Déjà vu

The weather man had predicted a further week of sunshine for us, so my friends and I were planning a picnic at Lake Cannery on Saturday. The new girl Sofia was coming too apparently. She wasn’t starting school until Thursday, but Harper’s parents knew her parents, so Harper was her designated guide blah blah blah...

“She’s…nice…” Harper recalled when we’d brought her up.

“You don’t sound so sure,” Sunny accused.

“Well, you know. I don’t know her yet so I can’t be judgmental. We’ll take her with us and see how it goes yeah?”

I heaved a heavy folder labeled ‘SOCIOLOGY’ from my locker and immediately felt 10 pounds heavier. If it wasn’t my favorite class, I wouldn’t have had a folder at all. Harper had to shut my locker for me.

“What does she look like?” I wheezed pathetically, adjusting my grip. What the hell was in this thing?

“She’s dark and really tall and super skinny and… kinda alien like. But don’t tell her I said that!”

“Alien like?” Sunny repeated, trying to slip the fallen pages she’d caught back into my folder.

“Well, yeah. I think she was a model or something back in Australia and you know how they look really weird in real life?”

Sunny shook her head, “I’ve never seen a real life one.”

“What?” I asked curiously, “like a fashion model?”

“Yeah, but not a famous one or anything.”

My first thought was that she would be hanging out with the wrong people. Our group, well, we all looked tidy, we definitely weren’t outcasts and we socialized, but we didn’t do high maintenance. And, I mean, a fashion model? But like Harper said, we’d see how it goes.

Harper made an engine noise as we neared my next class, and she squealed the breaks when we were outside the door. “This your stop miss?” She asked in a British accent.

“We’ll see you in English,” Sunny added, waving and walking ahead. Harper started up the engine and followed her.

Someone nudged me as they squeezed through the door to the classroom and I stumbled. Yes, my fault, I was standing in the doorway with 10 pounds of extra baggage. I balanced my folder, but lost a few papers on the floor.

“Quickly class,” my teacher hollered from inside.

I hustled to pick the papers up, then squirmed around and took my place at the left side of the classroom near the window, right in the middle. Ah perfect.

Mr. Hines was a tough teacher with strong, usually effective methods, but as a person, he was just retched. He was about 40 something, still had loads of hair on his head, wore clever looking spectacles, and was the head of the department. Needless to say, he thought he was absolutely fantastic.

He paced deliberately around the room, beginning a lecture on structural functionalism, which we’d been studying for weeks now. I was almost away with the fairies until he started going on about social class, and he picked a girl from the class to stand up in front of us. The fact that he picked who he picked made me skeptical….

Lay Faloven stood stick straight before us with her arms pinned by her sides and her hair in a low pony tail. Her clothes were old and her shoes were dirty, but she looked just like any other 17 year old girl. The crucial point was that her family was not very well off, this was a fact known class wide. She had 7 siblings and a newly single mother. They lost everything in a fire when she was 8 years old, and her father was sent to prison a few years ago for some undisclosed crime. Nobody would ask her about it.

“Lay,” Mr. Hines questioned, “would you tell the class about your home life? What do your parents to do for a living?”

My mouth dropped open. He couldn’t ask that could he?

Lay looked sideways at him, not believing it herself, then she lowered her head. “My Mom works at a shop in town,” she mumbled to the ground.

“I’m sorry Lay what was that? Speak up please,” Mr. Hines insisted, leaning in and listening intently from his desk. As if he didn’t already know the answer.

What the heck was this kook of a teacher’s problem?!?

I stood from my desk abruptly. My chair scrapped back against the hard floor and gave everyone in the room a fright. I didn’t really know what I was doing, it was adrenaline talking now.

“Excuse me sir,” I interrupted, and I felt a thousand eyes turn to look at me.

“Miss Crosset?” Mr. Hines raised an eyebrow, looking surprised. He didn’t sound mad that I’d interrupted him, just surprised that it was me, his best student.

