I Don't Want to Fall in Love... With You

My eyes were strained, all too determined to work out the solution to the jumping numbers across my page. They moved like an animation, bouncing on a trampoline-like multiply sign and climbing their way to the top. I couldn’t shut my eyes, if I did, I worried I’d forget how to breathe and pass out.

I looked all around me. Everybody else had their head down, their hands flying right across the paper like super-heroes. The power to do correct mathematics. Awesome, indeed.

I didn’t understand what I was supposed to do, even after I’d been up practically every, night for the past week studying. Nothing was going in and sticking to my brain. It all seeped out minutes later through my ear.

The bell chimed, signalling the end of the test.

My heart thundered against my chest as everyone else got up out of their seats with ease, handing their sheets to Mrs Jenkins without any expression on their faces. And here I was, immobile, scared to death because as much as I’d studied hard and long for this…

I hadn’t answered a single question.

Emily stopped by my desk, giving me a look. She knew I hadn’t answered any of the questions. Even though she had tutored me earlier on in the year, she also knew I was a lost cause.

Maths. Why did it have to make me feel so stupid?

With trembling legs and knees that chafed together as I moved to the front desk, Emily pressed her hand into the middle of my back, pushing me forward. She knew what little confidence I had in this.

Mrs Jenkins looked at me with a genuine smile on her face, not bothering to give my paper a glance.

“I’m sure you did well, honey. No need to fret.”

I tried to return the sentiment back but it shook, with the rest of my body, so I let my best friend pull me out of the classroom. It wasn’t until we were at our lockers that I could finally find the strength to breathe.

Emily’s hand touched my shoulder blade. Her skin was smooth.

“When she’s marked it, she’ll offer tutoring classes or something. You’ll get there. The SAT’s aren’t for another six months.” She said, stuffing her books into her locker and taking out her lunch. A big box full of what could only be chocolate. She traded it with Marcie Cartel every day, as Mr Quinn was enthusiastic over healthy eating. Emily? Hardly. She was on a strict sugar-only diet 24/7.

I leaned against mine before sighing and opening it up. I grabbed my own lunch. A tuna and pickle sandwich and some pop. I wasn’t a big eater.

"But even you tried. Let’s face it, I’m stupid.”

She smacked me on the arm. Hard.

“You are not! I’m not great at Horticulture, you are. Another reason my dad loves you.” She flicked her hair out of her eyes as we began walking towards the canteen. The hurried footsteps around us were beginning to make my head spin even more.

I rolled my eyes.

“But you’re still good at it. You are at everything.”

Emily was one of those girls who enjoyed school and every class in programme. Literally. She couldn’t pick her class schedule when we turned seventeen, at least not until two weeks before our forms were due in.

And, as well as enjoying school, she liked studying as well, offering to help me with mathematics and having the patience of a saint when I mucked up every time. I could not grasp onto how she could even stand to be around me sometimes.

Of course, while being extremely smart, she was pretty too. She had her father’s eyes. Sharp, strong-willed and a whole separate life altogether. They danced and shined and cried often, but never shattered, no matter the circumstances. Her face was old and elegant, with an upturned nose and a dainty chin. Dark hair that was its own black hole, full lips and a smile that made boys drop to their feet the second she gave them one.

She wore a nice white blouse and denim shorts today, with ballet flats. Her sense of style was mature for her age. I always liked that about her. I think everyone else did as well.

We were opposites regarding clothes. I was a little bit more immature. Today, I’d donned a shirt with a cartoon monkey wearing a baseball cap and jeans with flowers stitched in the pockets.

When we arrived at the canteen, thankfully our table was still vacant. We grabbed it as soon as, receiving glares from a group of girls.

Emily wolfed down her bag of treats and bought a can of Cola. We didn’t talk much, but we never did. We had known each other for more than ten years and it was nice to be sure that the silence wasn’t a bad thing. We were left to our own thoughts and that was okay.

She suddenly clicked her fingers as I was mid-chew.

“Coming to mine later? Dad asked if I could ask you to help us with the shed.” She grinned at the mention of her dad. They were extremely close, especially since Mrs Quinn died. Emily was forever thankful for his efforts to try and do fatherly-daughter things. She had been begging him to go bowling with her for years. He finally did it in September. This was now January.

I nodded. “Sure, but he owes me twenty bucks.”

She chuckled.

At that moment, Toby Winston grabbed a chair next to us and sat down. I caught a whiff of his expensive Gucci aftershave and squinted through the haze to see him.

He was good-looking, if not baby-faced and innocent. Small too, even more so than I, and I stood at a tiny five-foot-two. His hair was stringy and long, and he only wore shirts with tartan pattern.

But he was also a nice boy, supremely shy and geeky, yet overall nice. It was a shame he only tried to talk to one of us.

“H-hey Anya, I was w-wondering if you still… needed a maths tutor?” The poor guy. He was rasping for some good ol’ air.

So, I offered him some gum.

Taking a sip of my pop, I shook my head. “No, my test was today. As you can guess, it went terribly. Thanks for the offer though.” I added, just in case.

His face fell, then perked up again immediately. Emily sat back and watched us, amused.

“Well… how about we… um, we have, like, lunch t-together?”

I bit my lip. “I’m having lunch right now. You’re free to join.”

It was tough to meet his eyes. Mostly because I knew I’d feel guilty if I did. I didn’t know how to say no to him. He was too adorable to cast away.

Fidgeting with his sleeve, he was looking for something else to say. In the end, he went to pat me on the arm, stopped himself, muttered inaudibly and then strode off. I guess he didn’t want to have lunch with the both of us.

Turning back to Emily, she’d grabbed two Mars bars and made them face each other. Then spoke in this high-pitched voice.

“Oh, Anya, I want you bad but I can’t voice it properly. One day you shall be mine.”

She shrieked afterwards, mainly because I had thrown some of my tuna at her. Her laugh echoed throughout the canteen.