"In Which Reality is an Unwanted Call to Adventure"

(Pt. 1)

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"Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."

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Tom Hanks, Forrest Gump

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September 13

1:15 PM

Hallway, Belle Mont Prep

I stretch my arms and my back as I trudge along the sea of students, not caring if I accidentally hit someone. Let's be real, even if I didn't hit them, somebody else will.

Geez, just when you think an early dismissal would save you from the student traffic!

I just arrived at my locker when I saw Tia walking towards me. I wave her over and enter the code into my locker. I was about to open it when the mismatched twins (and by that, I mean Tamieke and Joule) come barreling into me—

Okay, I exaggerated a bit there.

Tamieke comes barreling into me and knocking me back to my locker. Joule, being Joule, slowly follows behind him.

"Gee, Beasty, I didn't know you missed me that much!" I say sarcastically as I pull away from my locker.

"What's the matter, Beasty?" Tia asks, opening her locker door with an inaudible CREAK.

"Afro-Asian. Lit. Class. Need. Help," he wheezes, leaning his back on my locker door.

I frown and push his heavy ass to the side.

"I have a test on Afro-Asian Lit soon, and I still can't find my notes."

I open my mouth, when Joule interjects, "Don't look at me, I don't have that class."

I sigh, my lips tightly closed. "Well, that — sucks."

 Coz really, it doesn't go beyond exaggeration.

"Ave had Afro-Asian Literature last year. I reckon she still has her handouts in her locker," Tia says thoughtfully.

We turn to her in surprise.

"I do?" "Really?" Tamieke and I both speak at the exact time.

"Wait!" — I signal my hands in a T-sign. — "How on earth do you know what's inside my locker?"

I don't even know or remember the contents of my locker. At all.

"Because I organized it," Tia replies matter-of-factly.

"Oh-h, right."

I remember now. Tia had generously offered to organize my locker after the great and tragic landslide that welcomed me at the end of junior year. 

I like to think it was my locker's way of showing it missed me, rather than getting back at me for neglecting it. Like, come on, who would want their locker to be compared to a garbage dump?

"O-K, let's see. I've got some..." I trailed off, my locker door swinging to the side.

"What sorcery is this?!" I screech a second later, gesturing wildly to my — God, I can't bear to say it — 'locker'.

"Those" — Tia points proudly like one of those models in a reality game show — "are clear books and binders. They are and will always be color-coded and in alphabetical order."
She sends me a warning glance as she says so.

"You emptied my locker," I say, dumbfounded.

"I cleaned your locker," Tia says differently.

I look at the miserable remains and hold up my finger under my nose. Don't cry, woman! Suck it up!

I stroke the smooth painted corner where the said chips once laid."My stash of chips." 

"They were expired."

I gasp. "My Airheads." Now, I'm gonna shed a tear.

Tia raises a brow. "You ate all of them and left the wrappers inside."

I scoff, crossing my arms. "Because they smell good. They're literally air fresheners!"

Tia pats my shoulder. "Well, this time, get a potpourri." 

I narrow my eyes at the new accursed occupants in their former place of glory.

"I can't see anything, except for these plastic folders and weird plastic cases!" 

Tia rolls her eyes and purses her lips, her patience wearing thin. "Those are called organizers."

I turn to her with a look of betrayal and disgust.

"Ugh, my worst enemy! I can't believe I'm saying this, but I have to. You are turning me off right now, Maria Tatiana Louise Baviera."

"Quit being dramatic," she mutters with a censuring note in her voice.

"Nyh-nyuh-nyuh," I mutter unintelligibly. I read the labels on each case and-AH-HAH!

"Excelsior!"* I pull out the article from one of the 'organizers'.

"Did you find it?" Tamieke asks, rubbing his hands in excitement.

"Nope, but I did find this GQ* magazine with Jason Momoa* on the cover. I've been trying to find the time to read it, and also because —duh! — he's hot on the cover."

"Ooh, lemme see," Tamieke goes in to grab the magazine, when Tia clears her throat.

"Erm, the paper, Ave," she reminds me.

