One More Year 1 ~ Nifty

One More Year

by Bradley Scott

**Note:

This is a rewrite of an older story of mine on here called Another Day, which I never finished, and no longer really like, but I'm hoping to redeem it.

This is written in British/South African English, although almost all similar media I consume is American, so that will probably have its influence, but not on spelling. For the purposes of keeping this note short, I'll include specific non-common words I use in a list at the bottom.

**

**Disclaimer:

No underage sex happens between any of my characters. I tend to make that quite clear in the narrative, but just in case it isn't, I state it here. (This is also more Romance than Erotica, so the sex doesn't happen right away, but when it does, everyone is 18.)**

Chapter 1

I'm not a grim, depressive person. At least I don't feel like one. Not all the time, anyway. I assume everyone has their low points, and I'm no exception, but I like to think of myself as relatively upbeat. I've been called an 'Emo Kid' occasionally at school, although I don't remember why. Maybe song choice. High school is the sort of place where you listen to one My Chemical Romance song and people decide that that's your personality now.

I definitely don't look the part, and couldn't even if I wanted to, because I go to a private school with a strict uniform code. I wasn't in the uniform at that moment, but I'd spent what felt like most of my teenage years in it, and it's hard to look like anything but a repressed Christian teen in a pastel blue button-down shirt and beige chinos. They also dictated what kind of haircuts we could have, and piercings and tattoos were forbidden. Not that I'd really considered getting tattooed or pierced, but my curly hair was somehow always deemed 'messy', and it got me in trouble more than I felt I deserved.

My colouring is also a bad fit for the 'Emo' look, since I have pale, freckled skin, light green eyes and auburn hair. The hair is a particular sticking point, since it's hard to pull off 'gloomy' when you light up a coppery red colour in the sun. Since I had sat near a window that morning, my general appearance was doing a pretty poor job of reflecting my mood, as the rays of the rising sun fell directly on me. I probably looked angelic and serene, but what I was feeling was tired, bored, hungry, and absolutely miserable.

So, yeah, like I said: I'm not a grim, depressive person.

In my defence, school on a Saturday is a special kind of purgatory, and I hadn't even done anything wrong. Quite the opposite, actually, since I'm part of my year's academic 'Top Three', which was an 'elite group', comprised of the three students in each year with the highest averages — because we clearly weren't doing a good enough job of tanking our own social lives. Honestly, it wasn't all that bad. They spent a lot of money on us, and we got to skip school-days and go on 'fun' outings to museums, science centres and university departments. I didn't mind the outings so much, because anything is better than the daily grind of school.

The problem was that there were certain things expected of a Top Three student, and if you were just trying to keep your head down and survive high school, they were kind of a drag. So when our school offered a voluntary 'Advanced Program for Mathematics', the 'voluntary' part felt pretty damn mandatory. It was basically designed to teach you university level maths, which would all but guarantee your acceptance to the university you chose.

I would have been on board if it had been a part of the normal school day, but due to scheduling, the course could only be taught Tuesday and Thursday afternoons at 3PM, after school. This year they'd added an extra class at 8AM on Saturdays, to better prepare us for preliminary exams and finals. The early hour was set so that we still 'had the whole weekend' or some well-meaning, but annoying, sentiment like that.

I had really tried to not get roped into it, because I didn't even know what I wanted to study at university. Maths had never been my favourite subject, apart from the satisfaction of doing pretty damn well without really trying. The concepts often made sense to me instinctually, and it gave me an edge. I'm not bragging — because if I was, I would brag about literally anything else. I understood it was a useful subject, and the AP program would make a lot of university programs easier to get into, and easier to do. But I just couldn't enjoy the subject for its own sake, and two to four more hours of it a week was a big commitment.

The pressure to join, however, had been intense. My principle even agreed to get an annoying teacher who was always after me for 'uniform infringements' off of my back. I guess it would have been a bad look for the school if I hadn't joined, and in such a small class, I'd probably have a big impact on the class average, which the school's administration would definitely care about.

