How to Date Alexis Brighten

I stormed out the double doors into the deserted hallway and straight for my locker. I couldn’t believe Daniel had jumped straight in the pool when he must’ve seen me sitting there. Did he purposely want to ruin my clothes? I doubted this, because he probably had no idea how much the silk blouse had cost, and even if he did, he didn’t care anyway.

I reached my locker and opened it hastily; going through the small selection of clothing I kept on hangers inside in case of emergencies. I peeled off my ruined top and threw it in the bottom of my locker in a wet mess before slipping a white shirt over my head. I slammed my locker door shut and put my shoes on, heading for the front lawns. My phone buzzed and I stopped to rummage through my bag for it. I found it and flipped it open, holding it up to my ear.

“What?!” I screeched into the phone.

“Alexis, dear, what’s wrong?” I heard my Mother’s voice say.

“Just having a bad day,” I explained with a sigh.

“Can you pick Isaac up after school?” she asked me, not bothering to question me further about my own troubles. Isaac always came first.

“Yeah, sure,” I replied. I really couldn’t say no. My Mum tried so hard to care for him, but she couldn’t help getting so caught up with her job.

“Thanks, Alexis. Really.”

“Mum, don’t fret about it. I’ll see you tonight,” I said, hanging up on her. She could be hard to deal with sometimes, and there was only so much I could take. Especially with her always worrying over Isaac. I could tell my Mum tried, but I was looked over most of the time. It was like everything in our small family revolved around Isaac, and everything we did went towards making him feel comfortable. I didn’t matter, at least, not when Isaac was around.

The school bell rang and the halls started to fill up with students around me. I rolled my eyes and reluctantly made my way to my next class – English Literature. I thanked my lucky stars that Daniel wasn’t in my class. I didn’t want him to see the affect he had on me, how angry he could make me. I didn’t want to give him the impression that I thought about him at all. That would just give him some sort of sick satisfaction that he most definitely did not deserve.

I was first into class and I whipped out my copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the play we were studying this semester. Students started to filter into the classroom slowly in small groups, but no one bothered to sit in the spare seat next to me. I thought back to the Cons list that was still in my jeans pocket. ‘Judgemental’ and ‘arrogant’ were two of the things listed. Is that why no one wanted to sit beside me? Could it be possible that the list was true? Was I intimidating? Was I really as bitchy as the rumours portrayed me to be?

I told myself that it couldn’t be true, that I was a good person at heart. But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that I was a good person, the Cons list immediately resurfaced in my mind. It was all I could think about. The list had been permanently burned into the back of my mind and I just knew that I would be able to recite it without taking a second look.

Exhaustion washed over me and I rested my elbows on the desk, leaning my face into one of my hands. I blew the bangs out of my eyes, only to have them fall right back into place. Lacey entered the classroom and ran over to the spare space beside me. she sat down and pulled her book out of her bag.

Our teacher, Mr. Smart, entered the classroom and took a seat behind his cluttered desk. He lifted up stacks of paper and textbooks before he found his personal copy of Hamlet.

“I expect you all have your books out by now,” he warned us. A few of the other students quickly looked for their books and placed them onto their desk in record time. Mr. Smart was very particular when it came to students being prepared.

“So, what have you got from the text so far?”

“A migraine,” a kid at the back of the class called out. The class laughed in response, but Mr. Smart’s lips had formed into a tight line and he shook his head in disappointment.

“Anybody else?”

The class fell silent. Nobody wanted to suggest anything, because we all hated it when we were wrong. Especially with Mr. Smart as our teacher. He expected us all to be geniuses.

“Alexis?” he said, turning his steel-gray eyes on me. I tensed in my seat and instantly regretted sitting at the front, within his line of fire. I was silent as I stared up at his rail-thin frame.

“What do you think of Hamlet’s character?” His eyes were expectant, and I knew that I had to come up with an answer. I thought about the play that I had been reading over the past few weeks. Even though I understood it, I didn’t quite know what Mr. Smart wanted me to say. I knew that he would be expecting one single answer – the right one, the only problem was, I had no idea what it was.

“Uh, I think Hamlet is, just...lost,” I stammered.

“How so?” Mr. Smart’s eyebrows had risen in interest and his eyes held a spark of life.

“Well, he has to choose between all these people and he’s trying to figure all this stuff out. He’s got all these thoughts going through his mind and I think he just wishes it would stop. I think everything for Hamlet is blurred, and he finds it hard to focus on anything,” I said.

Mr. Smart considered my answer and I averted my eyes from his, terribly afraid that I was wrong. “Good,” he said, moving to the whiteboard to write up our task for the day. ‘Good’. That was his assessment of my answer, the only thing he offered. That one word was monumental when it came to Mr. Smart. It was almost a compliment, and that was far more than any other student had ever received from him. I felt a smile slowly creeping across my face but stopped it short.

I was being arrogant. I cursed the person who had written the list and screwed up my whole life. Never before had I been so conscious of everything I did. I hated the list for being right. I was starting to dislike myself even more than I already did, all because someone had taken the time to degrade me on a piece of paper.

