Our route was mapped in our heads, followed so often that we rarely had to think for our feet to move across the pavement. Every single morning, we’d walk this path – the only exceptions being rainy days and days when a parent offered a ride for us. It wasn’t often that we got drives to school; my parents both commuted to work downtown by seven in the morning, at least an hour before school starts.

One of the points on this path we followed (weaving through various shortcuts in the little suburban maze we were so familiar with) was Meredith’s house. She was honestly the best female friend I had, which is actually pretty strange since I haven’t known her so long as I’ve known most other acquaintances.

She came from the same elementary school Sebastian and I came from, but we didn’t really talk to her – to be honest, she was who you’d generally classify as popular. I mean, she was in this group of friends that grew up together in that same community, so they basically just saw each other as friends, but when viewed by lesser tiered people like me (Seb played soccer and hockey, common sports for our community, so he obviously wasn’t a wallflower), they were definitely lucky. There’s a big difference between starting off a grade with a bunch of kids you’ve known for years (who all just happen to be attractive and/or athletic) and being that one new kid who knows one or two people beforehand – you don’t want to be the latter. When people confidently know more people, that confidence makes them so much more outgoing! They were all just best friends, so they didn’t have to try to impress anyone (but everyone loved them anyways!), and teachers already loved them because they worked hard, were adorable, and had older friends. Clearly, I studied their behaviour.

Now, I had always found an interest in creative writing (obviously) so I was a bit of a bookworm; I was that sarcastic, reserved, awkward girl who spent more time playing video games and reading Garth Nix and J.K. Rowling novels than buying expensive clothing. Somehow, during the summer, the social ties between Meredith and me connected – like solving a maze from both ends at the same time to find the centre. We had this amazing conversation about writing, blogging, Harry Potter and awkward moments – it was really awesome. Mere was always amazing with literature in school, and she always had this amazing skill of putting so much effort in all of her work, but I didn’t know we had so much in common. Once high school started, we became amazing friends; we hung out pretty often, talked about the stupidest things, and laughed at each others’ laughs on the phone. Contrary to the arbitrary examples I have just presented to you, I feel we had a rather intellectual friendship.

Meredith lived in a cute, semi-detached house on a crescent road near the school. Somehow, the house in itself was cute: perennially, it had its Christmas lights on (which was actually insanely practical when compared to the struggles my parents faced decorating every year); it had a smell that was clean and warm (can something smell warm? I don’t even care) and everything in and around it was so organized – even her room was glorious, in comparison to mine. By the time we stepped onto her driveway, she slipped out and locked her door, joining us before we even had to climb the rest of the asphalt and the four steps to her porch.

“Good morning!” Honestly, this chick was so cheery all the time, it was almost sickening. But, then you remember that she is adorable – nobody can hate someone so cute. I’m not even kidding; there is no one who can find any reason to hate her. For one thing, she’s Asian – apparently people have a fondness for Asians and their hardworking mentalities – for another, she had probably one of the greatest personalities ever – she could make a glass of water and a packet of salt seem totally interesting and hilarious. And did I mention she’s adorable? Right, let me bring that up again with a full explanation: Mere is cute by nature. It’s like the blob of grey matter that is her brain is, aside from housing all the ingenuity that she possesses, is subconsciously causing her to lure people in to her like a prostitute – except not, because prostitution is illegal and wrong. Her voice is a soprano, and maintains all the sweetness of a cheery voice but isn’t dreadfully annoying they usually are. When she’s happy but has not much to do, you might catch her with her lower lip jutted forward, and then her cheeks puff up and her eyes get bright – but her eyes are dark like the deepest depths of hell.

I’m kidding, she’s like one of those cute teacup puppies that you just want to kick across a field but hold close to you at the same time.

That was satire; I do not partake in any form of animal abuse.

When we got to school, Meredith and I separated from Sebastian and continued up the stairs to our lockers; our school ordered lockers alphabetically at the start of every year so those with surnames A – F were on the third floor, G – M were on the second, and N – Z were on the first. Sebastian Nathaniel Williams, Meredith DeGuzman Garcia and Charlotte Amelia Harrow – it was apparent where we were to go. There was no real ceremony when we went different ways, though, since we weren’t those sappy kids who hugged with every independent decision.