"Just a sec. I have it around here somewhere," I say, sliding some things around.

Tia's head winces."To the right!"

"Wait" — I peek over my shoulder.— "your 'right' or my 'right'?"

She arches a brow. "We both have the same 'right'."

I blow her a kiss. "Just messing with you, babe." 

I slip my hand between a teal-colored folder and a gray binder, before fishing out my old notes.

"Voila!" I hold it up in my hand like I'm presenting the next king of Pride Rock.* 

Tamieke cheers.

Joule yawns. "Finally."

"You are my savior!" Tamieke smothers me in a death grip called a 'hug'.

I inwardly cringe, cold sweats breaking out of my skin. "Stop that! People might think I'm up for favors or some shit."

'Save Me!' I mouth to Tia. I make a gagging noise in my throat, but it only gets me nothing but cruelty and betrayal as she simply grins at me.

"Sadist," I hiss at her lack of support.

"That's why we're friends," she winks at me.

I roll my eyes and pat Tamieke's back. "OK, you can let go now." 

He eventually does and holds both of my hands. "I swear, I'll buy you coffee for a week."

A what now—Well, why didn't you say so, bitch? Seems like this fucked-up morning might not be fucked-up after all. And, who says there aren't any silver linings?

"That's right, I'm your savior!" I hug him to my side with a benevolent smile.

"Who's the savior?" Kiana pops up out of nowhere, causing Tia to release an unintelligible curse.

Damn! This girl's ninja skills are creepy as hell sometimes.

"I am. Tams needed notes for Afro-Asian Lit, and I just happened to have 'em," I happily inform her, smile still in place. 

"You look happy," Kiana observes, directing her camera at me.

I giggle. Nothing beats free coffee. 

SLURP, I inwardly lick my lips. I can taste it now.

I couldn't care less if Kiana was taking pictures of me smiling with drool creeping at the edges of my lips. I was in my happy place, frolicking in a wide meadow with giant coffee beans dancing around me.

"Oh, that? Mrs. Marlowe just announced the quiz was postponed. Something about a hangover or something?"

And that was when my coffee bean friends left me. As if it doesn't get worse, Tia rolls her eyes at something behind me.

"Don't look now, but the Incubus of the Chlamydian Plague is coming through," she whispers under her breath.

Yeah right, like anything could be worse than having Crankston breathing down my neck throughout the quiz earlier and not getting any free coffee.

Of course, when someone says 'Don't look', the person being told just has to stupidly ignore the warning and look. 

In this case, the fool was me. And, at the moment I did, I dreaded it.

Aiden Richards — the town's golden boy, student council president, Mr. Popular, and all-around silver-tongued manwhore who thinks he can play anyone to the tune of his pinky finger  — walks in (what I think he's trying to be in) slow motion.

He strolls around the halls like he owns them, that arrogant look on his face that knows he can have anything he wants or get away with anything.

His hair was rich as a verdant field, tousled and swept to the side into a short curly quiff, while a few caramel brown strands were deliberately left dangling across his tanned forehead in wavy curls.

His prominent straight brows frame a vivid pair of china blue eyes that were complemented with thick lashes and upturned lids.

His hard jaw was set in a square angle and cheeks chiseled to perfection like a statue of Narcissus.*

He was the kind of guy that movies from the '80s would teach you not to trust — great hair and perfect bone structure, 'coz we all know where that would lead us (wink-wink!).

He tucks one hand in the pocket of his jeans (designer, I presume since he pretty much settles for nothing less), as he stops by a group of giggling girls.

He was the walking definition of 'trouble' that mothers and fathers ceaselessly attempt to steer their hormonal lust-filled daughters from.

Typical male hitting on every walking vagina — aggressively and relentlessly.

Not only that, he makes me do the only most sensible thing: rolling my eyes.

He sends a playful wink at one of the pretty girls along the way. It doesn't take anyone half a brain to figure out how dangerously close that girl is to pee from excitement.

If only she knew that the wink was meant for his reflection in one of the dark-tinted glass walls next to her.