“I’m questioning your teaching methods here sir.” I was stunned, frozen solid, I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this.

He frowned deeply and shook his head, “please take your seat Annabelle—”

“—you’re abusing your power Mr. Hines. You can’t single someone out before a group of her peers like this.”

“Excuse me?” He looked absolutely appalled, “this is… it’s simply an exercise Annabelle. I am just using Lay as an example.”

“But why are you using Lay? You didn't even give her choice. You just made her do it.”

“It is part of your curriculum that you all participate in group activities.” He was getting mad now, but I wasn’t intimidated.

I laughed sharply, “This isn’t a nice little 'group activity'. How would you like it if I used you as an example of how much more arrogant some males were then others?”

The class snickered.

Mr. Hines turned red, “I’m giving you one more chance to take your seat and keep quiet—"

“As long as you stop humiliating your students just to make a point. I mean, make up a person for your example for goodness sake!”

The class broke into applause.

I’d never experienced such a feeling of empowerment before. It was wonderful. But the huge grin on my face quickly faded when I saw Mr. Hines, red faced, red eared and hands clenched, giving me a death stare. Uh oh.

“QUIET!” he yelled. The class immediately stopped and twisted back in their seats with a rustle of chairs and papers.

I swallowed loudly – traitors.

“Get out of this classroom immediately Annabelle, this is not acceptable!”

I just stared, a million things running through my head. I wasn’t entirely sure what I thought myself. I didn’t immediately regret standing up for Lay, but if I got kicked out of my sociology class….

As I packed away my things, I felt everybody watching me again, but not quite so obviously this time. I wasn’t usually a self conscious person, but I scanned quickly around the class, gauging their reactions to the situation.

A few girls in the back, they looked like cheerleaders, smiled at me sympathetically. A kind gesture, but I’d doubted they’d ever got sent out of there favorite class for standing up for someone. Actually, most people in the class looked sympathetic. At least I got the feeling that, in reality, done the right thing.

I lifted my heavy folder and snuck a quick look at Lay, who had run back to her seat as soon as the yelling started. She had her head down, which made her the only person not watching me.

Then I got an odd feeling, don’t ask why, and I turned to look at the opposite side of the room.

George Holley, all pretty with messy hair and a trucker shirt, was staring at me. His eyes were wide, a pencil sticking out of his mouth. I quickly looked away.

“Hurry up!” Mr. Hines screeched across the classroom.

I scurried out of the class, not taking a second look, and he slammed the door behind me.

The hallway was completely empty – no teachers, no students – just empty chip packets and sandwich wrap littering the hall floors. I made my way outside, trying to be calm and rational, and not to let thoughts about what I just did, or the consequences, enter my head. God my parents were going to freak out when they found out about all of this…

As I took up a place outside on a bench beside the fountain, I noticed my stomach was turning painfully.

Why did I feel so bad?

I ran through the whole event again in my head and realized, to my utter embarrassment, that all I could think about was the fact that George was there. Why had I never noticed he was in that class with me? And he saw the whole bloody thing.

I never wanted to look like a fool in front of him, I didn’t deserve that. How degrading.

With a sigh, I opened my giant sociology folder and flicked through it. Why I was reading my notes was a mystery to me. If I was going to get booted out of my class, then studying was pointless. At the time though, I just wasn’t thinking.

The far away sound of kids chatting animatedly caught my attention. I shuffled across to the edge of the bench until I was obscured by a nearby tree. I didn’t want anyone asking me why I was outside during class.

The talking became louder as more and more people walked out of the school and onto the court yard. There must have been 20 or 30…I lifted my eyes and peered around the tree.

That group of cheerleaders, those artsy kids wearing tie die shirts, that one red headed boy that was really memorable…. my sociology class. I lifted my head now, curiosity getting the better of me. I recognized them all.

My heart swelled. They had walked out after me! They weren’t traitors after all!

