10 More Minutes With You
Chapter 1: Poses
Warning This story is about two girls falling in love. If that's a problem, then please don't read it. Otherwise, enjoy Warning
I don't know who you are,
but somehow you're breaking my heart.
And I don't know where you are,
but like a drug lift me up to the stars.
It's why I'm feeling alive.
It's the first time,
here's hoping this day won't end.
I don't know, now, what to do.
I don't care, I need 10 more minutes with you
10 more minutes with you
10 more minutes with you
I don't what you are,
but one look and I am hooked from the start
Now I am falling apart,
"That's what you get for falling in love."
Tonight I look in her eyes for the first time,
here's hoping this pain will end.
I don't know, now, what to do.
I don't care, I need 10 more minutes with you
10 more minutes with you
10 more minutes with you
( If you want to, then you got to hold all of it inside)
It's what you live for,
it's what you live for.
So what you lived for it,
so what you done for it.
I'm alive for ten more minutes
10 More Minutes With You by Kill Hannah
I wake up that morning to a day just like every other day of my eighteen years of life. It is a day where I wake up and become the person that I am supposed to be, the person who everyone expects me to be. I have a bowl of Special K (the kind with the freeze dried strawberries) and say goodbye to my mom, who reminds me that I have an appointment to get my hair cut after practice today.
She stands by the door and looks at me with her usual appraising stare. "Make sure you run a brush through your hair and finish your makeup before you set foot on that campus." She couldn't have her pride and joy (Showpiece, personal Barbie doll, however the hell she saw me) looking anything less than perfect. She touts me around like a prize-winning pet of some sort. I guess she doesn't have much else to be proud of. All of a sudden I don't know who I'm sadder for, myself or her.
"Of course mom," I answer with a smile and a quick hug. She looks a little surprised but says nothing and I whisk through the door, trailed by the scent of my flowery perfume. I pull into the parking lot reserved for the senior students in the top ten percent of our class. I'm early as always. I sit in my blue firebird for a bit listening to the obnoxious morning disk jockeys on the top 40 station and touch up my makeup like my mom told me to. As if I didn't know to do it myself. As if I hadn't had eighteen years of practice being me.
A bit more mascara and lip gloss and I deem myself ready. I grab my backpack and keys and lock the car door with one hand while I flip back my thick dark brown hair with the other.
I head off on my way to my first class, Advanced Placement English IV, yippee. The assignment last night was to finish reading The Awakening by Kate Chopin. I did it of course because I'm that sort of student, but I hated it. Not that I couldn't sympathize a bit with the protagonist, being trapped in a life you hate sucks ass. But I'm a big believer in following through with your decisions, and having kids isn't one of those ones you can take back. Or it shouldn't be… my thoughts turn unwillingly to my dad before I cut them off. Plus it wasn't like she improved her life any, she was just weak. I'd like to think I'm stronger than that.
I try to pretend that I am a morning person as I walk to class. It was far from the truth, but I still manage to smile brightly and wave at the people who call my name in passing. "Jen!" That's my name by the way, Jennifer. Most popular girl's name of the eighties, go fig.
I sit down at my desk and pull out a pen and notepad before turning in my seat to chat with my friends. I'm pretty sure that this is not what the word "friends" is meant to describe, but it's what we call ourselves. I join in the superficial small talk of the chatty girls and try not to take note of all the catty insults flying back and forth, thinly veiled in sugary sweet smiles and laughter. No, not friends, more like business associates maybe; Friends out of necessity, because we are alike, because it's our job. Suddenly I feel tired.
Then Sara walks in and sits to my left. She and I are different. We have fun together. We smile real smiles and laugh real laughs. We tell each other things that our other "friends" would scorn us for. She actually listens when I talk instead of just waiting for her turn to speak, and I actually care about what she has to say. I think that's what friends are. I think that might be what it really means.
"Hey," she greets me, "what are you doing today after practice? Wanna get together and watch some movies?"
And I do want to. And I almost say so, but then I remember that I have a hair appointment and probably nails too knowing my mom, and then I have to study for my AP Calculus exam, and then I have to work on the choreography for our competition piece.
"I'd like to, but I can't today," I lament. "Some other time?"
"Course," she answers good naturedly, "Anything particular you'd like to see?"
I laugh, "Whatever Blockbuster has left that we haven't seen."