I eventually agreed, because I'm not above accepting bribery. But after the second week of coming in at 8AM on a Saturday I really felt like I should have held out for more. I'd already read through the appropriate textbook chapter several times, and I was still taking notes, but Mr. Farrier hadn't written on the board or said anything of value for about ten minutes. I looked out the window and yawned while I waited for him to stop rambling and give us the homework for the coming week.

"Am I boring you, Mr. Newell?" Mr. Farrier's voice shook me to attention.

"No sir. I'm paying attention." I said, trying my best to look innocent.

"Then tell me how to solve question three, please."

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I refrained. He was in a bit of a mood that day, and he wasn't the kind of teacher you could face off against without getting destroyed by sarcasm. Fake sincerity was the best approach. He'd come from an all-boys boarding school, so he was oddly formal, and his sarcasm tended to target only the guys in his class. His quips also largely involved insinuations of homosexuality, when he could work it into his material — which was something I really didn't need right then. I looked up at the board and considered the equation.

"You would multiply everything by e to the power of x, factorise to get the two roots and then use the natural logarithm to solve for x."

"Stop showing off." Mr. Farrier said, but he was clearly quite pleased.

Jamie laughed out loud.

"Mr. Thomas, please flirt with Mr. Newell on your own time."

Jamie winked at me when Mr. Farrier turned his back, and I smiled in response, before turning my face down towards my textbook to hide my emerging blush. I didn't read anything into that wink, because he did it with everyone, all the time. I guess when you had high cheekbones, perfect hair and cool blue eyes, winks were charming and jocular, instead of creepy. It was still decidedly not helpful, even though I knew it meant nothing.

As far as I was concerned, I had no business having crushes on guys while I was still in high school. I'd only recently come to terms with being gay, I'd told exactly no one, and it was just going to have to stay that way. The closest thing to a social group I had was definitely homophobic, the school's administration was very problematically Christian, and the whole thing just seemed ripe for a parade of drama that I just didn't need in my last year.

My school was called 'Elohim'. I'm really no expert on the topic, but I think it's one of the five sacred names of God, and of deep religious significance in Christianity, and probably Judaism as well. I thought it was a little ridiculous to call a school that, but at the same time I was jealous of their confidence. They'd just decided to call their school GOD SCHOOL. I still had trouble looking figures of authority directly in the eye. Imagine feeling perfectly justified to lay a claim to the branding of the almighty.

The name, as well as some other choice behaviours, made us seem like 'THAT kind of Christian school', and although most of the people in my grade were either atheists or lazy non-churchgoers, it was kind of hard to make the case to outsiders that we weren't a collection of crazy bible-bashers. Especially when the school kept making us sing hymns in weekly assemblies, or inviting youth pastors to provide us with 'life guidance'. (Spoiler alert: Losing your virginity made you worthless, masturbation made the baby jesus cry, and of course, homosexuality is not okay, if it even exists. They had their doubts.)

That was a big part of why I couldn't just be an out-and-proud teenager. Sure, if they got too 'Wrath of the Creator' about it, my family could probably sue them. But as that involved the destruction of what limited bit of a life I'd managed to cobble together, the idea wasn't too appealing. Intrigue wasn't an option either, since I sucked at keeping secrets. I'm too neurotic, with a panic-prone overactive imagination. I couldn't actively pursue anything I thought might give me cause for a breakdown. Not this year.

Plus, I hadn't exactly been 'crushing it with the ladies' before I'd realised, anyway. I'd had one 'girlfriend', which consisted of walking around school holding hands for about a week before a very confusing and vaguely insulting 'breakup'. There'd also been a thing at my sisters twenty-first birthday party, where one of her friends had been quite aggressively flirting with me. But in both cases, I'd been less the predator, and more the prey. I wouldn't know how to pursue someone I was interested in, even without all the extra hurdles being gay put in the way.

