Lizzi’s Life Lesson #2: always be aware of your surroundings, and people- you never know what or who you’ll come across
Chapter Two
Lizzi Monroe
I wish I could say I had time to reminisce the old days at the park (sorry, my park). But I don’t, because Jared’s an asshole, and Roxie ditched me at the diner (leaving Jared to drive the rest of us to school). It’s almost noon (we have to be at the school by 12:05, have our schedules already, and be in class) and he’s moseying around, looking at his phone continuously, and at this rate, we’re going to be late, or die with how he’s driving. But if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that I, Lizzi Monroe, am never late.
It’s rude.
Even if it’s school.
“Lizzi, stop tapping your foot,” Sophie says from the backseat.
Sarah chimes in, “You could stop glaring at Jared, too.”
I roll my eyes, turning to face them, “And why would I do that?”
“Because it’s annoying,” Jared says, eyes now on the road (big surprise there).
Ally suddenly jumps, curly hair flying, hitting Sarah in the face, “There’s a spot right there!”
“Where?!” Jared yells back at her.
“Right there, you idiot!” I scream at him.
I wonder what we look like to people outside the car- it must look like we’re on a road trip, a big family vacation gone terribly wrong because of our frazzled state. I can’t blame them. We do look a bit...strange. Oh well. Not my problem. Jared pulls into the parking space (parking a little side ways, might I add), and I twitch a little. Not straight...not- “Why do you look like you’re about to explode?” he asks, taking the keys out of the ignition.
“Your parking is about as distasteful as your personality,” I say. His smile says he doesn’t care- all fake, and too bright. I flip him the bird, “Screw you.” Jared mumbles something under his breath, and my eyebrows scrunch together, ears straining to hear him correctly, “What did you just say?”
“You’re hearing things again,” he snickers.
I punch his shoulder. Ally and the others have gotten out of the car by now, and I open my door to follow them. The bell rings then, and I curse under my breath, “If I’m marked tardy, I’m running you over!” I yell at Jared as I run past him to catch up to Sophie. The people inside with the schedules are already heading away, but they stop upon seeing us, looking unsure of how to approach our situation. Frazzled or not, we all look fabulous. Look all you want, you morons. “Hi,” I start, using my award winning smile- that usually catches them off guard- “Last name’s Monroe...I kind of need my schedule?”
“Oh,” the person starts. It’s only then that I realize it’s a boy, and not just a person. He’s not very attractive looking. At all. He’s wearing a trench coat. I shouldn’t have used my award winning smile. This is Ralph- someone I’ve gone to school with for most of my life- and he only gets creepier. I don’t mean to be mean- or a terrible person- but once someone’s left you roses in your locker without your permission, written you a french love letter, asked you personal questions that shouldn’t be asked, and gets a little too close...I think it’s okay to be a little mean. “Here you are Elizibeth.”
What did he just call me?
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“That’s your name,” he replies.
I narrow my eyes at him- hazel boring into ugly brown- “Don’t ever use my full name. It’s Lizzi. Alright?” I’ve used my “motherly tone” as my mom likes to call it. It makes me feel powerful. He flinches away. I repress a smirk. I take my schedule, and smile (a bit smugly- can’t help it after all), “Have a good day.” I refrain from adding ‘kid’ at the end.
Period 1, Mr. Kenway, Art 1, Room A17
Period 2, Mrs. Pond, English 10, Room A24
Period 3, Mrs. Yin, Geometry, Room A19
Period 4, Mr. Buffalo, Study Hall, Room A21
Period 5, Mr. Robinson, Biology, Room C12
Period 6, Mr. Grey, PE 10, GYM
Period 7, Ms. Poirot, French II, Room C27
My schedule does not amuse me. It looks like death, and I’m reminded that that’s what school does to you. It rips you apart, sews you back together- they suck at stitching, might I add- and then they squish you. “Do you need help?” someone to my right asks. I recognize that voice. Didn’t I hear it earlier? I turn, my expression bewildered (at least I assume it is, who knows).
He’s tall (well, taller than me, but that’s no surprise...I’m 5’5” after all…), he’s got weird blond hair- and I say weird because it’s short, but styled in a way that...ugh, go look up a picture of Andy Biersack in early 2014 (please don’t ask why, I beg you), that’s what his hair looks like (but he also strangely looks like him, too, which is making me cock my head to the side in interest)- and he’s got blue eyes that scream I will cause you heart break a thousand times worse than losing your puppy. Wait a second...he’s that guy that knows my name AND speaks French! My cheeks dust a light shade of red- I can feel it, and it makes it that much more embarrassing. “No, no, I don’t need help, thank you,” I tell him, smiling a little. I know it looks forced. Believe me, I know.
“You sure?” he asks, his grin lopsided and playful...teeth white and magnificently straight. My hand twitches, and I fight the urge to slap it off his face. No Lizzi, bad.
“I’m definitely sure,” I say, trying to turn away. But something stops me. And it’s probably because he’s snatched my schedule right out of my hands. The nerve of some people! “Listen, I’m sorry for calling you a bastard this morning, but that doesn’t mean you have to go out of your way to make my life-”
He’s staring intently at my schedule, but when he looks back at me, I feel my heart stop, “For starters, you’re going the wrong way.”
“Oh, well, thank you- but seriously, can I just-”
“And you might want to stop by the office to get a note, because you’re late,” the boy tells me.
“For the love of all things holy, let me finish!” I yell at him, my hands gesturing wildly in front of me as I speak. His eyes meet mine in amusement. “Thank you for your time, but I must be going, and it’s rude to steal other people’s things, so I suggest not doing it again.”
“My name’s Rick, by the way. Rick Collins,” did he just ignore everything I just said? “Thought you’d like to know.”