My locker was nearest to the stair doors on the second floor, so we always went there first. Mere followed behind me as I opened it and balanced my backpack on my knee. Within minutes, I had taken the books I needed and dropped off the ones I didn’t and we were off again, casually strolling down the hall to her locker. Although we were always earlier than necessary, by the time we reached her locker, a mysterious surge of people would just start filling the halls – I don’t know if they trickled in one by one while I was distracted, or if they really did flood the halls like a consistent stream, but ten minutes before first period, a lot of people just suddenly showed up.

“I had so much homework last night,” Meredith said, frowning. She was always up until at least midnight and slept well into the afternoon, if not for her alarm clocks.

“I just never do my homework,” I shrugged, leaning on the locker next to hers and smiling. Ah, yes, procrastination. Homework skills don’t actually influence your percent grades in any classes, and universities don’t really pay much attention to the amount of time you did your work if you’ve got a good overall average, so I didn’t bother; as soon as I understood the work, I stopped practising it.

“I hate you. I would like to strangle you and submerge your already-asphyxiated body in water and just watch your squirm.”

A complacent grin found its way to my face and I couldn’t help but let it stay – Meredith was the biggest perfectionist and knowing I was getting relatively good marks and didn’t have to work too hard for them. I think that would make anyone happy.

“So anything new with Olly?” She asked as she stared into her bag.

I felt my face turn red and my chest tighten considerably. “No.” I replied and she gave me a sympathetic look anyways. Olly was Oliver, the guy I’ve been “dealing with” since summer. He was pretty talented in swimming and anything music, so I always ran into him in any music store or at the pool. I obviously had a crush on him, and we progressed into being pretty good friends, but when this year started, everything changed. I’d almost forgotten: Oliver West-Laurent was practically off-limits to every girl in the school, just because almost every girl in the school liked him, especially Victoria Hutcherson-Boult, ex-best friend and little miss bitch. I was surprised he still remembered my name, and called on me with greetings whenever he saw me, but that soon died down. Someone told him I liked him and he told me he wasn’t sure of his feelings. Basically, to any girl, that translated to “no, sorry, I don’t like you, but I don’t have the guts to tell you that to your face and I probably don’t want you to stop liking me so I can make your life hell while I flirt with everyone else”. Okay, Oliver was just a nice guy, but it basically went like that. And now I was looking for opportunities to talk to him again, to at least reclaim our friendship.

“It’s okay; he wasn’t that great, anyways.” Mere told me with simplicity.

It was a typical friend thing to say, and I was about to reply with some quick remark about how he was good enough for everyone else, including Vickie, when I realized she was only trying to help. God, I hated when I felt like such a prick to everyone.

“Uh, ’scuse me.” A voice called from behind me, cool and a little husky, and it made me jerk away from the locker apologetically, forgetting momentarily that other people used lockers, not just my Asian friend and me.

“Maybe you’ll find someone else.” She added as she reached down in her locker for a calculator or something.

“Yeah, sure, because people just fall out of the sky, right?” I retorted, nearly hitting the guy in front of me.

It then occurred to me that I’d never seen that guy at that locker before. In fact, as far as this year started, I’d never seen anyone at that locker. Now that I had see him, I couldn’t help but stare a little; he was extremely attractive, in a rugged way (but not in the bear-fighting lumberjack way, mind you). He was easily an inch or two above me, clad in a grey, zip-up hooded sweater over his uniform, a skateboard crooked beneath his arm. His hair was short, black and mostly covered by a charcoal beanie; a quick glance to his right showed me he had incredible blue eyes and scars along his jaw cheek. Aside from the injury-based markings, his face was like a canvas unmarred. I looked at Meredith and she shrugged at me – my eyes asked, “Who is this attractive boy and how have I not seen him before?!” and hers said, “I really don’t know and yeah he’s cute but he’s not Asian so personally I couldn’t be bothered with him.”

In awkward situations like this, I stay quiet and pull out my phone, flipping through old messages and pretending to send texts – it’s a pretty obvious plea for help, but it works, too. Soon enough, the attractive guy was gone and I was finally about to ask (out loud, just in case Mere hadn’t gotten the messages my eyes had tried to send): “Who was that?” She didn’t answer right away, making sure to close her locking and sling her denim, messenger bag over one shoulder. A coy look flickered on her face and her answer was matter of fact.

Labels: nanowrimo