It was a crush that had caused me to come to terms with being gay in the first place. I'd realised that I'd been overinvesting in a friendship with this guy named Marc, who had been new to the school the previous year and had started hanging around with me. Whenever he wanted to spend more time with me, I was elated, and I was devastated when he couldn't be bothered to. I'd also found myself starting to dream about him every night. My suspicions about my feelings for guys had been there for a while, safely repressed, but I eventually just couldn't ignore the way he was making me feel.

I didn't harbour any delusions about his sexuality — not for long, anyway. He'd leant me a hard drive to copy some anime from, and I'd found enough animated porn to keep an astronaut entertained on a trip to Mars. Investigation had brought me to the conclusion that he was very straight, and into some weird shit. Afterwards, I'd managed my heartbreak so well that he had probably just thought we'd drifted apart as friends, if he even thought about it at all. After that, I decided I would stop myself from having any more crushes on anyone in high school, and actively tried to shut down my brain before it went down that path with anyone new.

But Jamie, well, that was a little harder to ignore. He'd had me off balance since I'd arrived, and I'd basically never recovered. Maybe I had still been traumatised from the dog-eat-dog attitude and strict social hierarchy at my previous school, and as the most confident and outgoing person in Elohim High, he'd become a symbol of the friendlier and more relaxed nature of the way that things worked there.

On my first day, he'd come right up to me and greeted me, shook my hand, and stared right into my eyes with those impossibly beautiful blue eyes of his. At the time, it made me feel things I didn't understand — or didn't WANT to understand. He'd asked about a million questions about me, and told me things about himself. His easy-going friendliness had completely floored me, and the impression had persisted over the years.

That particular crush predated my resolution on the subject of not having crushes, so I'd decided just to let it run its natural course. It also wasn't as serious as my crush on Marc had been. I think, maybe, because we had less in common and didn't really spend time together, it hadn't really progressed into anything too hard to handle. I just ignored it where I could, and lazily indulged it when I couldn't.

Besides, it was harmless. Talking to him for five minutes before and after AP maths classes, sharing notes with him and hearing him laughing at my jokes — it made me feel good, and broke up the tedium of what was otherwise a very difficult and very boring class. I couldn't feel guilty about that.

Before I went back that year, it felt like high school was basically over. Lots of things were obviously going to happen in the coming year, but I felt like none of it would feel like the day-to-day grind of school as I'd experienced it so far. I'm one of those annoying people who actually enjoys tests, so I was fairly excited for a year that was going to be mostly exams. Especially the last high school exams I'd ever write. I had two older siblings, who had both said the year was over before they knew it. So I thought I knew what was coming, and I couldn't wait for this part of my life to be out of the way.

After my second week back, it was clear that I was mistaken, at least about the first half of the year. School was, by-and-large, still very much school. The same old pattern of classes, social awkwardness, byzantine administration processes, and endless lectures on 'behaving responsibly' and 'fulfilling your potential'. It had always felt like something to be endured rather than enjoyed, and I had one more year of it to survive. Which was going to be a lot more difficult, now that most of my Saturdays were going to be ruined.

What made that day so much worse was that five of my classmates weren't there that morning, including a girl named Caitlyn, which was pretty fucking hypocritical. She'd been gunning for my position in the Top Three for years, and she wasn't above trying low tactics to get there. The previous year, she'd tried to gum down my grades by accusing me of plagiarism in a project. Nothing had come of it, unless you count Caitlyn managing to alienate one of the last teachers who would listen to her. My partner in the project, Sue, had also vowed vengeance on her, although I'd yet to figure out what that had entailed. I hadn't really had much trouble with Caitlyn since, but Sue scared me a little, so it seemed wiser not to ask.

The amount of people missing had also caused Mr. Farrier to work himself up into a foul mood, which he was now taking out on those of us who HAD actually attended. Five missing people might not seem like a lot, but the whole group was only twelve people, so it was almost half the class. I think he also thought we were setting a bad example, since two of our newest classmates, who were both there that morning, did not go to our school.

