earlier? Yikes.
Well, at least you can take some comfort in knowing it was nothing personal. Sort of.
The sound of a whistle and Bartolomeo’s booming voice broke everyone out of their trance, and without another word being exchanged, you all shuffled from the changing room and merged with the other students in single file.
“How nice of you to join us, ladies.” His eyes narrow sharply. “Due to the amount of time you all have sprecato (wasted) in there, we will no longer be playing dodgeball. Instead, the remainder of today’s lesson shall be spent running laps.” He gave a powerful blow on the whistle in his hand, the piercing sound forcing a few students to block their ears. “Alla pista (To the track)!”
Groans and grumbles echoed off the halls, as well as the squeaking of shoes as everyone trudges miserably to the set of double doors leading to the track outside. You are the last to leave, however, for you’re far more interested in watching Bartolomeo. The immaculately polished whistle is rolled around in his palm, a strange smile on his face – the type of smile one usually finds on a starry-eyed girl drooling over their favourite fictional character.
“This is my favourite part of teaching, Bianca, darling.” He whispered - or perhaps crooned may be the more appropriate term. “A few laps around the track and they’ll never be tardiva (tardy) again.”
He chuckles to himself and gives a tiny toot on the whistle before he turns and meets your eye. You blink. He blinks. You blink again and swiftly avert your gaze, scurrying outside before he could say anything. That was a sight you could have done without. Were all the teachers at this school peculiar?
You shake your head and join Evie’s side down at the track. She offers a tight-lipped smile in greeting. “You took your time.”
“Yeah, I, um...” Your eyes drift again to the gym, “got distracted by something weird.”
She hums to acknowledge you, but you doubt she was really listening. Undoubtedly she was still upset about what happened in the changing room. Not that you could blame her. You weren’t particularly fond of people snickering in your face either.
“Listen, Evie...I’m sorry about what happened. I shouldn’t have mentioned this Henry person.”
Her stretching exercises come to an abrupt halt and she frowns. “Why are you apologising?”
You falter, mouth opening and closing uselessly for a few seconds. “Oh, I...well, I thought by how you reacted in the changing room that I had offended you somehow...I didn’t?”
Her eyes roll skywards, but not in a way which conveys annoyance. “You’re not the problem here, (Y/N). Élise is. She knows Henry is a touchy subject for me and yet she constantly brings him up in order to get a reaction out of me.” Her shoulders slump. “Though perhaps this is partly my fault for reacting so boorishly. I should know better than to let personal feelings control the course of my actions.”
Hesitantly, you reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need to feel bad about getting upset. Everyone gets angry and do things they don’t normally do.”
“Yes, but I shouldn’t. What lies in our power to do, lies in our power not to do.”
“I’m sure even Aristotle got pissed off on occasion.”
“You knew I was quoting Aristotle?”
You were rather offended at the level of surprise her voice contained. Did you come across as an idiot more often than none? “My Dad is...was...a professor of languages and literature at Columbia University.”
Her eyes widen a fraction. “Really? That’s impressive.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, drawing your attention to the school. “Our father is the English teacher here.”
“I know. I have his class fifth period.” Now you were even more nervous about taking the class. “Hopefully I don’t get on his bad side.”
She laughed a bit. “As long as you do the provided work and don’t talk, then you should be fine.”
The pair of you shared a smile before redirecting all focus to the approaching Bartolomeo.
>>Fast Forward>>
Today was one of those days where you wished you had never rolled out of bed.
What you’ve just been through...torture would have been a more preferable way to spend the past 40 minutes.
A low, guttural noise of disgust squeezes its way past your withered lips as you lollop back to the changing room, peeling the sweat soaked shirt off your back. Gross. How could it possibly be legal for teachers to humiliate their students in such a brutal manner?! Oh sure, it’s no big deal to those that are athletically gifted, but what about the uncoordinated? Year after year, coordinately-challenged students totter into gym class with the disheartening knowledge that an hour of degradation and chafing lay ahead of them.
You plonk down on the wooden bench when reaching the changing room, murmuring words of gratitude. Finally. It was finally over. Your burning muscles and snarling stomach were grateful. Now you can go and stuff your face in the cafeteria with the comforting knowledge that you have more than earned a good meal.
