Fifteen

This piece was inspired by Taylor Swift’s ‘Fifteen’. I love her music and so decided to take the lyrics from one of her songs and turn them into a story. I am still experimenting with this and it is a work in progress, but I hope that you like it. :)

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2. Redheaded Abigail

Two days had passed since Logan had given me his phone number and I was still in no state to call him. I mean, what if it was all a joke, or a stupid prank of some sort. I had heard of it happening before; boys daring each other to ask a girl out, only to break her heart a while later. Such a sick idea of a joke, but I suppose the look on her face gives them something to laugh about, something to feed off. Sighing, I turned onto my back, the soft duvet comforting me and swallowing me up.

Why couldn’t everything be simpler? If only I had a friend to guide me along the way; to click that ‘call’ button; to send him daring messages through my phone; to talk about my problems to. Discarding the thought, I rolled off of the bed, landing face first, on the wooden floor.

God. My life is just so, hard.

“Hey Erin, what do you think about having a lasagne for dinner? I have one in the fridge and I-“

“Mum,” I started; ready to explain, for the hundredth time, that I do not care what we are having for dinner. Subtly, I stuffed both the card and the phone under the covers, in hope that she wouldn’t ask about them.  No way was my Mum going to start messing around in my personal life.

 “What’s that you got there?” She inquired, leaning inwards to get a better view.

“Uh, nothing,” I started to panic. “Just a diary I am keeping.” I laugh nervously as she frowns. A diary? Who was I kidding? I can’t write at all, and I have never shown any kind of interest in writing diaries before. I suppose it was just the first thing that came to mind. It could have been anything, a book, money or even a present of some sort. Why a diary? I am officially the world’s worst liar, ever. Mentally, I was groaning and stamping my foot, praying that she would fall for my trick, but, in reality, I was smiling up at her and attempting puppy dog eyes, hoping that she would fall for my child-like cuteness and dismiss the sudden curiosity of hers. No such luck.

“Erin Leah Thompson, whatever it is that you are up to, I don’t like it.” She narrowed her eyes at me.

“Mum, really its nothing-“

 “Oh, I get it.” She smiled. “Boy trouble.”

“What! No! I just-“But she was already out of the door. Grabbing a pillow, I beat it senseless and wrapped it in a warm bear hug, burying my face in between the creases. Looking up, I notice my mother, standing in the doorway again.

 “So lasagne, right?” She said rationally, speaking like her normal self and not like a boy-stricken teenage girl.

“Right.” I confirmed, distracting myself by picking at my peeling nail varnish and then moving on to gnawing at my nails. She smiled at me, her lips tugging upwards at the corners.

“Great. It will take 10-20 minutes. I will call you then.”

“O.K. then.” I muttered. Why wouldn’t she just leave? Didn’t she realise that I needed privacy and personal space? After all this is my room.

She disappeared, only to return again with a strict look in her eye. “Oh, and Erin,”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. I was bored of her now.

“Don’t bite your nails.” And then she was gone. I took my fingers away from my mouth, almost guiltily. Why were Mothers so annoying?

Flopping back onto my bed, I retrieved my phone from under the cover, tapping at the screen until it woke, buzzing back to life and indicating that I only had five minutes left of charge. I fumbled around in my pocket for the card, bringing out several random items. A packet of chewing gum, a paperclip and an expired bus ticket were some of the few things that inhabited my skinny jeans’ front pocket, along with a neatly folded version of the card. I laid them out across my pillow, selecting the square that was the card, and unfolding it carefully.

The words were still there, along with the phone number. Picking up my phone, I typed in the number and added ‘Logan Carter’ to my contacts. I judged whether or not I should send him a quick text message but shyness won again my ‘flirtatious’ side and grabbing a book, I started to read, desperate to distract my mind.

*

I slid into my assigned seat and threw my bag under the desk hastily, its contents rattling as it hit the table leg. Looking around, I noticed that the majority of my classmates were doing the same thing; some slouching back in their chairs and rifling through their bags lazily, whereas others had less patience, sitting bolt upright and tipping out the contents of their bags onto their desks, searching desperately for one small particular thing.

The typical classroom atmosphere hung in the air around me, ruined only by the peculiar-looking teacher sitting behind the desk at the front. Fuzzy, grey eyebrows sat above his matching eyes, blending into his papery skin and dull grey hair. He would have looked like your average stuffy maths professor, if it weren’t for his mismatched clothes and clashing tie. Big, heavy frames sat upon his long nose, his watery eyes peering through at us. Pushing the rim of his glasses up, he straightened his tie and bright, tartan tweed jacket and proceeded to calling out the register slowly, as though it pained him to read each name.

“Abigail McKenzie?” He drawled over the name, looking out into the sea of people expectantly.

“Here, sir.” A voice like bells rang out from my left. I tilted my head in her direction, studying her with curious eyes. Dark crimson ringlets bounced around her face, highlighting her deep brown eyes and slicked pink lips. She possessed the kind of beauty I had always dreamed of having; natural. She caught my glance and smiled, turning back towards the teacher as he read out the next name.

“Erin Thompson?”

“Yes sir.” I could feel her gaze back on me, analysing my appearance. I smoothed my hair back and tugged at the rim of my skirt. I caught her eye again and we both smiled, looking down at our shoes nervously. Neither of us had the courage to say any more than that, we were both quite shy.

The teacher stood up and walked towards the white board, revealing brown trousers and sandal-like shoes. I stifled a laugh. How could anyone who seemed so crazy work at a school? As I looked around, I realised that I wasn’t the only one. The majority of the class were covering their mouths in some way or another. The teacher introduced himself as Mr Baker and started drawing up a series of questions for us to answer. I got out my books and essentials and began to copy the sums into my textbook.

My elbow brushed my pencil case, causing it to spill itself all over the floor, and covering the wooden surface in stationary. As I set to work gathering it all up, the girl crouched down to help.

“Thanks,” I smiled at her, stuffing my case in my bag.

“No problem! I’m Abigail, by the way.” She winked at me and sat back in her chair. “You’re Erin, right?”

“Yep,” I fiddled with my pen nervously. I had never been any good at speaking to strangers. Luckily, she seemed to be leading the conversation.

“Great!” She laughed, her bell-like voice ringing out across the room. “So, what’s the deal with you and Logan Carter? I hear that he likes someone with the name Erin Thompson. Might that be you?” She winked again and I flushed scarlet. I thought that the whole thing was merely some kind of joke. I had never even considered the idea that he actually liked me.

“Uh- I don’t know. I have only talked to him once, and it was just briefly. I had no idea that he liked me!” I flushed again, swallowing my embarrassment.

“Really? Apparently he gave you his phone number and everything!”

“Well… Yes, but-“I gushed.

“Wow! He did? I knew it was true! I can’t-“She trailed off, looking up into the face of Mr Baker. He loomed over us, a strict, bored expression covering his face.

“What exactly did you know was true, Miss McKenzie?” He emphasised the word ‘exactly’, his words slow and deliberate. “Is it something that needs to be shared with the class?” His mouth was set in a straight line, his eyes boring into the top of my head.

“No it was nothing, sir. Just to do with the nth term of a geometric sequence, that’s all!” She smiled at him, her cheery tone momentarily knocking him off guard.

“Well,” He coughed. “That’s ok then.” He walked off, looking confused before turning onto another student chewing gum.

“You just need to know how to deal with them!” She giggled and stuck her tongue out quickly. I laughed and we both turned back to our work, a smile slapped onto our faces.

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