I clenched my teeth in anger and thought about Hamlet. Nobody really understood him, either. Everybody thought he was a little crazy, seeing ghosts and all. People dismissed him because they’d already made their judgements. They thought they knew him, but nobody really did.

I couldn’t help but compare myself to Hamlet. The similarities in our personalities were too similar to overlook. I wondered briefly if anybody had ever written a Pros and Cons list about him. I dismissed the thought and instead focused on the board. I couldn’t let the list get to me, even though I already knew that it was slowly eating away at me.

Lacey texted on her phone all through class under the desk. She had her book open on her desk so that it looked like she was reading, which wasn’t exactly a stroke of genius on her part. Mr. Smart could tell if you weren’t paying attention. He must’ve been feeling generous, because he didn’t call her out on it. Our task was to analyse the character of Hamlet and his relationships with the other characters in the play.

I found it hard to concentrate with the list burning in my jeans pocket. I could feel it there, taunting me, begging me to take it out of my pocket and read it again. I resisted the temptation and did my work, but I couldn’t keep it up forever. I slipped the piece of paper out of my pocket and unfolded it so that it was flat on the desk.

I read through the Cons list yet again and my brow furrowed into a frown as the words seemed to jump off the page at me.

“What’s that?” Lacey questioned, leaning over to read it.

“Nothing,” I snapped, quickly shoving the list back in my bag. I knew that the list had shaken me up. It had gotten to me. I just had to know who had written it. I had to confront them and set the record straight. But wouldn’t I be proving the list right if I did just that? More than anything, I wanted to find the person who had written the list so that I could prove them wrong.

The school bell echoed throughout the hallways and signalled the end of the day. I dashed out the classroom door before Lacey could ask me any more questions about the list. I didn’t even bother stopping by my locker, and instead went straight out the front doors of the school and started walking across the lawns.

“Alexis!” A male voice called out to me. I stopped walking mid-stride and turned around to see Justin rolling by on his skateboard.

“Hey, Justin,” I said, walking over to him. Justin used to date Lacey, but she’d dumped him because he was ‘boring’ and focused too much on sports. Justin was a decent enough guy, but Lacey’s problem was that she got bored too easily. Justin was just like her haircut. Changeable. There I was being all judgemental again. I mentally cursed myself and looked down at my feet.

“How’s it going?” Justin asked me. I looked up and met his eyes, and I wondered whether I should tell him what I was really thinking. I thought better of it, though, and said “Fine”, effectively cutting off any life the conversation had had promise of showing.

“Do you want a ride home?” he asked me, retrieving his keys from his short’s pocket.

“I actually have to pick up my little brother,” I explained, fiddling with a strand of my hair.

“I can take you there, at least,” Justin offered, jingling his car keys and smiling.

“Okay, thanks,” I said with a small smile. Justin smiled and picked up his skateboard, holding it under his arm as he led the way to his car. I followed behind him and quickened my pace to walk beside him. Once we were in his car, he started up the engine and pulled out of the school.

“Where to?” he asked me, turning down the music so that he could hear my reply. I gave him directions and had him drop me off a block away from where I actually needed to go. He really didn’t need to know my business. I thanked him for the ride and got out of the car, shutting the door carefully behind me. I knew how much Justin loved his car and I didn’t want to damage it in any way.

I walked the block to the Special Needs School where I heard Isaac screaming inside. I ran through the doors to his classroom, where his teacher was trying hopelessly to calm him down. Lego blocks were scattered all over the floor and Isaac was screaming at the top of his lungs, running around the room in circles.

“Isaac!” I called out. “Isaac, stop it!”

He paused and turned around to look at me, but wouldn’t stop screaming. Tears stained his reddened face.

“Allie!” he yelled, running over to me and hugging my legs.

“I’m so sorry about that,” I told his teacher as I put my arm around his small shoulders.

“Oh, I know he can’t help it,” his teacher explained, dropping to her knees to pick up the Lego blocks and put them back into their container. I frowned and tightened my grip on Isaac’s shoulders. I hated it when people talked about him like that. Oh, I know he can’t help it. She had said it as though he had some sort of disease, like there was no hope for him at all, like he wasn’t human.

I picked up Isaac’s Toy Story bag from the hook near the door and slung it over my shoulder before leaving. As soon as we reached the sidewalk, Isaac ran ahead of me to play in the fallen leaves. He kicked at them and watched them scatter on the ground and float up in the air around him. His big, hazel eyes were bright with excitement and his laugh carried along the wind, a stark contrast to the scene in the classroom not five minutes ago.

I watched him play with a small smile on my face but I couldn’t help but wish that I were him. My parents were always looking out for Isaac, he was the most important person in our family. I was expected to look after him also, because they were always so busy with their work. I know they’d hate to admit it, but I basically raised him on my own. I loved my little brother dearly, but there were days when I just couldn’t handle all the attention that was on him.

I thought back to the list. Would the person who wrote it feel differently if they knew what my life was really like? Probably not, I decided. Because people only cared about outside appearances and they didn’t care about me enough to get to know me and look for more.

Just like Hamlet, I felt lost. Maybe even a bit crazy. And even though my parents tried, I don’t think they really knew me at all.