Читать книгу The Fragile Ordinary - Саманта Янг, Samantha Young - Страница 10
ОглавлениеI lost my focus today.
He was the cause.
No ordinary Monday.
’Til it turned out it was.
—CC
Quite without meaning to I found myself thinking about our new student for the rest of the morning and hoping to find him in my other classes. To my disappointment, I didn’t see him in my next class, or during morning break, or in my third class.
Come fourth period I was sitting in Higher English at a desk by myself because Steph had gotten to class before me and bagged the seat beside Vicki. Vicki gave me an apologetic look as I surveyed the room. It was either take the empty desk at the front of the class or take a seat next to Heather. Even if she hadn’t been glaring at me with a clear piss off expression, I would have taken the dreaded front table and sat without a partner.
The teacher, Mr. Stone, was my favorite. I’d had him in first year and again last year. When I saw his name on my curriculum this year, I was so happy. He was one of the few teachers invested in my work, and whatever I wrote, he seemed to get it. He was always encouraging me, and even though I was pretty sure I’d die of mortification if anyone else actually commented on my work, I didn’t mind when he did. It never felt like a criticism, only an effort to make me a better writer. Still, I hadn’t had the courage to show him my poetry. I didn’t have the courage to show anyone my poetry.
He looked up from reading the register, probably counting to see if we were all there, and blinked in recognition when he saw me sitting up front. Mr. Stone smiled. “Comet, it’s nice to have you back in my class.”
I smiled in return and nodded—I hoped in a way that expressed I was glad to be there, too.
“It looks like we’re missing one.” Mr. Stone’s gaze swept around the room. “Tobias King?”
“Oh, he’s new, Mr. Stone,” Heather piped up. “He’s probably just trying to find us. I saved him a seat.”
At that moment, Tobias sauntered casually into the room and my breath caught again.
Seriously. What was that?
That weird fluttering in my belly was back. I’d heard Vicki talk about how Jordan Hall, a college boy on her street, gave her butterflies every time she saw him. And Steph had butterflies over a new boy every three months.
Was this...was this that elusive crush?
Don’t get me wrong; I’d had crushes before, but usually on actors and characters in books. They gave me a giddy, girlish ache in my chest. This was different.
This was nausea-inducing fluttering and an all-encompassing feeling of awareness.
Dammit.
This wasn’t supposed to happen to me until college, where I’d miraculously develop some social skills, or find a like-minded guy with an equal lack of social skills.
“Tobias King, I presume,” Mr. Stone greeted him. “I’m Mr. Stone. You get a pass on being late today because you’re new, Mr. King, but tomorrow I expect you to be here on time.”
“Sure thing.”
“Tobias, over here.” Heather waved at him.
I suddenly remembered that Vicki said Tobias and Heather had snogged the faces off each other at her party the night before. Feeling deflated didn’t stop me from studying his face when he saw her. Indecision and wariness seemed to flitter over his features before he cleared his expression and walked over to slide into the seat next to her.
“Right, now that we’re all here, let’s get started.” Mr. Stone walked over to the pile of books on his desk. “This year we’ll be covering one play, one novel and a number of pieces of poetry. First term—” he lifted up one of the books to face us “—we’re studying Hamlet for the critical essay part of this year’s exam.”
There were several groans around the room, and I rolled my eyes. Who groaned at Shakespeare? Uncouth, uncultured, uncivilized barbarians, that’s whom.
Mr. Stone started handing out a book each to us, and I took mine with a smile.
“Have you read it, Comet?”
I nodded. I’d painted the words To Thine Own Self Be True above my headboard in my bedroom.
He smiled back at me and then continued on, handing out the play to everyone.
I flipped open the copy, hoping the lure of Shakespeare would be enough to distract me from the beautiful boy behind me. This was English class. The only place at school I felt at home.
Tobias King wasn’t going to fluster me or divert my attention from Mr. Stone and a class I loved.
* * *
Considering how disturbed I was by the thought of having a crush on a boy at this school, I was almost grateful for what happened next.
It was after lunch and I was heading to history. The wide corridors were filled with students milling around or walking to their next class. As usual I was slipping through the crowds anonymously when I saw him coming toward me.
My heart started racing in my chest.
He really had the most gorgeous smile.
And then I realized who he was smiling at.
Stevie Macdonald. And with Stevie were his crew of borderline delinquents.
Huh.
That surprised me. To be honest it surprised me Stevie was still in school. I’d have bet everything I owned that he would have dropped out as soon as he turned sixteen. His friends, too. But nope. There they were.
What surprised me about Tobias hanging out with Stevie was the fact that Tobias had to have achieved good grades at his old school to have been accepted into my Spanish and English classes. Stevie and his crowd weren’t exactly high achievers.
But there they were, messing around like they’d known each other forever.
