Lies, Laws and Love

It was a relatively warm February day. The air was calm, no wind, perturbing the few pedestrians that graced the street, blowing. Sounds were muffled, except for a few cars honking on the streets, the occasional squealing of tires on the pavement and the shrill, widely-heard ringing of a bell.

The sun shone brightly from a grey sky, with a hint of blue, warming the city with its long, broad streets and many squares, prompting the people to spend their time outside, soaking in the first rays of spring.

A building, three stories high, with an exquisite façade, cast a long, broad shadow on the small figures, all clad in crimson and grey, slowly filling out into the yard in the front. Some sat down on the circular, momentarily dry, fountain, others just crossed the paved square, vanishing in expensive cars, waiting on a parking-lot surrounded by a sparse hedge. All the rich green leaves had fallen a few months prior, leaving only the grayish brown of the twigs behind.

Amongst the many groups of students, a single girl stood close to a corner of the school-yard, not noticing the commotion going on behind her. A group of four girls chatted animatedly amongst themselves, while passing by, not paying any heed to the girl. They all wore the same school-uniform, consisting of a white, long-sleeved blouse, a grey slip-over, bearing the school’s crest – a crimson shield with the grey letters BTA, flanked by two crows, hovering above a scroll displaying the words ‘Vitae discimus’ - and a crimson plaid skirt. Their legs were covered by woolen, black tights, their shoes black, sleek, elegant Mary-Jane's.

The lone girl was lost in her own world, her own thoughts. Her shiny hazel hair fell in natural, long locks over her back, reaching her waist, and was held out of her face by a red headband. She stared through the black painted iron-bars of the fence that surrounded the school-yard. To her the yard seemed more like it belonged to an embassy, the high black iron-bars, the elegant façade, the fountain and the grim flair of the whole institution. It reminded her of embassies in Paris, Berlin or Prague.

But at the moment, she wasn’t concentrating on France or Germany. Her eyes were fixed on a point beyond the iron-bars, on the sports ground beyond. A group of guys played basketball, their laughter and yells echoing off the school building behind the girl, while a single boy sat on the tribunes, back hunched forwards slightly, apparently watching the game.

As always, her eyes were drawn to him, glued on his figure, clad in casual wear, clearly contrasting with all the students she went to school with. Dark brown eyes were scrutinizing his form, his movements, barely blinking, while the girl stood upright, motionless. The shadow of the school-building that fell upon her, shielded her eyes from invading sunlight, but she still narrowed them, the grey sky emitting garish light.

While she stared, she didn’t pay attention to the many casual clad boys, goofing off next to their cheap cars while they watched the uniformed students fill out into the parking-lot slowly. She knew they were from the local high school and on Wednesdays their PE classes were held on the grounds of Burlington Trade Academy, since the public gym was being refurbished at the moment.

The loud voice that suddenly resounded next to her, hit her like an unexpected elbow to the ribs. She closed her eyes instinctively, raised her hands, futilely trying to shield her body from physical blows. Yet the second her brain restarted rational thinking, she lowered them, opened her eyes, the soft brown now embedded in irritatedly narrowed eyes that caused the faint freckles on her cheeks and nose to stand out more than usual.

Even so, when she turned slightly, facing a half a head smaller red-head, she refrained from making any comment. Instead she took in the sulking, angry expression the girl wore and her stance. Clearly, she was expecting an answer of a kind, having put her hand on her hip, pressing her lips together in anticipation.

The only logical answer the brown-eyed girl could come up with was to roll her eyes.

And her friend seemed satisfied with the general answer, starting frantically to rant. “I can’t believe she gave me detention again, just because I forgot to put the damn pin on my freaking blazer! I mean how stupid is that?”

The girl chose not to answer that rhetorical question, instead only turned away again, staring intently at the boy on the tribunes, on the lookout for any movement he might make. She ignored most of the insults the red-head was now spouting off in her rage against the teacher, only staring at the single boy sitting on the other side of the fence. His elbows were positioned on his thighs, his hoodie riding high on his back, while his pants rode low on his hips, exposing his boxer-shorts.

“What do you think, Brooke?” At the mentioning of her name by the red-head, she turned her head towards her friend, confusedly staring at her. Her tone of voice had changed and she seemed mildly excited now. Her ocean-blue eyes were fixed on the guys that played basketball further off.