“Did I ask?”
His brows scrunch, “No-”
“Then no, I probably didn’t want to know. But thank you, anyway. Now I know who to avoid,” I say, smiling. I snatch the paper from his hands, and head to the office to get my note. And not because he reminded me, but because it’s a good idea.
Mr. Kenway’s face is delighted when I hand him my note, and explain myself.
“Well, Miss Monroe, you’ll have to sit next to Mr. Collins, since it’s the last seat left. But don’t worry, you’re by Jared and your other friends,” he tells me, smiling. He walks away to help another art student.
Who the fuck is Mr. Collins?
“Jared, where’s my desk?” I ask, noticing that he’s working on hands (the hardest part of drawing anything, might I say...in any medium).
“He just told you,” Jared replies, not looking up from his paper.
“You know how well I pay attention,” I say, raising my eyebrow. “Just tell me the desk number, or I’ll go ask Emily.”
“Then go ask Emily,” he says.
I kick his desk, “Please, Jared?”
He sighs, “A15.”
“Thank you!”
“Yeah yeah,” he responds, waving his hand at me to leave.
My desk is right by the mirror, and I catch my reflection as I set my bag on the ground. My dark brown hair is falling out of the pony-tail I put it in earlier, and my cheeks are still flushed from earlier, too. I narrow my eyes at myself, turning to face the other side of the room sharply, and-
Where have I seen that look before?
A boy is looking at me like I’m some sort of prey- it makes me feel really uncomfortable. I raise my eyebrow at him, and he smiles smugly. Wait.
“Oh, fuck,” I hear myself say, and his smile grows wider.
“Hi,” he practically purrs. It’s the boy that snatched my schedule right from me. Didn’t he say his name? I don’t remember.
“Who are you again?” I ask, and I try not to laugh when his beautiful- no, Lizzi, no- face drops, and is now holding the expression of shock.
“We just talked-”
I shake my hand at him, “I know who you are, I just don’t remember your name.”
“It’s Rick,” he tells me, looking somewhat confused. What can I say? I’m distracted easily. And besides, if he wasn’t such a douchebag, maybe I would’ve remembered his name.
“Oh,” I say, blinking at him. “How do you know my name? You’ve said it twice today.”
The boy- oops, sorry, Rick- just smiles again, and a shiver runs down my spine. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me...I need to run away, “We had baking together last year. You were cute,” he tells me, eyes sparkling with mischief. Oh dear kami.
I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and my chin tilt upwards, and lips pursing in an awkward thin line. My heart is beating on overdrive. Lizzi, stop. Just because some beautiful freak said you were cute, does not mean you get to blush over it, and act embarrassed. HE IS JUST A BOY WITH A SET OF PRETTY EYES AND SOME DAMN GOOD TEETH.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Why do you look so upset?” Sophie asks me after school. She has her flute in hand, and is looking at me with what little concern she can muster. At the moment, we’re heading to Murphy’s to catch up with everyone before we go home. It really isn’t that far, to be honest...I just wish I had a car. And a license. But, you know...priorities and what not.
“Therewassomekidwhoruinedmyentiredaybeausehe’saterribleperson,” I mumble angrily, scuffing the sidewalk with my sandaled foot.
She looks at me weird, clearly having no idea what I just said, “What?”
I sigh, looking at her, “There was some kid who ruined by entire day because he’s a terrible person. Oh, Sophie, it was horrible!”
She nods her head, pushing her glasses more up her nose, and then I see her evil expression. Oh no. “I’m sure it was,” she teases.
I groan, “It’s not like that- no matter who attractive he is!- his personality is that of a cats!”
“Don’t you like cats?” she asks.
“That’s beside the point-”
Sophie laughs, “Is it?”
I groan again, “You’re impossible. But seriously, once you see this guy, you’ll understand. Ugh, it was so embarrassing this morning! I cursed at him in French, and he understood!”
“Sounds like a keeper,” she laughs once more, smiling this time, and it reaches her eyes too, so I know it’s genuine.
“You hate French,” I point out, stepping over a crack in the cement.
She replies, “So do you.”
That is also true. But again, beside the point. After first period, we continued on with our shortened classes, and I found that I had four of them with...oh, what’s his name? I think it’s Rick. Art...study hall, gym and French. I sigh, and look at Sophie, and whine some more, “I have most of my classes with him, Soph…”
“Was he the kid in French that sat next to you, and kept nudging your foot with his?” she asks, scrunching her eyebrows together.
“Yes,” I reply angrily. After sitting next to me, and then nudging my foot with his, he’d leant back in his chair and twirled strands of my hair between his fingers. I had gotten so angry that I literally pushed him sideways so he fell. Luckily, Ms. Poirot didn’t notice. He excused himself in an orderly fashion, but I could see him wincing out the door, and my ego had soared.
“He’s attractive,” she says. I ignore her smug look.
“Just because he’s got the looks doesn’t mean he’s got the personality,” I mutter. “He’s a total douchebag-”
Sophie elbows me in the side, hard enough that I cringe- I hope I don’t bruise. “Lizzi...shut up,” she says under her breath, lips barely moving.
“What, why?”
“Hello,” she says politely to someone. Her head is craned to get a better look. My eyes follow hers. I feel the blood leave my cheeks, face pale with humiliation. How much had he heard?
It’s Rick...and some scary looking kid behind him...he’s glaring at me. How rude.
“Hi,” Rick responds, smiling brightly, he turns to me, his eyes glinting in the sun, “Lizzi.”
“Rick,” I say in a monotone.
He just laughs, shaking his head, and then they walk away. The scary kid behind him still glaring at me. Okay then....well, I think this whole thing just got a whole lot more awkward.
Yay.