"In Which Reality is a Teenage Purgatory Known as High School"

(Pt. 2)

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Taking my surprised reaction as an opportunity to escape, he tugs at his arm again.

Bad news for him, I don't get disarmed that easily. My grip on him is still as tight as ever. I twist his arm even more.

He grunts in pain and settles to shoving his hand at my face.

"Why you little"— his hand covers my mouth before I can say whatever curse I can spit at him

"SSHH, do you want Crankston or Mathers to find us?" Emile whispers matter-of-factly.

I scowl. As if that explains why he just suddenly decided to grab me and drag me to a dark corner!

"Owie, my wrist," he wheezes.

I exhale heavily and let go of his arm. I raise my hands to show him I don't mean any further harm.

Emile steps back a couple of feet away from me. Puffing at the few blonde baby hairs that float lazily on his big baby-blue eyes, he rolls the sleeves of his gaudily-printed Versace sweatshirt to his elbows.

He rubs his wrist while shooting me a glare as he does so. Like it's my fault!

I scowl. "Don't look at me like that."

He puffs again and raises his pert nose in the air, expecting me to apologize. As if!

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. "You know how I don't take surprises lightly." 

His small thin lips purse, knowing all full well that it was a given fact.

I do not like surprises. Ever.

I stare at him for a second. He guiltily avoids my eyes. Always the lady.

 I sigh again and try to change the subject. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

He looks at me with a poor-me face, his pout even more pronounced with his plump cheeks sucked in and the soft narrow slope of his jaw emphasized.

His bright-eyed gaze is solemn, reminding me of a dewy-faced cherub in an old Baroque* painting with his soft near-feminine features and mid-length blonde tresses, reflecting multiple tones of honey, gold, and butter. 

Oh shit. 

Emile doesn't look like this unless it was serious.

I wait intently.

It's not like he was in serious trouble, right? It was, after all, still the first week of school — too early for him to be expelled or something.

If anything, I still hold the record of being the first to be suspended in this school.

"I'm..." — he swiftly pulls out a long Hermès handkerchief from his tan Armani* pants and daintily dabs his eyes. He sniffs as he looks at me — "late."

And like that, the suspense was over. Any form of sympathy I had for him instantly vanished into thin air as I rolled my eyes.

"Well, nothing new there."

Emile opens his mouth in protest but pauses and thinks about it again.

His eyes dart upwards from left to right and vice versa. He looks at me with a sheepish expression and titters. 

"Well you're not wrong there, anyhoo, back to the serious part" — he looks at me stolidly — "Crankston announced that he's gonna have a quiz, and if I'm late, I won't get to enter the room. If I can't enter the room, I can't take the quiz" — this time panic is mixed in his tone — "If I can't take the quiz, I'll have to take a remedial class!" — he pauses, fanning his face and taking short frantic breaths. He holds his hands up in helplessness — "And, you know how they always hold the remedial classes on the weekends. Now, imagine that happening to me —moi, of all people! My social life will be at stake!"

He wails, clutching at his chest as he thinks about his 'imminent doom.'

I ignore him and start walking around the corner straight to Crankston's room.

He clears his throat. "E-hem, did you not see me cry? You know, the normal human thing to do was console me."

"Meh, not my problem. Later, Em," I wave impassively, my back facing him.

Sadly, Emile didn't get the memo that I didn't give a shit.

"Please, Ave" — he puts both of his hands on my shoulder and leans towards me — "I'm begging you! I need your help. Think of my followers! My legacy is my IG stories!"

I puff out. Why me?

Why couldn't there be another friend of ours around — an actual good friend — who would gladly help him?

I'm supposed to be the bad shitty friend, for fuck's sake! We all know that. I had dibs on that spot.

"Why are you even late, anyway? Doesn't Jhett always pick you up for school every day?"

Now that I think about it, where was Jhett?

Jhett was always one of the firsts along with Tia to arrive in school due to his swim club's morning practice for the season.