As Tobias neared me, my breath once again seized in my throat.
And then it was expelled with force when Stevie shoved Tobias and he clobbered me, nearly knocking me off my feet. Thankfully the new guy had fast reflexes. Almost as soon as he hit me, he turned and grabbed my arms to steady me.
“Sorry,” he apologized, and for a moment our eyes met.
My skin burned beneath my shirt where his fingers gripped me, and I found myself entranced by the flecks of gold and blue in his eyes. They were more blue-gray than light gray like I’d thought.
The heat in my skin traveled all over me, and I knew my face was probably on fire.
Damn my pale skin!
Just like that, he let me go and turned to laugh at whatever Stevie had said. I stumbled a little, turning in shock to watch him stride away as if he’d never even touched me, talked to me.
Tobias King was not book boyfriend material! A book boyfriend did not knock the heroine quite literally off her feet and then walk away once they made eye contact.
“Nice,” I muttered, infuriated.
It had been silly of me to think my intense reaction to Tobias King would be returned. He’d been here a day and was already the most popular boy in school.
This was the wake up I needed to shake me out of my stupid insta-crush.
After all I was just Comet Caldwell.
Great big bloody snowy dirtball.
* * *
“I was thinking we could ‘study’ at yours instead,” I air-quoted as I fell into stride with Vicki.
The end of day bell had rung five minutes ago, and I’d caught sight of my friend weaving through the crowds heading out of school.
For some weird reason, Vicki looked unsure. “Why?”
I knew the girls liked hanging out at my place because my parents never bothered us and because I was right on the beach. But I was feeling unexplainably prickly toward Carrie today and really didn’t want to breathe the same air as her. “This morning Carrie either pretended to or genuinely forgot that I’m sixteen years old and have been for a while.”
“What?” Vicki wrinkled her nose. “Babe, she gave you a birthday card. With money in it.”
“No, apparently, Kyle gave me a card with money in it and signed Carrie’s name.”
“That’s rubbish. I’m sorry.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. “Okay. Come to mine, then. I’m sure Mum won’t mind, because today was her day off.”
Vicki’s mum was a general practitioner at the local doctor’s surgery but ever since Vicki’s younger brother, Ben, was born she’d worked part-time. Ben had been a surprise—a happy one—arriving nine years after his big sister.
“Well, if you’re sure.” I wasn’t going to argue.
Vicki’s house was on the way to mine, about a ten-minute walk from school and just a few blocks from the main street in Portobello.
Portobello, or Porty as it was known locally, sat on the east coast of Edinburgh, about a twenty-five-minute car journey from the city center. It used to be a beach resort with fun fairs and rides, but now it was more about volleyball, kayaking, sunbathing, swimming, dog walking and the arts. Years ago, as part of an art event, a steel tidal octopus sculpture had been installed on the beach. During low tide he was completely visible, but during high tide you could see only a tentacle or two.
We had independent stores, cafés and restaurants in Porty, and a Victorian swimming pool with an original Aerotone and Turkish baths. It was a village with identity and personality, and it had a laid-back vibe with a socioeconomic mix of low-to-mid income and mid-to-high income families. There were people who spoke with a more anglicized Scottish accent, like me and my friends, and those like Stevie who spoke in thick Scots. It was a mishmash, and for the most part I loved that.
But that came with problems. I knew some kids who were bullied for having less money than other kids, and kids like me who were bullied for being posh and a swot—a geek, a brainiac, a nerd. Our school had its “good” kids, its overachievers, and then it had the “bad” kids, the disrespectful kids, the troublemakers and the underachievers. Overall, I didn’t interact much with the “bad” kids, as I wasn’t part of their circles, and I liked living in Porty.
That didn’t mean I didn’t have every intention of getting as far away from here as possible when I went to university. And I meant far. My dream university was in the US of A. The University of Virginia. It was really well-known for writing, for its literary magazines, poetry workshops and for its Pulitzer Prize–winning graduates. If that wasn’t enough, the awesome Tina Fey graduated from there! Yes. If it took my blood, sweat and tears, I would become a proud alumna of UVA and no one, not anyone, was going to get in my way of seeing that dream come true.
“You’re quiet,” Vicki mused as we strolled in silence toward her parents’ house.
I shrugged. “Just first day blues, I guess.”
“Or...” She nudged me and grinned. “I saw you checking out the new guy.”
I blushed crimson and shook my head frantically.
“Fine.” She turned stone-faced. “Keep your secrets.”
Frustration gnawed at me. Vicki took it personally when I kept things to myself, but it wasn’t personal. I just wasn’t a sharer. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, however, I sighed. “Fine. He’s good-looking. That’s a fact. Nothing more.”
“Really?” She beamed at me. “Because I thought I saw your tongue roll out of your mouth when he walked into Spanish.”