DITCH Rule #5: If they're so overly conscious of their looks and hygiene, who says they won't freak out over a bit of broccoli stuck in your teeth? Save yourself the agony.

"Da-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-YUM!" Tamieke whistles beside me. 

His elongation of the word didn't escape my notice.

"Now that is some fine presidential ass."

Joule nods in agreement, his muddy brown eyes stalking over the manwhore's perky bottom.

I cross my arms to my chest. "I still can't believe you actually voted for him last year."

Yeah, you got that right. The slutbag (a.k.a. Aiden) thought he was fit to be president, and he actually made it happen.

It just proves how vapid most people are to be dazzled by his good looks and his family's massive bank account.

"We-e-e-e-ell" — Tamieke gestures wildly at the devil in question — "the boy has some good views — especially that back. A-a-and, bitch-woof, that front is packing too — for a white boy which is something."

"Not to mention, the Belle Mont enrollment rate doubled when he became the student body president," Joule adds. 

"He thought LGBT was a type of sandwich back in freshman year," Kiana — the only voice of reason — reminds him.

"But now, he knows it's not so... progress!" Tamieke cheers, still busy ogling the douchebag's stupid ass.

I give him the side-eye. "Oh, come on. Beasty, just look at him, with that dumb arrogant smirk thinking he's the teenage equivalent of Don Juan* with that misplaced superiority complex."

Side note: If it's not obvious yet, I just can't stand the guy.

"Which, he has a right to," Tamieke defends.

Seriously why are we even friends?

I snort. "Who even wears a leather jacket during summer?"

Kiana squints one of her eyes. "Um, you do?" 

Joule nods. "You did say you like guys in leather."

"Well, I don't see a man in that jacket, just a bag of dicks! Why can't he be like" — I roam my eyes trying to find a good example, and then I saw it, or — "him!" 

"Lyle," Tia spells out, sending me a knowing smile.

"Exactly, he has... good style," I manage to say, avoiding her gaze. 

I watch him pass by the lockers, sporting his BT* headphones, while his face retains that adorable sleepy-eyed expression.

His abundant crown of raven-black curls, cut and layered in a gradual short crop, was mussed up in its own quiet perfection. The tips of the front slightly more straight and brushed to the side, covering his full feathery round brows.

He wears a cropped hoodie over a pair of pants, a long-sleeved flannel shirt tied around his waist and hiding his belly button. His feet are encased in combat boots, heightening the appeal of his lean build and casual gait.

Everything about him is exquisite, from his sharp angular features and impressive bone structure, down to his dark exotic features that were passed down from his French-Moroccan grandfather.

I sigh, biting the far side of my bottom lip as I gape at the gorgeous sight in front of me.

Somehow, by some unexplained mysteries of the universe, his head turns around. His stunning sea green eyes, brilliant and clear against his coppery complexion and burnt bronze glasses, meet mine.

I straighten up, face blank, trying not to put any thought behind it. For all I knew, he was staring into an empty space.

Still, this seems more like an actual slow motion — compared to what the try-hard Aiden wanted to achieve.

His captivating gaze keeps mine bound. The subtle splashes of amber and blue in his irises resemble a coterie of wild orchids when hit by a certain amount of light. 

THUMP-THUMP, THUMP-THUMP! My hand fiddles with my rosette choker, highly aware of the quickened pulse underneath it.

I surreptitiously touch the back of my neck, the building heat prickling my skin into a reddish hue.

Tia glances at him. "Leave it for someone like Vivienne Channing's son to turn a school corridor into his own personal runway."

Joule nods, briefly pausing his game to give Lyle the once-over."You would think with a world-renowned fashion designer for a mother, he could've been on any runway show, by now."

"Mm-hmm, from Paris to New York — and in my pants. I'd want me some of that baklava," Tamieke purrs after him.

"Yeah," I say, not really listening — or capable of complex thoughts.

Just then, Kiana's phone rings.

"Uhm, so that was Shawn," Kiana says after a few words from her call.

Tamieke stares at her with a knowing grimace. "Lemme guess, boyfriend doesn't approve of tonight's itinerary?"

Kiana shrugs."I'll talk to him." 