Emile's lips purse, his expression sulky.

Now that is new.

The two always acted like two codependent species who can't live without the other.

"Miss Thing"* — Emile sniffs and dabs his eyes again with his handkerchief while he recounts his sad tale — "got angry that I ditched him when I hooked up with some random guy at a club last night. He didn't even have the courtesy to wait for me. He just upped and went away as if he wasn't leaving his very best judy* in the whole wide world behind. I had to take an Uber back from the city. I've been taking it ever since."

"Huh" — I fix him with an unconvinced look — "so, Jhett ditched you," I interpreted plainly.

He scoffs as if scandalized by the claim. He flips a lock of long silky blonde hair over his shoulder.

"I'll have you know. As a slut, I am offended that you would even think he wouldn't want a piece of this!"

He points to his ass. A fantastic ass (even I have to admit) with its peach-shaped perfection that would've made JLo and Lady Gaga proud.

And, though he may identify as a 'Samantha', he doesn't exactly have the charm of subtlety.  

Like right now.

Even as a friend, I couldn't help but wish for just one day, he would stuff his mouth with a ball gag and leave my ears in peace. Hmm, I wonder if I can convince him that glue sticks are the new Chapsticks.

"So, are we getting in or what? Not all of us can be badass rebels who don't care if they're late or suspended just because their family has connections in this school."

I cock an eyebrow. "You do know I still haven't said I would help you, right?"

He presses himself close to me, wrapping his arms around me.

"Oh, you know I love you. Please, help me," he bends his knees slightly so that he's within a low-angle view.

He bats his eyelashes at me, giving me the puppy-dog eyes. 

U-U-UG-H!!!!!I look up heavenwards, waiting for help or a way to get out of this situation.

I got none. So much for wishful thinking.

I run my hand through my hair and give him an annoyed look. "If I say yes, will you please stop with the eyes?"

 Just like that, he was about to yap in joy when I sent him a scathing look.

"Geez, you look like a ridiculous anime character."

Not really. To be honest, he looked so cute — but screw me if I said that! Not that Emile minded, anyway.

I hate to say this, but this bitch can take any snarky rudely-wrapped remarks. If anything, he loves a good read and cackles at it like Fran* from 'The Nanny'.*

"Can't help it if I'm so naturally adorbs!"

"Yeah-yeah," — I wave him off — "du hast den Arschoffen. We both know it already."

"There you go, again. You know I can't understand German," he grumbles.

I take out my phone and tap on Tia's convo thread with me.

I stealthily move in the direction of Crankston's classroom. I peek into the glass window of the door and search through the twenty or so occupants inside.

Two-thirds of them are still scanning through their books like they're on a speed-reading marathon. Meanwhile, the remaining third is either too busy chatting up with their seatmates, sleeping on their desks, or confidently awaiting Crankston's stupid quiz.

Wow, what a party. I'm so excited about such a fun class.

My eyes travel from student to student, recognizing some faces, until they settle on one all-too-familiar person.

Sitting in the third row, a table away from the window and cross-legged, Tia fiddles with her pen while an opened textbook is neatly laid out on her desk.

She skims the contents on each page with a determined look plastered on her pretty heart-shaped face. 

A tiny wrinkle appears between her finely arched brows and on her nose, making the light dusting of freckles stand out. Her full plump lips curl at one side in concentration as she moves on to another page.

A few tendrils of honey brown hair escape from her exquisitely braided coiffure and tickle the straight slope of her nose. She gracefully tucks them behind her ear, the vintage bracelets on her arm clinking.

Her svelte figure was stylishly dressed in a chic turquoise Bohemian wrap-around blouse that was cropped at the waist and a pair of white form-fitting capri pants, making her beautiful sun-kissed complexion glow.

She completed her vogue ensemble with a pair of slingbacks, making anyone who saw her mistake her for a substitute teacher.