“Yeah, well, he ruined any illusions I might have had over his crush-worthiness when he nearly knocked me off my feet in the school corridor and then walked away.”
“He didn’t apologize?”
“Well, yeah, but it was like—” I grabbed her arms to demonstrate. “Sorry,” I said indifferently, let her go and strode away quickly. Stopping I looked back at her. “I may as well have been a traffic cone.”
She burst out laughing at my dry tone and hurried to thread her arm through my elbow. “I bet that’s not true. You’re really pretty, Comet. It’s just this uniform does nothing for you. For any of us.”
“Well you always look amazing.”
“He needs to see you as the real Comet.” She squeezed my arm, grinning at me. “He won’t be able to take his eyes off you then.”
It was sweet of her to try to reassure me, but I was over it. “It doesn’t matter. Did you see who he’s hanging out with?” I wrinkled my nose in disdain. “Stevie Macdonald and those idiots. Ugh. No thanks.”
“Stevie’s not so bad,” Vicki disagreed.
“He’s disrespectful to teachers,” I argued.
“God forbid.”
I frowned at her sarcasm. “Your dad is a teacher, Vicki. It should bug you, too.”
“It would bug me if Stevie was disrespectful to my dad or to any of the teachers that give a crap, but I’ve only seen him wind up the ones that clearly are just there to pick up a payslip.”
Realizing we disagreed entirely on the matter, I stayed silent.
She laughed. “Not all of us are afraid of authority figures, babe.”
I wasn’t afraid of authority figures. I just... I respected the adults in our lives who made time to talk to us, teach us things.
God... “I’m such a geek,” I groaned.
Vicki started to shake with laughter, setting off my own, and we giggled all the way to her house.
When we stepped inside the whitewashed bungalow, Mrs. Brown kissed her daughter on the cheek in greeting and then turned to me. “It’s lovely to see you, Comet.” She engulfed me in a hug, one that I soaked up.
I could hear sounds of cartoons coming from the living room, and I could smell something amazing cooking in the kitchen.
Mrs. Brown let me go and smiled at me, taking me in. “You get prettier every day, Comet.”
I blushed furiously, unused to such compliments, and she reminded me of Vicki as she laughed at my reaction. Vicki was a gorgeous blend of her mixed heritage. Where her mum was Caucasian with light hazel eyes and golden-brown hair, her dad was British Black Caribbean with dark umber skin, dark brown eyes and dark hair he always wore close-shaven in a fade.
“Can Comet stay for dinner, Mum?” Vicki asked, and I was surprised how tentative she sounded.
It had never been a problem before for me to stay over for dinner.
Frowning, I watched uneasiness flicker in Mrs. Brown’s eyes before she nodded. “Of course.”
“Will Dad be home?”
Again, Vicki’s tone surprised me.
“He hasn’t said otherwise.”
They shared a look I didn’t understand, and the sudden tension between them made me feel like an outsider. “I really should probably just go home.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Brown smiled brightly at me. Falsely. “But you girls must be hungry now. Let me make you a snack,” Mrs. Brown said, striding down the hall toward the kitchen in the new extended part of the house. As she passed the living room, she raised her voice. “Ben, volume.”
Almost immediately the noise from the television lowered.
I wouldn’t want to disobey Mrs. Brown either. Although she was always kind to me, she had that matter-of-fact, authoritative personality that seemed so prevalent in GPs.
We followed her, not having to respond to her offer because she knew from experience that we weren’t going to turn down a snack. I shot a questioning look at Vicki as we walked, but she didn’t meet my gaze. Hmm.
I waved at Ben, who looked up from the couch as we passed and waved back so enthusiastically that I paused. Vicki’s little brother was quite possibly the most adorable human being in the world, and the only child I’d met thus far in my short life to make me wish my parents had given me a sibling.
“Hey, Comet.”
“Hey. How was school?”
He made a face. “It was okay.” And I assumed my opener failed to pass muster because that was all the attention I was going to get. He returned to eating a banana and watching his cartoons.
I found Vicki and Mrs. Brown in their large, modern kitchen. Whereas our kitchen was the same ugly 1980s-looking disaster that had been in the house for decades, Mr. and Mrs. Brown had bothered to update theirs, and it was all clean lines, white and shiny.
The smell of pot roast made it the most inviting space despite its starkness.
Already in the middle of putting a banana, a sandwich and a cookie on a small plate each for us, Mrs. Brown smiled up at me. “Vicki said you had a particularly good day at school today. What happened?”
I shot a dirty look at my friend and then quickly covered it with a bland smile. “Mr. Stone is teaching us Hamlet in English. Vicki knows how much I love Shakespeare.”
Vicki snorted. “Right. Shakespeare.”
