She’d ‘forgotten’ her P.E. kit again. What a shame. After all, there was nothing like running aimlessly out in the freezing cold whilst being shouted at by a ‘teacher’ in a parka. Or being glared at by your classmates because you let a goal in due to the fact you were daydreaming about whatever world had taken your fancy…
Art wouldn’t take her at this time. No point, she hadn’t her book. She hadn’t any book aside from her physics textbook. Which was why she’d forgotten the others – so focused on remembering that one, the others had slipped her mind. So, quickly, trying so hard not to run, she went to the only place of solitude and joy she knew. The library.
Well, library was her name for it. The schools real library was bright and modern and soulless. She’d been rather depressed when she’d started that year and found the vile metal shelves and the sheer noise of the place. So, she had gone looking. Always, in any older school, there was a place to hide and read. So she looked. Every lunchtime, every breaktime, she’d looked. She had gotten told off more than her fair share. It didn’t deter her; nothing could, so she kept looking. Until, eventually, she found it. And it was beautiful. She had hoped for a small forgotten cloakroom, at best. Instead she’d found heaven in a schoolhouse. Wooden shelves reached the dark ceiling, and covered all but one window. That one window spilled light all over, making the air glitter and hover. Time was solid and still here. As she traced the spines, she noticed something odd. While some were as dusty as she expected, others were brushed clean, and seemed to be recently read. This explained the leather armchair in the corner, just out of the light, and close enough to the single radiator to keep warm in the upcoming winter months. She walked over to the chair, and knelt to read the spine of the book propping it up. poetry of some form or another. It was a good enough place to start as any.
She walked up the stairs to their library, hands in pockets and smiling guiltily. She was skipping maths for this, and she couldn’t wait. She knew what book she planned to read next, and had brought one from home to lend to the boy. She couldn’t wait to see him either.
She stopped, frozen. When did this happen? When did a boy mean as much to her as books? She didn’t even know his name, and yet here she was, about to allow him to touch one of her most beloved items. What madness was this? Still, she walked faster, skipping up the steps. The door, ancient and wooden, stood slightly ajar. She walked as fast as she could towards it, even now unwilling to run. Her fingers closed on the doorknob, and she stopped and closed her eyes, savouring the moment. This, she realised, was the first time she was looking forward to a new term. She swore to herself that she’d know his name by the end of the day, and his favourite book, and song, and lesson and everything she wanted to know. She was looking forward to meeting that boy as much as she was looking forwards to sinking into the cracked leather.
Nodding to herself, she opened the door and her eyes, smiling warmly.
And her heart broke.
“No.” she whispered, hearing the sound of feet behind her. “No…”
okay... bad day at school when I wrote this...