But after a few seconds, when she didn’t receive an answer, she turned her head towards Brooke, raising her eyebrows. “What? You didn’t listen again?” Without waiting for any kind of response, she repeated the question.

“Who’s hotter? The blond guy or the one with the green-purple shirt?”

Though Brooke found this question rather annoying and childish, she averted her eyes and searched for the two boys in question. With a low sigh, her eyes wandered over each boy individually, before she answered. She managed to suppress her annoyance at this Wednesdayly occurrence, though she found it in fact rather silly.

Every Wednesday her best friend acted as if she had never seen guys before. It was ridiculous, hearing how she gushed about one at first and the next second, her attention was drawn to a completely different guy, the same paroles of how hot and cute he was, shooting from her mouth. Yet she didn’t complain, knowing that if she did, her best friend would only resort to an old nickname that she would rather forget.

Her eyes darted from one boy to the other while she answered. “I don’t know, Jasmine. They’re both okay.” Her voice was soft and low as she spoke, yet indifferent, expressing her disinterest clearly. So openly that even the red-head couldn’t overhear it.

“Okay?!” she snorted offended, but Brooke only shrugged. It was a gesture that didn’t quite fit with her proper posture and upright stance. Jasmine, however, averted her eyes and stared openly at Brooke. Her eyes didn’t shine accusingly, yet they were darting around quickly in her face, trying to figure something out. And then her mouth opened in realization.

Before she even began to speak, Brooke knew what was going to come. It was always the same procedure.

”Now I see why you’re saying something like that. After all look who’s sitting there?” She threw her thumb over her shoulder pointing to the single boy on the tribunes, grinning mischievously.

She answered her own question fluidly, as Brooke avoided following the pointed thumb’s direction. “Wed-boy.”

Brooke did her best to glare at her best friend, wanting to seem annoyed at the nickname and the fact that she had deliberately brought it up. But Jasmine was only grinning cheekily, leaning closer towards her and lowered her voice. “I always knew you were more for the academic boys.”

Confused she furrowed her eyebrows. She didn’t know what Jasmine was talking about. There was nothing academic about the boy on the tribunes. But her best friend, who could read her expression with annoying accuracy, pointed towards the boy again, this time with her pointer finger.

“He’s reading.” She stated as if he was doing something outrageous.

Brooke’s pale, pink lips formed a silent ‘Oh’, revealing brilliant white teeth for a moment, as she looked back over to the boy, now noticing the book on his lap and seeing that he was indeed reading.

Jasmine shifted her weight suddenly and then began to speak, her tone completely normal, no traces of the big conspiracy she suspected in her best friend’s life left.

“Well I’m leaving now.” And then at receiving only a dismissive, disinterested nod, she added. “Are you going over to him or what?” Her question was indelicate, blunt to the bone.

“I don’t know yet.” Brooke, used to rough questions such as that, answered slowly, calmly, still staring at the now visible pages of the book. The white was nearly blinding in the sun-light. “I think so.” She added slowly, feeling unsure of her resolve. Her brown eyes were narrowed and the barely sun-kissed skin of her face glowed in the garish light.

“Well if you do, you have to tell me all about it tomorrow.” Jasmine said, obviously satisfied with the answer she received, and smiled in anticipation. She loved hearing details about encounters with boys.

“I will.” Brooke answered lost in thought, her eyes fixed on the boy as he turned a page. Jasmine’s eyes rested on her for a moment longer, as she contemplated. Then she just shook her head slightly and spoke up again softly.

“Okay. Take care.” She embraced Brooke, who smiled lightly, and then, returning the smile, she took a few steps back, turned around and left, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

“You too.” Brooke whispered, knowing that her best friend couldn’t hear. Yet she expected the girl to turn around and smile again, or yell something. She didn’t.

As she lost sight of the smaller girl, her eyes wandered further into the distance, where she caught sight of a sleek, black limousine, a man, clad in black formal attire, standing next to it.

She struggled, trying to make a clear decision. At the moment she really didn’t want to go home already. She turned her head back to the boy and then remembered her friend’s words.

Suddenly feeling exceptionally bold, she walked towards the opened gate, turned right, towards the sports-grounds, passing the black iron-fence.