At lunchtime, I tried my best to refrain from yawning (with food in my mouth—the horror) as Lila read a poem submission for the school literary magazine called The Aquiline (the title came from the Latin word for eagle, aquila, which I thought was pretty cool) out loud, dragging her voice out and emphasizing all the wrong words (like she wanted me to fall asleep in my bowl of rice or something).

I failed.

Squinting and rubbing my eyes as I yawned, I felt a couple tears—tears of boredom and despair, in fact. I stifled another yawn, grimacing, and stuffed a mouthful of food in my mouth instead. How much worse could this get?

It actually got worse, I realized, as Lila flipped the page over and her droning voice continued to read out the "valuable" opus of whichever genius had submitted it.

"The once swaying yellow grasses of the valley / die. I want to die too—"

I grabbed the paper from Lila. "Woah, now that just took a dark turn. Who the hell turned in this shit?"

Lila sent me a disgruntled look as she stuffed some vegetables into her mouth. "Rude."

"Seriously." I looked flatly at her, raising my eyebrows. Then I glanced at the clock and cursed loudly—I only had about ten minutes of lunch left, and I hadn't even really gotten started on eating due to my unfortunate obligation to sorting through the crappy entries that people had sent in for the literary magazine. "Shit, Lila, just tell me who sent this in."

"It's on the paper at the top, I think." Lila didn't even look up, sighing dramatically as she cleared out half of her plate. I paused for a second to stare enviously at her (but then I gave up the game since she wasn't even paying attention to me). Then my phone lying next to me on the lunch table beeped, telling me that it was officially 12pm and that I had about seven minutes of lunch.

Now I was in deep shit if I actually wanted to consume something for lunch right now (unlike the cheerleaders and dancers of my school who thought that a salad a day was quite sufficient to nourish a human body).

I hurriedly chewed and swallowed another spoonful of rice before looking for the poet's name. I didn't recognize it—probably a freshman (since I was pretty well acquainted with the sophomores and the seniors as well the members of my own grade). I felt tempted to submit it to the school's support group...nah, that would be cruel.

I tossed the poem into an outer compartment of my backpack, where it would lie forgotten for the rest of the school year, probably. "Hey, Lila?" I said, looking up at her.

"What?" Lila was already looking through another poem, this one hopefully better than the previous. "What're you gonna do about that poem?"

"Since it's pure of poetic nonsense that appeals to no one but the overly sentimental, I think we should trash it. Your feelings?" I scooped up an especially large portion of rice and tried to fit all of it in my mouth. Luckily for me, the surrounding lunch tables were mostly empty, so no one witnessed the rice falling ungracefully from my mouth.

"You're harsh," Lila responded, frowning absentmindedly. "You should be more accepting of different perspectives—this poem is confusing the fuck out of me."

I took a moment to snicker about how our crude language tended to come out the most while examining supposedly elegantly written pieces of literary work.

She handed the poem over to me and checked her watch. "Five minutes left, A. Anyway, where's Olivia been? The library again?"

Olivia had been hanging out at the library a lot these days. Apparently, her tennis practice sessions had ramped up since she had a competition the next weekend, and she'd barely had time to do any homework. I personally didn't believe her. Maybe she'd met someone. That would definitely explain her unusually light mood every time she came out of there.

"Mm." I scanned over the poem. Lila had a point—the damn thing resembled T. S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" in terms of meaning since actually understanding it would require deep analysis. "This isn't too bad, actually. Maybe we can keep it for Jacobs to look it over."

Lila shook her head. "Ms. Jacobs won't have the time. So it's up to us."

"Why'd we agree to be the editors again?" I grumbled under my breath. I put the poem into the same compartment where the previous poem was.

"Because it would look good on our résumés," Lila answered automatically.

I shook my head, finishing up my lunch just then. This had to be a record. I'd never actually finished a full meal in less than ten minutes before. I stood up, picking up my tray and stuffing my cookie into my mouth. "Yeah, whatever. I gotta get to class."