She laughs too, knowing what a tall order it is to find a movie that neither of us has seen, or at least to find one that we wouldn't rather spend two hours sticking toothpicks in our eyes than watch.
About that time our teacher wanders in and sets her big satchel on her desk. She looks a bit frazzled as usual. Flyaways are poking out of her messy updo and the buttons down the front of her tan cardigan are a bit crooked. She can't be more than thirty. She had aged before her time. Maybe she was pretty once, maybe she was like us.
I like her despite her poor choice in reading assignments. She doesn't give busy work and she treats us like adults entitled to our own opinions. It's a nice change from most of the brain trust teachers around here.
The tardy bell rings and we all settle quietly into our seats like the well-programmed pupils we are. It's all sort of Pavlovian. You know, classical conditioning? Cept I guess we don't drool… most of us anyway.
She starts taking role and once she's past my name I let my mind drift off on other things. I look at the windows and I wish that they weren't fixed shut. I find myself thinking that a lot at school, usually because I'd like to jump out of them. I'm not suicidal or anything, after all we're only on the second floor. I just don't want to be here, and I doubt that I'm alone in that feeling.
I don't know where exactly I'd rather be. I don't have any place in mind… well maybe bed, but really just somewhere else.
The door to the classroom opens and breaks me from my reverie. A girl comes in and looks around uncertainly before handing the teacher a slip of paper. I've never seen her before, but for some reason I can feel my heart start pounding in my chest.
She has pale, creamy skin and long, straight hair died an unnatural shade of black. This monochrome combination makes her heavily lined, icy blue eyes even more piercing. She looks a bit like a smaller, more delicate version of that Evanescence lead singer Amy Lee.
Her clothes are totally Gwen Stefani, or at least Gwen within the confines of our school's dress code. It's a style that I had always secretly admired, but thought would never work outside the glitter and glam of rock star reality; Clothes that would just look too vibrant and silly out of the MTV music video universe. I was wrong, she looks amazing.
I glance down at my own carefully chosen ensemble; Express and Banana Republic, fashionable and flattering in all the right places. I feel uncharacteristically plain.
When I look back up her incredible blue eyes are looking straight into my big brown ones. My throat tightens and suddenly it doesn't seem like there is enough air in the room. I gasp to pull more oxygen into my lungs. God, I'm staring at her like a freak, what the hell is wrong with me?
I break eye contact and look around the room. Everyone else is staring too, but not like she's beautiful more like she's a Carney or a sideshow freak. Or worse in some cases, like my so-called friends, who stare at her like she's a new lamb to slaughter or a new savior to crucify. And she is, I admit to myself, and they will… who am I kidding? I might as well say "we" will, because while I don't exactly help them with the dirty work, I don't do anything to stop it either.
There's no way that she could ever fit in with us, she's too different. Not different in the way that we are, having positioned ourselves just enough above the general student populous to be special, but different in that way out in left field sort of way. Also way too different to just blend in with the rest of the crowd and be a nobody. It is safe to be no one, they get left alone. She, on the other hand… they'll break her.
I am so busy wondering why that thought bothers me so much that it takes me a moment to notice that the teacher is speaking. She's introducing the girl, telling us she's a new student (well duh), and that her name is Adrienne Marillier. Pretty name, I think to myself, very French. It fits her. Much better than my incredibly plain one.
Then the teacher, who is ironically named Ms. Young by the way, looks out over the room for a place to seat her.
"Here we go," Ms. Young says, "you can take a seat behind Jennifer Anderson. Wave your hand Jennifer."
Shit! Why me??? Why her??? And why do I even care? God, just shut up brain, they're staring at you. I wave my hand weakly and smile what I'm sure is an unconvincing smile. Maybe I just didn't get enough sleep last night.
She gives me a sort of half smile and doesn't break eye contact until she's walking behind me and sitting at her desk. Even then I can still feel those eyes burning into the back of my neck like freezing cold lasers. I shiver. But I'm probably making that part up. She probably isn't looking at me. How would I know anyway?
Ms. Young announces that she is going to go enter the new student into the computer and that we may talk quietly amongst ourselves.
At this, Caitlyn Quinn pipes up from my right just loudly enough for everyone but the teacher to hear. "Poor Jen, I'll bet she doesn't smell very good. I'll bet if you ask Ms. Young she'll move her somewhere else."