"Sure, you will," Tia discreetly rolls her eyes at me.

Kiana nods distractedly, her attention on someone behind us. "Uh-huh, there he is right now."

She nods towards him, his gangly frame partially obscured from the line of students in view.

His back slightly slouched, he searches the crowd until his dark beady eyes fall into our cozy lil' corner.

He didn't even bother to acknowledge our existence with a nod or wave. His eyes only centered towards Kiana, he crooks his finger in a beckoning motion.

Kiana looks at us, her face hesitant. "I'll talk to you later?"

"Go," Tia prompts her, noting Shawn's impatient stance.

She nods and skips away to where her boyfriend is.

"Well, there goes our little candy floss,"* Tia sighs, watching as Shawn slings his scrawny arm around her shoulders and half-dragging her away from the hall.

I wrinkle my nose. "What does she even see in him?"

"Rebel with a cause?"* Tia reckons, eyeing his discount-version of a classic James Dean* outfit from head to toe.

"Am I not enough?" I say, slightly offended. I'm a rebel, aren't I? How many does she need in her life?

Tamieke pats my arm in sympathy. "No offense, Ave. But, you don't exactly have the right equipment she's looking to clean her camera with."

"Whatever," I mumble, returning my attention to a certain green-eyed boy who was studying a poster for the school dance.

I wonder if he's going — and with whom?

"What are you staring at?" Tia asks, looking into my line of direction and back to me.

From my periphery, I spy Lyle entering a nearby classroom before she even has the chance to see him, a cute frown on his face. 

Aww,  I could just imagine my nose bleeding at the adorable sight.

"I" — I clear my throat — "nothing, just that awful poster." I grimace at the offensive object across from me.

She throws me an amused look. "Give it time, you might change your mind."

"Yeah, 'coz spending 200 bucks to participate in an act of a primitive mating ritual guarantees romance, " I say drily, stuffing random papers into my locker.

Before Tia can say anything, the school bell rings in the background. The crowd of students in the hallway begins to dwindle down.

Tamieke, who had been busily skimming through my notes, straightens up.

Joule simply continues with his game as some students zip past him and into a nearby classroom.

"We still have three classes to go, try not to kill someone in class, yeah?" Tia encourages and tips her head back to drink her boba tea. 

I sigh."I'll try, but I can't make any promises."

"Hey, Michaels!"

Because promises are meant to be broken.

(To be Cont.)

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How far would you go for coffee?

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PLAYLIST

(in order)

Kiss — Prince

Deep — Julia Michaels

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*[F/N]*

Excelsior —  Latin word for "higher". It is known as Stan Lee's famous catchphrase.

 GQ —  slang for an attractive, well-off, and well-dressed man. Also, GQ magazine is an American international monthly men's magazine. The publication focuses on fashion, style, and culture for men, though articles on food, movies, fitness, sex, music, travel, sports, technology, and books are also featured.

Jason Momoa — is an American actor and producer. Famous for his roles, such as Khal Drogo in Game of Thrones, and Aquaman in the DCEU's 2018 Aquaman. Really, really hot DILF.

King of Pride Rock — the title/position of power held by Simba in The Lion King. At the beginning of the movie, a scene featured a young Simba being lifted in the air by Rafiki.

Narcissus —  a mythical Greek character known for his beauty and falling in love with his own reflection. He spurned the love of a nymph named Echo and was cursed to be a daffodil. His name is the origin of the word, narcissism.

Don Juan — also known as Don Giovanni, is a legendary, fictional Spanish libertine who devotes his life to seducing women. 

BT — short for "Bluetooth"

Candy Floss— British slang for "cotton candy"

Rebel With a Cause — a 1955 American drama film about emotionally confused suburban, middle-class teenagers. Also the title of Lindner's psychological study - signifying the rebellious and idealistic protagonist's search for a 'cause' - honesty and decency in a hypocritical world.

James Dean —  was an American actor. He is remembered as a cultural icon of teenage disillusionment and social estrangement, as expressed in the title of his most celebrated film, Rebel Without a Cause.

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Copyright © 2017 Lei André