She just came back from summer vacation. She's a normal teenage girl. Two best friends, good grades. Then she sees him, walking the hallways of their school. His brown hair, gelled back, brown woolen vest, black tie, and a white shirt. His glasses placed low on his nose. She watched him push them back, closer to his emerald green eyes. What was it about him? He really outdid the geek stereotype. Or maybe that's just a judgement you would make, if you only knew how he looks and acts. Because what if it just is an act? What if he wasn't a geek the geek you thought he were?


12. A Very Bad Day Without the Brown-haired Boy

After waking up, drenched in sweat, I took a quick shower, since I did not have much time to get ready. By 7:53 I knew we were unavoidably late and after grabbing a pear from the kitchen counter, and Laila grabbing an apple, we sprinted out of the front door, and jumped in the car. She fumbled with inserting the keys into the keyhole, which frustrated me, because we were so late, and it took around 20 minutes to drive to school, but we were on our way at last. 

"Oh my god, that morning was stressful!" I exhale calmy.

"Yeah, but we're gonna be so late for class!" Laila exclaimed.

"I know, I know," I say knowingly. "But did you bring your phone? Because I saw you leave it on the countertop when you were fumbling with the apple when it dropped."

Halfway through my sentence, Laila makes a loud dramatic sigh sound, and short intake of breath, and I realize that she totally forgot it. 

"No!" She shouts. "No! No! No, I cannot forget my phone at YOUR house! We have to go back, I'm turning around right now."

"But- No- We can't, we're already half an hour late- ugh, who am I kidding, she's driving the car here, not me." I whisper the last part to myself. I sigh, and curse myself for letting her forget when I saw it sitting so innocently on the countertop right in front of me. 

We turn back, and Laila rushes back int the house to get the phone. The drive to school felt like it lasted for 10 hours. I was jumping in my seat, fidgeting with my fingers and my own phone, and tapping my foot violently on nothing, as if to magically accelerate the car even though the pedals were to the left of me, under Laila's feet. I could tell Laila wanted to step really hard on that gas pedal but managed to restrain. At one point, we stopped at a red light, in the middle of a cross section, where there were literally no cars. 

"But there are no cars! Why can't we just go?!" I exclaimed, facing towards me. Her foot was touching the gas pedal, but still managed to control herself.

"We can't! We'll get a speeding ticket! Don't worry, it'll only be a few more seconds." A whole minute later, the light still hadn't turned green. She gave in, and shouted: "Ugh, whatever! We're wasting time!"

"What did I tell you?!" I exclaimed as she pushed down on the gas pedal. Luckily, we did not get a speeding ticket because, we hadn't even driven under the large light, when I noticed it turn green out of the corner of my eye."

We made it to school at 9:23, because of all the traffic the rest of the way. I was so frustrated because I kept a fairly great attendance record, and my parent's, as much of workaholics they might be, still care about my school life, which means that they would be super mad. 

When we get to school Laila hurriedly parks the car, but we have to park it all the way across the parking lot because all the ones close to the door are taken. We run like wild animals towards the school doors, and we almost scream running down the hallways. When we get the the History room (which is what we both have next), we have to stop outside and wait for a few moments to catch our breaths from running that much. Looking through the glass pane installed in the door, I can see Mrs. Thomas giving a lecture, and the students are either listening intensively, or staring downs at their thumbs or out of the window. 

I open the door tentatively.

All the students heads turn to face us. Mrs. Thomas does not see us at first, but when she notices all of her pupils staring towards the door, she turns herself as well. 

"Laila? Lydia? Well, I have been expecting you, and especially you, miss Williams since you have never missed, or been late to any of my lessons, but since you decided to show up late to class-" Mrs. Thomas was interrupted by a provoking sound of a ring, ring ring. I looked around to see whose phone that was, and I realized, when everybody was staring at me, some snickering among themselves, that the sound came from my own bag. 

I shove my hand into my bag, rummaging through the hurried, put-together mess that is the interior of my bag. Finally, my hand grabs ahold of the cold surface of my phone, and I pull it out. It is my mom. 

Mrs. Thomas glares me down from where she is standing, although she is shorter than me. I try to think quickly, making up an excuse that seems plausible, but gives up, and just mumble to no one a few predicted words: "It's my mom. I'm sorry, I have to go."

Mrs. Thomas starts to protest, rambling angrily about disturbing the class, and the fact that phones should be off during school, and that we are late, but I escape out of the door, leaving poor Laila to clean up my mess. I give her a glance on the way out of the door, that says 'I'm sorry," but she gives me an understanding look, knowing that my mom never calls me, only for emergencies. 

I run through the hallway, answering when I'm a few meters away from the double doors that lead outside. I place myself next to the door, and put my phone to my ear, listening.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Yes, hello there, is this Lydia Williams?" a female voice says, the type that you would hear from an advertisement. 

"Yes, this is her." I answer tentatively.

"We are calling from Humming Hills Hospital. Your phone number was one of your mothers emergency contacts, and as her, presumed, husband did not answer, you were next. We are calling to tell you that your mother had been in a very serious vehicle accident, and she is in very difficult conditions. This could be a situation between life and death. If you would like to come to the hospital to show your support and learn more, you are more than welcome to. Farewell, Humming Hills Hospital."


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