European Beauty

Chapter 1 - What a Town Without Pity Can Do

It was just after fourth, lunch to be exact. I went to the spot I always sat, by room A8, in the hallway. I threw my pack and jacket down, my skin feverish, my face red. I leaned against the wall, the cool tile chilling my arms. Finally I slid down to meet the ground. I glanced around, the bell had just went off, so I should be alone for a few 2 or so minutes before my friends met up with me. I reached for my pack, unzipped it, and pulled out a decorated notebook. I opened to a fresh page and started to write down any though I had had today, not giving a shit for the people stepping over my stretched out legs.

I hated school with a passion. It had started a month or so ago and already I had an ass load of homework and was doing excruciating workouts during PE. It was, so to speak, pure torture. The only class I enjoyed was French 2.

Sophomore year was to be fun.

"Good afternoon, Nich," I looked up, and saw one of my good friends smiling down at me.

"Whatcha writing?"

"Nothing," I shrugged, putting my notebook away. I couldn't let anyone see it, it was too personal.

"Oh," Her smile faded as she set her bag and purse down and settled in next to me against the wall. "I fucking hate school." Nodding, I leaned my head back. I was dead tired and not in the mood to talk. Soon, though, I would be forced to. My friends never could understand all of the shit that ran through my head, so I figured why even try? They all thought I was peachy fucking keen, so not talking would fuck it up. But she, the one next to me, would understand. She knew my deepest secret, one I hoped to never come out.

"Nich, what's up?" a friend greeted me, approaching quickly.

"Hey, Kory. Nothing really. How goes it?" A smile now forcefully planted on my face, I watched as he did the same as my friend next to me.

"It goes good," he said, grinning. I inwardly groaned, no one I had ever met understood how to respond to 'how goes it.' It pissed me off. Didn't they understand it was typically the same as saying, "what's up?" Oi.

"Hey all," another friend, Jessie, greeted us all. She too sat, with a plastic box of salad she had bought for lunch. "Peggy," She turned to the girl who sat next to me, "got a dollar I could borrow for a soda?" Peggy nodded, pulled a dollar from her pocket out and handed it over to Jessie. Jessie thanked her and stood, asked if any of us would join her to the journey to the vending machine, and finally walked off slightly irritated when we all declined. Soon the rest of our so-called 'gang' showed up, and we all sat around talking about our day in the short 40 minutes we were given.

Half way through our conversation, I heard an unfamiliar voice in the distance. It didn't sound American at all, but I couldn't place if it were British or Australian. Now no longer caught up in the conversation at hand, I turned my complete attention to the voice which got louder and louder as I listened.

"Oi, what 'n tha 'ell?" The voice yelled, or whined, obviously annoyed at something. Another voice replied something, but who cared, it was with an American accent. Suddenly, the owner of the voice turned a corner and started walking towards our group of people. The first thought that came to mind was, wow…wow. I watched in a daze, he was mouthing off at his friend and, apparently his girlfriend. She was jumping about not really listening and the friend was coming back with responses. As he passed us he muttered something incoherent and looked at me as I watched his pass.

"Oi, li'tle boy, what'chu lookin' at, eh?" He asked, coming to a stop and pointing at me. He was short and stout, and I instantly thought of the little teapot song. The problem was, my version was dirty, for I wished to grab onto his spout. Shit, if I get dirty thoughts now, well, it won't be pretty. Arousal at school is nothing to be proud of. My friends all stopped talking and looked at him. I stuttered a response, something along the lines of 'nothing, sorry,' but that obviously wasn't good enough.

"Ay, fuck off ya li'tle bugga." He stared at me a moment longer before turning back and walking away with the other two.

"What the in fuck was that?" Megan asked, and I shrugged in response. I had to get out of there, I had to find this mysterious British boy, I had to write about all of the thoughts swimming through my head, colliding into each other.

After excusing myself saying I forgot about a quiz I needed to make up for, I went in the direction he had gone. Where is he? I asked myself, scanning the semi-empty halls for the short English man. Finally giving up, with no hopes of ever seeing the European beauty again, I turned around and started on my trek back to my friends.