However...there was still the unresolved issue with Kadar. All throughout the lesson, you attempted to speak with him and gain some understanding as to why he didn’t want to speak with you, but every attempt went ignored. It was mind boggling. You haven’t even done anything to him – at least, not that you were aware of. And no else was willing to offer an explanation.
You drown yourself in deodorant before changing back into the proper uniform. Lucrezia gives your shoulder a deliberate shove once you stand, and the pair of you exchange a glare. The day wasn’t even halfway through and already you made an enemy. Guess it wouldn’t truly be high school without some prissy bitch going out of their way to make everyone else’s lives miserable. But no matter. One girl wasn’t going to ruin your day.
Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you give one final check in the mirror, nod, and leave the gymnasium behind.
°•°Result°•°
Boys locker room – Aftermath
“How in the hell did you ever get on the track team?” Jacob gave fellow student, Yusuf Tazim, a friendly shove in the back.
Yusuf flashed a lopsided smile and grabbed at his sweaty headband, ripping it off. “You, arkadaşim (my friend), are simply jealous because I am – as the kids today say – amazeballs!”
He snorted. “Nobody uses the word ‘amazeballs’. Not now, not ever.”
“But I heard you say it just last week.”
Jacob pursed his lips and raked his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. “Yeah, but then Evie punched me and threatened to twist my nipples if I ever said it again.” He flushed when Yusuf burst out laughing, which inevitably resulted in the other boys snickering at his misery. Well, except for Kadar.
He hadn’t said a single word ever since discovering that (Y/N) was to be in the same class as him. He hadn’t seen you in almost three weeks, and then all of a sudden you pop up out of the blue as though nothing was wrong and smile at him. An infuriatingly beautiful smile which he’ll never be able to stop thinking about. He hung his head. There was nothing he wanted more than to spend time with you, but...he was certain that you wished to have nothing to do with him. Why else would you have broken your promise?
“What do you think, Kadar?”
He snaps out of his troublesome thoughts and blinks, looking up at Yusuf. “Think about what?”
The other boy grins and tosses a used towel at Jacob’s head. “Wouldn’t you agree that our British friend here runs as though he’s trying to hold a pencil between his cheeks?”
Jacob interjects before Kadar has a chance to speak. “Laugh all you want, mate, but I don’t need to run. That is why man invented cars.”
Yusuf rolls his eyes but his smile only gets bigger. “You can’t drive either. But moving on,” His eyes drifted back to the young Levantine, “what’s wrong, my tiny foreign friend?”
Kadar finished tying his shoe and stood, tucking his shirt tails into the waistband of his trousers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Girl trouble, huh?”
He froze, unable to prevent the blush creeping onto his cheeks. “No!” His cheeks puffed out in embarrassment when he yelled. “I’m not—I mean, I don’t...there’s no girl in my life.”
“And there never will be.” Cesare smirked and crossed his arms, leaning his weight against the lockers.
The corners of Kadar’s lips tug down into a slight frown. “I have a better chance at getting a girlfriend than you do.”
“You? Non fare l'idiota (Don’t be an idiot). You’re short, brutto (ugly), and have unnatural obsession with Disney.” His eyes flashed cruelly. “Girls find those things a turn-off.”
It was clear to everyone in the room that Cesare’s words were negatively affecting Kadar, if the quivering of his lower lip and glossy eyes were anything to judge by.
“You know what else turns girls off, Cesare?” Jacob spoke up, slinging an arm across Kadar’s shoulders. “That weird fucking Cersei and Jaime Lannister thing you and your sister have got going on.”
The Italian’s face contorted into a look of pure rage, his hands balling into fists by his sides. “How dare you disrespect the Borgia name?!”
Yusuf begins laughing, a silly grin on his face as he points to Cesare. “Don’t you love how it always looks like he’s about to cry whenever he gets angry? It’s Güzel (beautiful).”
Crimson was crawling its way up Cesare’s neck, his entire body visibly shaking as laughter occupied the changing room. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He tries yelling over their deafening guffaws. “No one makes fun of the Borgia’s! No one!”
But no one listened. No one cared.
Infuriated, and humiliated, he swiped up his bag and stormed out of the room.