I looked back down at my work, pretending too, but not really reading it anymore because I was too excited. Maybe I wouldn’t get in trouble now that I wasn’t the only bad seed in the class? Maybe all their parents would file complaints and Mr. Hines would get a whooping and leave school? The thoughts swirled around in my head like wild fire. I would be remembered in sociology history!

….well maybe not that one.

“That was a brave thing you did.”

I jumped when the voice sounded from right beside me on the bench. I was so caught up in pretending to read my notes I hadn’t noticed anyone sit down.

I looked over, ready to thank the commenter, then stopped straight away.

It was the lean frame and tussled head of George Holley. His pencil was still in his mouth and his arm was resting against the back of the bench near me. He was looking at me intently, waiting for me to speak.

George was looking at me.

He was talking to me…

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” he added with a chuckle when I didn’t reply.

What on earth was going on?

Flushed, I closed my mouth quickly after realizing it was hanging open. My hand moved up and ran through my heavy hair as I turned back to my notes. If I knew how to do one thing, it was how to ignore George Holley.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I asked nonchalantly, heaving my sociology folder shut.

There was silence for a minute and he straightened up. I was overjoyed when I caught the expression on his face. Surprised was he that someone didn’t know his name? I bet he didn’t even know mine…

Then he smiled again, even bigger than before and held his hand out to me. “It’s George,” he responded courteously.

What an idiot. Did he not remember me from his classes for the last 16 flipping years?

But I mentally hit myself when I clicked he was just playing along with my ploy. I could tell he knew I knew what his name was, if that makes sense? George always did enjoy a good game.

I ignored his hand and rose from my seat. He got up as well and passed me my bag before I could adjust my folder enough to pick it up myself. I begrudgingly took it from him and began my journey back to the lockers.

He strode along beside me, uninvited.

I frowned, “can I help you with something?”

“Can I?” he retorted, referring to the big burly folder I was hauling around with me.

I shook my head, muttering under my breath, and attempted to speed up my walk. It looked like I was failing at escaping though, one of his strides was probably two of mine.

“He was going to use Lay in spite of you,” George stated, placing his hands in his jean pockets. He looked far too comfortable walking next to me. I was sure I looked a lot less so.

“So you all left?” I asked, trying to sound uninterested.

“I left.”

I scoffed out loud, and in an unladylike way. And they all followed you your highness, of course. I wasn’t George Holley; I didn’t get special privileges like the whole class backing me up when I was trying to make a point.

“Right,” I murmured.

The minute I stepped back into the hall, which now had a few groups of people lining it, he stepped in after me. I spun around, stopping him.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Ooo he made me so mad. I took a deep breath, “Why are you following me?” I asked, trying to keep my cool now.

“You look like you have somewhere to go.” He shrugged and smiled mischievously.

“And you want to go somewhere too?”

“Yes.”

What the funk? Still partly riled up from my fight with Mr. Hines, I’d had enough.

“Why are you talking to me?” I snapped.

He sat on that one for a minute, looking past my head at something, then back at me, “hmmm… to communicate or exchange ideas with you, I suppose.”

That sounded like it came from the dictionary.

“No, I mean why are you talking to me personally?”

He pondered this one too, looking down at the ground quizzically, then up to the folder in my arms, and finally straight into my eyes. He was smirking again.

“Because I like you, personally.”

Nope. This simply wasn’t happening. I wasn’t having this. I was not a George Holley fan girl he could pick from.

“Just leave me alone,” I barked, making a point of making my walk away look particularly vicious.

I didn’t look back, but once I rounded the second corner, thankfully he wasn’t there.

I hurried to my locker, my heart pounded and my ears were hot with anger. My back slammed against the flimsy metal, clanging with the extra weight of my folder, and I stood there motionless for a moment.

What the hell had just happened? I needed to process….

“Annabelle Crosset,” a stern voice bellowed across the hallway, echoing off the empty walls and hitting me twice as hard.