Lila nodded at me, smiling. She looked a lot like her twin then, with her eyes animated and twitching lips. I tried not to link them too closely in my mind. "Yeah, don't get a late pass from Bredbenner. See you later!"

Yeah, I'd better get to chem class, which was almost halfway across the building from the cafeteria, or else I'd be practically sacrificing myself to the ire of the demon who was my teacher.

↔

Since today was Friday, all the teachers had been a little more lax than usual about the homework business (although everyone had his or her fair share of project presentations due the following week). So, in the last period of the day, I slouched in my seat, eyes drooping as I watched the psych teacher walk back and forth in front of the board.

I would totally catch up on notes from Olivia later.

Anyway, I did have my phone out to record the lecture, so if Olivia rejected me, I wouldn't be screwed over (although I doubted that Olivia would be as cruel as to facilitate my academic failures).

I was happily drifting off to sleep (I had gotten about four hours of sleep last night since I had a neighborhood event that lasted till about 10pm) when someone poked me hard on the head with a pen. I sat up quickly, eyelashes fluttering. My eyes were feeling a little dry—I really wasn't supposed to be taking naps with contacts in.

I glanced around me to find the culprit. Then, I caught sight of Olivia, who was raising her eyebrows at me. I noticed that everyone else was participating in partner activities, and hurriedly, I stuffed my phone further under my thigh and rearranged my notebook.

"Ahem," I said, clearing my throat. "So, uh..."

Olivia rolled her eyes at me, pushing the textbook toward me. "We're answering a couple of questions from here. I didn't want to look like a loser by partnering with a sleeping jerk."

I let out a quick laugh as I tried to read the questions as quickly as I could. It was no surprise to me that I didn't understand a damn thing (missing most of the lecture probably had a lot to do with that). "Huh. Actually, I think"—I cleared my throat again since my voice tended to get very prone to voice cracks after sleep—"that you'll be just fine doing this by yourself."

"Slacker." Olivia shook her head at me as she pulled her textbook back closer to her. "You know your classwork participation grades will fall, right?"

I really wished she wouldn't criticize me so. "Ugh, I know; it's just one day. I was super busy yesterday."

"So was I," Olivia pointed out. Right. Tennis practice. She really didn't make me feel much better since she was actually alert and awake right now (regardless of her limited sleep).

I stifled a yawn and stretched. "So, um, where were we?" I avoided her eyes as I pulled out my own textbook.

"Page 526," she said slowly. "Exercises A, B, and C."

My initial impression wasn't too far off—I didn't understand anything that was going on. I made a note to myself to remember to save the audio track since it unfortunately looked like Olivia was not going to help me out. I had no idea what was going on with her today.

I really did hope it wasn't because of me and Luc.

Olivia worked through the exercises by herself as I sneakily took out the poems for The Aquiline from my backpack and looked them over again. Every once in a while, I glanced up at Olivia in case she needed any help that I could offer (since she always claimed that I was the resident psychology scholar). Nothing from her.

All right, then. I decided to devote my time to the poems.

Really, the poem about the dead yellow grass in the meadow (and the author's sentiments about dying herself) wasn't that bad. Maybe it was just the way Lila read it at lunchtime (she probably thought she was being amusing). But anyway, after some contemplation, I stuffed it back in my backpack. This person definitely needed to express her dark feelings (I really didn't know how she could think like that—she was basically a rich kid going to a prep school after all), and the literary magazine was not the place for that.

I smirked a little before putting it back where it was. Maybe I would send this poem to the support group after all. I might as well be an evil upperclassman and enjoy my time while I was at it.

With the Eliot-like poem, I developed a headache after trying to interpret it without annotating (so my illegible handwriting wouldn't ruin the entire visual display). As Olivia finished exercise A, I took back my words to Lila—this damn thing was definitely not going into the magazine.

Leisurely, I picked up the rest of the huge folder of submissions (which I had printed out from the magazine email for closer examination). I was almost about to laugh at the amount of work I had left, this sorting through all the rubbish Mrs. Jacobs, the creative writing teacher, had entrusted to me (and Lila, but she was only a small help). And all the homework I was supposed to do yesterday...and the sleepover this weekend at Lila's...