I pressed the call button next to her name. Knowing Tia, she always keeps her phone with her even in class albeit on vibrate.

Just on cue, she reaches inside her pocket and checks her phone.

Rebel (Me): i'm at the door

She looks up and twists her head in my direction. Her round chocolate-brown eyes widen in alarm.

I wink at her with a cheeky smile.

Rebel (Me): unlock the back door for me?

She reads my text for a second and shakes her head.

My phone vibrates. I open her reply.

Tea: I can't. Crankston's guarding it. He's not budging

Tia motions her head to the back.

I look around the room again.

True to her word, Crankston's gawky figure was standing by the backdoor. By standing there and the front door in his view, he wasn't letting anyone sneak in for sure.

And here I thought I would be saving my strikes for something worthwhile rather than smuggling a certain gay man into class.

Rebel (Me): not if i have anything to do about it

Tia's mouth gapes. She pins me with a warning look as she sends me another text.

Tea: Ave, I swear to God, do not pull the fire alarm!!!

I puff my cheeks childishly. I twitch my chin as I think it over. My phone vibrates again. I look down and read the single word in the message.

Tea: Ave

I roll my eyes. As much as it was a really, really, really, really fun idea.

Rebel (Me): fi-i-i-i-ine. but just so you know, this is killing me to do this. be ready and have him go over to the middle row

I lock my phone, returning it inside my jacket pocket.

Tia raises her hand and calls Crankston over to her table. She gestures to a page in her book and scratches her head in fake confusion. Just as expected, Crankston takes the bait and is occupied — for a short while, that is.

I turn to Emile.

"Go to the backdoor. On the count of three, we both go in."

He nods and goes to the said door. He places his hand on the doorknob.

I begin the countdown, "Three... two"—

"Wait, do I go in on one or after one?" he whispers. 

Goddammit, I face-palm myself in my mind.

"Emmy" — I try to reason out in a calm and gentle voice despite the fact I was feeling the opposite — "I need you to pull those few brain cells together in that pretty head of yours and work with me here, okay? After one, you open the door and dash inside as quietly as possible."

He sends an 'OK' hand sign.

"Again, three... two ..."

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Have you ever had a friend like Emile? 

Write down your answers below in the comment section! 

P. S. Scroll down further below for a short sneak-peek of my next chapter: "In Which Reality is Smuggling a Gay Man into Class".

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TRANSLATION

du hast den Arschoffen — You're full of shit

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*[F/N]*

Baroque —an art movement that used contrast, movement, exuberant detail, deep color, grandeur, and surprise to achieve a sense of awe. For example, The painting of Las Meninas by Diego Velázquez.

Armani — an Italian luxury fashion house.

Miss Thing — an LGBTQIA+ slang meaning a conceited person —  usually a woman or a gay man.

(Best/Good) Judy —an LGBTQIA+ slang referring to a very close gay male friend, and more broadly, to any LGBTQIA+ person.

Fran  — (or Fran Fine-Sheffield)  was a famous Sitcom character in the 90s, commonly known for her big hair and nasally voice.  She was played by Fran Drescher.

The Nanny — an American TV sitcom in the 90s about a cosmetics saleswoman named Fran Fine who became the nanny of three children. Watch it, it's hilarious!

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SNEAK PEAK

I focus my attention on the people inside the room, particularly to the person who thinks he's in charge.

Crankston was the first to recover and, in a scornful manner, crosses his arms over his small paunch as he appraises my tardiness — again.

"Ms. Michaels, what a surprise. I am so honored that you have decided to grace my class with your presence whilst late — again," he adds the last word bitingly in that special deep nasally voice that just makes him... Crankston.

A student from the back row snickers.

A low rattling sound comes from the door. I watch as Emile's panicked face gets squished against the door's window from the outside. He points to the direction of the knob.

Locked.FICK! I did not expect that.

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Copyright © 2017 Lei André