My head snapped up and I saw Mrs. Rowling, the vice principal, walking towards me purposefully. Any other people from my class who happened to be in the hallway at the time, had now been frightened off. The woman’s heels clopped tidily against the linoleum and I stood stationary.

She stopped a few meters away.

“Would you go and sit outside the principal’s office please?” but it wasn’t a question.

I swallowed hard and nodded. I hadn’t had time to prepare myself for this yet. My Folder was hurting my arms, so I quickly shoved it into my locker while her fierce eyes watched me skeptically. I had to lower my head as I walked around her and straight to the staff area.

The dreaded principal's office.

God, how could so much crap happen in 20 minutes? This was not my day.

I sat outside on a visitors chair awaiting the onslaught. While he finished his important principal business, I thought up several things I could have said in sociology to have softened this blow. Mr. Hines would not have minded a less aggressive sociology related debate. I could have suggested that? Damn you adrenaline. Sometimes my temper just got away from me…

I heard the sound of Mrs. Rowling's heels walking up the hallway, followed by more casual footsteps. Something soft, like a pair of loved Converse.

She entered the room, ignoring me, and walked to the principal’s door, peeking her head around to say something to him. When I saw who walked in after her, I wished somebody was there to tell me this wasn’t a nightmare. George Holley strolled into the waiting room, hands in pockets, looking not the least bit worried.

“Hmm, what could this be about?” he said to me in a low voice, laughing darkly.

I stood up, but didn’t get a chance to say anything.

“Come in you two.”

George held his arm open, gesturing for me to go first. As I passed him, he leaned close and whispered, “let me do the talking and we will both get out of here alive. Trust me.”

I stopped and turned to him, confused, but Mrs. Rowling ushered me in quickly.

Our principal wasn’t a particularly menacing looking guy, but Mr. Hines, who was standing behind him, was menacing enough for the two of them.

Mrs. Rowling never entered the room with us, only closed the door that trapped us in. There was nowhere for us to sit, the chairs that were previously there for his guests had been moved to the sides of the room, most likely Mr. Hines’ idea, trying to make it look more like an interrogation than anything else.

My heart was racing. I wasn’t a bad student, I just wasn’t. Especially in something like Sociology, which was the only thing I could really do properly. I couldn’t get kicked out of that class. This was all just a big misunderstanding.

I couldn’t resist; I peered across at George. He looked content, smiling politely at Mr. Hines and principal Allen, the latter of whom, smiled politely back and nodded.

“You both know why you are here?” The principal asked. We nodded.

“Well then,” he began, “who would like to start with an explanation? Annabelle?”

I opened my mouth, and then remembered what George had said. He spoke before I could anyway.

“May we hear exactly what it is we are being accused of first Mr. Allen?” George asked smoothly, confidently.

That was a good question, what did Mr. Hines tell the principal? I would have diverged straight into what happened and why I did what I did. Maybe letting George talk really was a good idea…?

The principal nodded, “Yes of course. Mr. Hines came to me not long ago, distressed, as his entire senior sociology class had walked out of the room. George, I am led to believe you initiated the walk out?”

“Yes.”

The principal nodded, expecting that answer.

But George said he walked out of his own accord. The class just followed him, it wasn’t his fault he was so influential. Well...it was really. I still felt like yelling at that awful teacher, but George kept his cool and took the blame.

The principal turned to me.

“And Annabelle, the allegations against you are a bit more serious.”

I felt my breath quiver.

“You are being accused of disrupting the class, interrupting the lesson plan, questioning it’s content, calling your teacher arrogant and humiliating him in front of his pupils.”

Oh God.

“If I may, Mr. Allen,” George questioned, relaxing my heart a little bit, “did Mr. Hines tell you what the lesson plan was about?”

“Yes. He was using student examples as subjects for investigate, which is completely plausible.”

Mr. Hines smiled and crossed his arms. I shook my head in disgust.