Her mother shook her head, smirking. “I know I’m missing something here, but from the look on Comet’s face she doesn’t want to talk about it so I’m going to let it go.” She slid a plate over to me and then handed the other to her daughter, leaning in to cuddle her as she did so. “Stop teasing your friend about boys.”
While I blushed again at her perceptiveness, Vicki huffed. “It could be about something else.”
“Not at sixteen.”
“Know-it-all.” She rolled her eyes as she moved to the fridge and grabbed us each a bottle of water. “Thanks, Mum.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Brown.” I took my water from my friend so she could take hold of her own plate and then I let her lead the way to her bedroom at the front of the house. Ben’s was just behind hers, and her parents’ bedroom was in the new extension near the kitchen.
Vicki’s room, much like my own, had barely any wall space left uncovered. Film posters, posters of her favorite rock bands and high fashion magazine spreads were pinned to every available space. She had two dresser mannequins, one wearing a half-finished corset-top, the other an almost completed steampunk-inspired dress. A bookshelf beside them held bolts of fabric, pins, scissors, papers and trays filled with beading, sequins and ribbons. Attached to the wall behind the mannequins was a corkboard and pinned to the corkboard were her designs.
My friend was wicked talented.
There were different-colored candles everywhere, and a bed with Moroccan-inspired jewel-tone, multicolored bedding with a ton of Indian silk cushions scattered over it. I kicked off my shoes and got comfy on her bed as she settled at her computer desk and immediately bit into her sandwich.
“Vicki?”
“Hmm?”
“Is everything okay?” My skin heated as I worried I was crossing a line by asking. “Between your mum and dad?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor and she swallowed. Hard. Expelling a weighted breath, she shrugged. “They argued all summer.”
Not knowing what it must be like to have parents that argued since mine rarely did, I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”
Her gaze flew to mine, and I saw the anguish she’d been hiding. “A lot of it is about money. And about me.”
“About you?”
“I’m costing them a lot.” She gestured to the area of her bedroom dedicated to her design work. “None of that comes cheap. Plus, Dad doesn’t think it’s smart to just apply to London College of Fashion and the Rhode Island School of Design. And he thinks applying to Parsons is pointless.”
It was true, Parsons School of Design in New York was one of the best design schools in the world and incredibly hard to get into, but if anyone could, it would be Vicki. I told her so.
She looked saddened rather than encouraged. “Dad wants me to apply for a business degree at St. Andrews.”
I made a face, my stomach twisting with the thought. “No. No way. Vicki, you have to pursue fashion. You’re amazing at it.”
“Mum agrees.” She gave me a tired smile. “Which is why she and Dad have been arguing a lot. Dad thinks it’s all a waste of money.”
“I don’t get it. Your dad was always so supportive.”
“Well, now reality is setting in and he realizes it’s no longer a hobby.” She shook her head. “Never mind. It’ll work out. I’m sorry about Steph in English. I was hoping we’d sit together.”
I moved with the abrupt change in subject, although I was concerned Vicki had been dealing with this all summer and hadn’t told me. And probably wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t felt the tension in the house. Did Steph know? It bothered me to think Vicki had confided in Steph and not me.
Forcing the worry away I just nodded. “You seemed cool with her at lunch.” Even though she’d made our ears bleed talking about the upcoming impromptu audition and complaining that it was unfair for the teachers to have them give unpolished, unpracticed performances. It was only the first round of auditions, however, and she’d get a chance to practice for the second round if she made it.
Neither Vicki nor I had gotten a word in edgewise, but Vicki hadn’t seemed that concerned. Not that she was really a drama-llama anyway.
“Life is too short to get annoyed at Steph when she gets like that.” She shrugged. “Still, I could have used the break from her in class. Plus, I hate that you’re sitting on your own.”
“You know that if I couldn’t sit with you or Steph, I’d prefer to be on my own anyway.”
She nodded but stared in an assessing way.
“What?”
“I just... It would be great if you’d come out of your shell this year. People have no idea how cool you are.”
I chuckled. “Because I’m not. I can barely string two words together around new people and none around boys. Once upon a time you used to be the same.”
My friend gave me a sympathetic look. “I grew up, Comet,” she replied gently.
I flinched. “And I haven’t?”
“Just...just try harder. I think you still think you’re that little kid who couldn’t speak to her parents, much less anyone else. You’re not her anymore. Try. Please. For me?”
I nodded, the ham and cheese sandwich Mrs. Brown had made me suddenly tasting like dust in my mouth. The thought of trying to be more social made me uneasy. I didn’t want to be put in situations that made me sweat under my arms and flush strawberry red like a loser.
I wanted to feel safe and comfortable.
And I didn’t see what was so terrible about that.
THE FRAGILE ORDINARYSAMANTHA YOUNG