I really wanted to call off the entire sleepover affair now.

Just as I turned to Olivia to tell her about my change of sentiment, the bell rang, and she stood up so quickly that her notebook went flying onto the floor. I raised my eyebrows at her as I bent down to pick it up for her. Really, what was up?

She'd better tell me, especially after she gave me that "best friend" speech a couple days ago.

She took her notebook from me when I offered it and nodded toward the door. "I think someone's waiting for you." She paused when she saw my perplexed expression. "Don't worry, A." She sighed. "Just see...I have my reasons for being bitchy today. So do excuse me."

Then she rushed away from me so quickly that I was left squinting after her (due to my unfocused contacts). Yeah, she wasn't mentioning something to me and Lila.

I slowly gathered up my books and walked out of the classroom, not after pushing in my chair at my desk and saying goodbye to the teacher (who looked a little irritable, probably because he saw my napping stunt). Just as I stepped past the door frame, someone called my name loudly and poked my shoulder.

"Oh, hey, Josh," I said, stepping aside so I wasn't blocking anyone's path out to freedom (I'd hate to delay anyone from getting home from school on time).

Josh gave me a little smile and leaned one shoulder against the wall casually. "What's up?"

"You know, I'm only kind of dying under all the coursework and club obligations, but you know, I'm holding up all right." I tried to return his smile, but I probably just looked like someone had just punched me in the stomach.

He laughed. "Well, they do say that junior year is always the worst. I'm glad I'm leaving Excelsior this year. Freedom, y'know?"

I wasn't really sure why he was saying that since he was co-captain of the varsity rugby team, the pride and joy of Excelsior. I shuffled the books in my arms. "Sure."

"Oh, right." Josh straightened up. "Ms. Jacobs wanted me to deliver something to you." He pulled out a rather torn and careworn envelope and presented it to me, smiling sheepishly. "It got through a little tear and wear."

"No kidding." I accepted it and peeked inside. "Ugh, they're more submissions to The Aquiline." I glanced up at him, raising my eyebrow at him. "Since when do you take creative writing?"

"I don't—Luc does—" Josh began to say, but someone stopped him, slapping a hand on his shoulder. Josh turned around and grinned widely. "Hey, man."

I'd never found the phrase "speak of the devil and he shall appear" any more applicable in my life.

"You better be ready for practice; Coach is gonna kill you today," Luc said heartily, snickering as he smacked Josh's shoulder. He looked over his best friend's shoulder and made eye contact with me. "Hey, Audrey," he said a little more quietly.

I lifted my eyebrows at him. "Hey."

There better not be something up with him too.

Josh said, turning back to me, "You need to stop interrupting my conversations with pretty ladies. Anyway, Audrey, you're not supposed to know that Luc here takes creative writing—"

He was promptly cut off by a particularly vicious elbow to the side from Luc, whose ears were red. "If you'll excuse us, Audrey," Luc said loudly, "but our rugby coach is expecting us." He paused. "And I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

The sleepover. Right. I probably couldn't call that off now since it was supposed to take place tomorrow after all.

I smiled, shaking my head at the two of them. "Yeah, go ahead, do whatever. Thanks, Josh. See ya, Luc."

Josh winked at me as he and Luc began walking off toward the athletic field. "Don't let this rude bastard get to you. Oh, and you really should invite me over to your next hangout—the one that Luc just mentioned, right? I'd totally appreciate that—hey!"

Luc had just elbowed him again.

I shook my head at them even though they couldn't see me, smiling, and headed off in the opposite direction to the lobby.

→

Hey, everyone!

So this chapter is a little late today, so I guess I'm sorry...oops? I've had another bad day at play practice, so I'm a little emotionally drained (but at least I got to inject some humor in at the end, right?).

So how do you feel about Olivia's wacky behavior? One of Audrey's theories about that might have some merit to it... And Lila's always a gem. Her reaction to the poems—me, basically. And Luc? I'll let you all decide, haha.

Thank you for everything, and I'll see you tomorrow!

Anne