George continued, “and did he mention what kind of student examples were used?”

“Why yes, Mr. Holley,” the principal replied formally. I could tell he thought highly of George, “A young girl from your class had kindly volunteered. How is this relevant?”

My blood boiled. I knew I shouldn’t, I didn’t want to...but…I had to.

“No that’s wrong,” I snapped, my outburst made everyone jump, “She never volunteered! Mr. Hines picked her because who he knew she had a poorer background then forced her stand up in front of everyone and tell them all about—!”

George grabbed my wrist hastily and I stopped. I took a breath, then another one and another one. The principal was frowning, Mr. Hines was sneering and I was shaking with rage.

“Anna,” George warned in a hush tone, not looking at me. He let go of my wrist and I tried to breath. Okay Annabelle, let George talk, just this one time, let the damn boy bail you out! You can take your anger out on someone else later.

“Mr. Hines?” the principal questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“She agreed to address the class,” Mr. Hines murmured in his defense. Liar.

George faced the principal, the picture of calm, “Can I ask a question sir?”

“You may.”

“Mr. Hines, did you mention who it was exactly that ‘volunteered?’ ”

The two men frowned at George and the principal shook his head slowly, then looked to Mr. Hines and back. “Is it relevant?”

“It was Lay Faloven,” George revealed, his expression accusing now.

Wow, he executed that perfectly. Even I was a little shocked when the words shot out of his mouth.

The principal's eyebrows raised sky high, and he turned to Mr. Hines. I wished I had a camera; the look on Mr. Hines’ face was absolutely priceless.

Knowledge of Lay’s situation was not limited to just our class, of course the principal knew, and of course there was absolutely no way Lay would have volunteered. I was so impressed with the way George handled things. He never once said a bad thing about Mr. Hines, and here we were, about to get let off the hook.

The principal frowned and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, “it seems we have an issue here.”

Mr. Hines turned his back to us and ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t really expect to get away with that one did he? He had definitely made a mistake bringing George into this.

The principal looked up at us, regaining composure and smiling now, “George, Annabelle, I don’t want to see two such promising seniors in this situation again. You’re free to go, just behave yourselves.”

That was it? I couldn’t believe it!

George turned around and strode out the door without a word. I quickly followed suit.

The minute it was closed, raised voices could be heard from behind it. I kept concentrating on my breathing as I walked over to pick up my bag. Did this mean I was still in sociology? I hoped so. I did like that class. George stayed standing by the Principals door, listening through it and grinning madly.

That stupid boy just saved my butt. I guess I needed to say something to him….

“You’re welcome,” he offered, still smiling and finding great amusement in whatever was being said behind that door.

Ugh, I must have been too easy to read. Well, at least I didn’t have to say it now.

“How did you do it?” I asked, slightly curiously. I'd only ever heard stories about students going in there and never coming back out.

“Good old principal Allen just thinks the world of me,” he shrugged, “couldn’t you tell?”

Should have expected something like that.

I shook my head, brushing him off, and threw my bag over my shoulder, “well thanks,” I muttered, then scuttled out the door.

As I walked down the empty hall, the bell rang for my next class. The hallway suddenly came to life and there were students rampaging the area as usual. Some of them looked at me, surprised and amazed. I didn’t know how the news could have spread so quickly….?

But It wasn’t until I was I was standing in front of my locker, prying it open, that I realized I wasn’t alone.

“What class do you have now?” George asked curiously as he leaned against the lockers beside mine.

I frowned at him, and decided it was best not to answer.

He exhaled loudly. He was hard to hear over the buzz of the students, “So I still have to leave you alone?”

I nodded, slyly slipping my history book out of the locker and into my bag. He leaned across and caught my attention, forcing me to glare up at him.

“Just to warn you, I don’t think that’ll happen,” he said suavely, before pushing himself up and walking back the way we came, hands in pockets.

I could not have slammed that locker any harder.