Mature as always, Caitlyn is my "best friend". Since I've already told you that Sara is my only real friend, you should be able to guess that Caitlyn is just another business associate. In keeping with the metaphor, we're Co-Presidents in our corporation of popularity.
Caitlyn and I couldn't be any less of friends if we hated each other openly. But we share the seat of most popular girl, and it's more beneficial to us to work together than tear each other apart. Not that she wouldn't stab me in the back if she got the chance.
Besides, everyone 'expects' us to be best friends. We're alike, the same level of fame. She likes for it to look like we're bosom buddies and I play along. Though I'm pretty sure she hates me even more than the girls she picks on, competition and all that. It's amazing how most people just see what makes sense to them and completely miss the truth.
She is cheerleading captain and I'm captain of the dance team. True, a lot of her popularity comes from the fact that she is filthy rich and has slept with most of the football players. Cept of course my boyfriend Terry, he's the quarterback.
"It's okay Caitlyn, no big," I answer sweetly, "but thanks for worrying."
Adrienne wisely chooses not to say anything. Good girl, I think, if only that would save you.
Of course, Caitlyn won't let it go. "So new girl, where do you hale from?"
I can feel Adrienne pause behind me, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer. "New York," she answers in a soft, smooth voice. I wish she'd spoken longer; I want to hear more of that voice. Two words just weren't enough.
"Hey Caitlyn," I say brightly, trying to interrupt the train wreck that I could see coming a mile away. "Didn't your parents take you there last summer? What was-"
Caitlyn doesn't take the bait. She cuts me off. "Oh wow, big city girl huh? From the looks of your clothes you must have been a bum. Did you hitchhike all the way here? The only reason I can think of that anyone would show up looking like you is if they're dirt poor. Am I right?"
A smattering of laughter fills the room. I twist in my chair to see Adrienne. Her mouth is drawn in a thin line and her face has become impossibly paler. I can tell that something Queen Bitch Caitlyn said struck a chord.
Her eyes look watery. Uh oh, I think, here come the tears. She hasn't been here ten minutes and already Caitlyn has broken her. God, I want to slap the smirk off Caitlyn's face.
Then Adrienne does something to surprise me, she opens her mouth. "Well say what you want about my clothes," she says in a voice as chilly as her gaze, "but a pig in a two-hundred dollar Banana Republic dress is still a pig."
My mouth drops open and I can hear Sara and a few of the braver students laughing. I'm too shocked to say anything. So is Caitlyn, her face turns red and she opens and closes her mouth a few times before recovering. "Big mistake new girl," she grinds out, "You picked the wrong girl to piss off."
I still couldn't believe that this little misfit had stood up to Caitlyn. Maybe it could just be chocked up to her being new and not knowing any better… but still. That was more bravery than I've ever managed to show. I hold my own against Caitlyn sure, but I've never told her exactly how I felt, ever.
I'm so in awe of this odd little pixie that I don't even notice she's speaking to me. "Excuse me," she repeats, touching me lightly on the shoulder.
"I, uh- yeah?" I ask dumbly and meet her eyes. All of a sudden I realize that she's very close. And I can smell her. She smells like clove cigarettes and vanilla, and it isn't bad. I like it. It smells real; better than my eighty dollar bottle of perfume.
"Do you think I could borrow a pen and paper?" she asks politely.
I notice absently that she has no backpack with her. "Sure," I answer and turn to rummage in my backpack for a Bic. My hand shakes a little as I tear a few pages out of my notebook. Man, maybe I should have eaten a heartier breakfast.
"Thanks," she says with a warm smile, and for some reason I can hear my heart beating faster.
"You're welcome," I answer as I hand them to her. I can't help but notice how pale her hand looks next to my warmer, olive toned skin.
I turn back and out of the corner of my eye I notice Caitlyn staring at me. She has this look on her face like I've just betrayed her. I haven't, of course, but I'm starting to think that maybe I will.
I let my head fall forward onto my folded arms. Damn it's going to be a long day.
AN: Hi guys, I know that it's been forever since I updated my other story "Masked Truths", but I promise I'm not finished with it. Things have been less than great lately. But, I'm back in a writing mood and this story was kinda floating around my head, so I'll be working on both of them. I know that it's a completely different style and subject matter than my other story, but I hope you like it.
Please Read and Review, it really does brighten my day.