Chapter 2
When the bell rang for lunch and as soon Miss Sophie (English Teacher) dismissed us, I bolted out of class and dashed to the cafeteria. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for since I arrived at school this morning. Without waiting for Brielle, I went to buy my lunch and sat at our usual lunch table.
I was half-way eating my cheese burger when Brielle arrived with a companion: Chris.
I smiled at them and continued eating, too hungry to ask why they’re together and how.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Brielle asked, frowning.
“m’sorry” I managed, mouth full, “I’m too hungry to wait. Haven’t had breakfast, you know.”
She flipped her butter-blonde hair to her back and gestured to Chris, “You remember Chris?”
We just met this morning. “Yeah, I do. Hi Chris!” I waved a little, “sorry, too hungry.”
He smiled. Wait, what was I doing again? Yea, eating. “That’s alright.” He said.
Wait, something’s different. “Oh, don’t mind me. Please pretend I’m not here and continue eating.” I blinked and realized that I was staring at him.
“Right.” I replied and continued eating. Cuteee! He’s British, or Australian? Doesn’t matter, his accent’s thick. Why didn’t I notice that earlier? “Uh, aren’t you two going to eat? Lunch’s about to end.”
“Oh, yeah!” Brielle exclaimed as she placed her compact mirror back in her shoulder bag. “I forgot about that.” she stood up and was ready to leave when she remembered her companion, “Chris, aren’t you coming?”
Again, he smiled at me. “Excuse us.”
I just nodded as they walked away. Is he human? He looks and acts…perfect! Well, just ignore the slim (almost thin) figure…he’s almost perfect.
While eating, I was stealing glances at him standing in the lunch line. Okay, he’s tall, slim, good-looking, good-smelling (okaay~) he’s got a British/Australian accent (that has always been a plus-plus for me) and…he’s a total my-type package. But…why am I thinking about this? I’m supposed to be eating and thinking of the classes that are about to come: History, in particular.
History, right!
Shoving my burger in my mouth (awwww, that’s still 3 bites!), I reached for my bag and searched for my half-finished essay about the World War II. Wait, did it even reached half?
There. Look. Gosh. No.
Time? 10 minutes.
Why am I in a lot of time pressure today? And it’s a Monday; not a good sign.
“Watcha doin’?” came Brielle’s high-pitched, forced cutesy, voice.
“Shoot! I forgot what I was about to write!”
Brielle gave me her ‘I’m-sorry-forgive-my-cute-puppy-dog-eyes’ look, then I realized my thought slipped out of my mouth. Great. I’m good at that.
“Sorry.” I mumbled, “It’s just that, I was almost through. But, well…”
She nodded and began eating, clearly she wasn’t interested. I just hid my essay and sat silently, not in the mood to finish my paper anymore. Why’s she my best friend, again?
Sighing, I stood up. “Uh, excuse me. I’ll leave first.”
“Where are you going?” Brielle asked, Chris’s eyes meeting mine.
I felt my cheeks burned as I tried to process the question from Brielle. Why the heck am I looking at Chris?
“Chris…” I whispered, realizing. “I mean, Brielle. Yea, uhm, I’ve something to get from my locker. And…I need to be early. I haven’t been early for History since last month.”
“Oh, alright. See you later at PE!” she waved at me and I waved back. I looked at Chris, again, and gave him a small smile. For formality—he’s in the same table, after all.
While I was walking to my locker, the questions that I was supposed to ask Brielle and Chris earlier piled up in my mind.
Why are they together? Are they BFF’s already? Do they have each other’s number, already, that’s why they went to lunch together? Or were they classmates before lunch? Or were they classmates the whole morning? (Did they even go to class? Maybe Brielle gave him a private tour…somewhere. SCRATCH that.) Or maybe they just saw each other on the way, yeah, most likely.
I shook my head. Why am I even thinking of those questions? Well, it’s not like I’m jealous or anything. I mean, why should I be, right? I don’t even…
“Tiffanyyy!” I froze, too occupied to recognize the voice.
I was just about to process when hands gripped my shoulders and turned me around to face the owner.
“Hi!” Andrew, my almost gay friend, greeted me quite ecstatically than his usual greetings. I frowned, “Remind me again why you’re gay.”
He shook me and moved his face closer to mine, closer that our noses were touching. “I told you, I’m not a gay. I’m just…soft.”
Haha, okay I take that back. The handsome fellow in-front of me, in the name of Andrew Tamura, is not really a gay-gay. He’s just a softy. He was actually my crush on our very first day in middle school. But, well, when we became friends and concluded that there will be no “us”, I decided to move on and here we are now.
Andrew blinked and caught my attention; I looked at his small eyes. I’ve always had a soft spot for boys with small eyes (preferably Asian, because I am one), and I’d prefer them than the everyday handsome Westerners of all nations here in California.
Something touched my lips and its shock made me push Andrew a little too hard.
I stared at him, shocked.
He chuckled. “Sorry?” wow, so sincere.
“What’s up with you?” I blurted. As much as that sent excitement and tingles throughout my whole body, a sudden lip against lip brush (I can’t really call it a kiss, can’t I?) is a little too much for me.
“What’s up with me? Hmmm. Let’s see.” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, “I was just about to go to class, saw you and well you know what happened then I’m going to go back to going to class because it’s almost time.”
I smiled, grinned actually, as I looped an arm around his, and walked to class—grateful that we have the same after lunch-break subject.
“Tell me, Andrew.”
“Tell you what, Tiffany Anne?”
I glared at him, but I shrugged it off, I didn’t hear what he said.
“You’ve finally decided to like me, didn’t you?”
“I would’ve if the door isn’t about to close.” He pulled me as he began to run to our classroom.
As soon as we made to class a few seconds before door locking, Andrew made a somewhat victory dance and shouted “YES!” that made the whole class and Mr. Smith raise an eyebrow at him. He bowed sorry and went to his seat—which was unfortunately far from me, which sucks because Andrew would’ve been a very fun seatmate in a bore-filled subject.
Mr. Smith cleared his throat, scanned the class within 10 seconds before sitting at the edge of his table. “To those of you who haven’t finished their essays…” he paused, putting effect to his drama. I, and majority of my classmates, hate it when he does that. Add the fact that he had an annoying mustache that looks like a paint brush split in half and the look in his eyes are so disturbing that it’s almost scary.
He cleared his throat again. “Be thankful…” The classroom was filled with bee-like buzz. Mr. Smith walked over to the door, “…to your new classmates. He practically, saved your lives.”
I rolled my eyes. Sometimes, Mr. Smith is just plain annoying. Grrgh.
“…Christopher Porter.” The name made me look at the person talking. I was so busy thinking of bad thoughts about our teacher that I didn’t notice him introducing our new classmate and him introducing himself.
“Mr. Porter, take your seat beside Ms. Chang. There, near the window.”
I felt my heart racing as Chris walked over to me; I mean to his seat beside mine.
“Hello.” He said, a smile gracing his lips.
Struggling to remove the tingly feeling, I just smiled and returned my gaze to the front—suddenly interested to whatever Mr. Smith was saying.
“Thanks to Mr. Porter here, I won’t be collecting your essays this week. Instead, I will be collecting those next Monday, okay?” Mr. Smith waited for everyone to say “Yes Sir” before he continued, “That goes for you too, Mr. Porter.”
“Yes, sir.” He replied politely.
“Alright, now…”
I glanced to my left and Chris gave me a (sweet) smile and I returned it with a shy one.
History will be making History this semester.
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