North Grove High was our 'rival school', although all that really meant was that they were the only other school nearby that was as small as us, and we were always pitting our sports teams against each other. I think they probably saw us as crazy religious weirdos, and we saw them as debauched hipsters, but the rivalry wasn't a bitter one. Ultimately, we had more in common with each other than with kids from nearby public schools, who saw us all (not entirely unfairly) as out-of-touch rich kids.

Last year, North Grove had switched their syllabus to a slightly less respectable, but much easier, alternative syllabus. Their top two students had been unwilling to do their finals in the new syllabus, thinking it might affect their chances for university applications and scholarships. They'd arranged with our school to complete their assessments here, while most of their schooling still happened at North Grove. That deal had also resulted in them joining us for this program, which their school no longer wanted to offer to just the two of them.

Simone was a diminutive dark haired girl that I was pretty sure none of us had ever talked to, possibly not even the guy from her own school. His name was Louis, and he was tall and thin and vaguely nerdy, with a big pair of glasses and messy brown hair. We'd talked a few times after he'd broken the ice by asking me if he could borrow my notes from the last year of classes. I was perplexed, because he'd said he'd covered all the right material already.

He'd told me that he had just wanted to make sure his teacher hadn't missed anything that Mr. Farrier had covered. I'd redirected him to Angela — who was more likely to understand that incredibly strange impulse, and whose pristine notes were likely to be much more helpful than my indecipherable scribblings.

Louis was nice, but incredibly awkward — and that's coming from me. It was almost hard to talk to him sometimes due to second-hand embarrassment. He was also definitely cute enough that he sent my 'do not develop crush' alarm systems ringing. It didn't help that he looked a bit too much like my former friend and epic-straight-crush Marc, with the same shade of light brown hair and a similarly prominent nose. That was enough to make me consciously try to avoid him, although I still tried to be friendly. Angela seemed to like him, and she was a quick and effective judge of character.

"Mr. Calvet, I'm sure your daydreams are lovely, but if you don't stop staring out that window, Mr. Newell is going to become self-conscious about his hair."

"Sorry, sir." Louis stammered, blushing slightly.

Poor guy. Not having gone to Mr. Farrier's classes as long as the rest of us had, he was poorly equipped to deal with Mr. Farrier's weird, vaguely homoerotic barbs. He looked over at me when Mr. Farrier turned his back, and I rolled my eyes. He smiled and shook his head, and fastened his eyes back on his textbook.

The Top Three were all definitely in attendance, of course. Angela — number one of three — wouldn't miss it for the world, and she was the kind of person who was up at 6AM on a Saturday anyway. She was calmly taking perfect notes, her eyes flicking up to peer through her thick glasses and out from under her mop of frizzy hair while her hand industrially put ink to paper. We weren't very close, but we frequently worked in group projects together. Her mature and organised demeanour had always been the perfect foil to both my lazy chaos and whatever it was that Sue had going on. Vibrant chaos, I guess.

Sue — number two of three, but only just — was sitting next to her, taking notes that were every bit as perfect, but in a much more frantic way than Angela. It almost seemed comically exaggerated, the way her fashionably bobbed black hair flicked back and forth across her face as she looked across at the board, and then down to write her notes. It kind of reminded me of how she'd look playing the piano — obsessed, violent and passionate. If you asked her why she was there that morning, she would have probably leaned into the asian stereotypes and told you her parents had forced her to come. But if you'd ever done a project with her — or met her relaxed, easy-going parents — you'd know she was there because she was so compulsive and competitive that missing a difficult class was just not an option.

I'd skipped classes before, but I felt more secure in my academic position — number three of three, which surprised me as much as anyone — because of how much Caitlyn had struggled to catch up to my grades. Maths was also my strongest subject, so I felt like I could afford the occasional break. Still, I was there that morning, if a little unhappy about it. I had to be there mostly out of pure social anxiety.

I'd gotten a car and driver's licence recently and was driving myself in. My mom had offered my services as a chauffeur to my neighbour Ellie, who also took the class. I think it was strategic on my mom's part, knowing me as well as she did. Ellie never seemed to miss a lesson, and I was too anxious about the prospect of unpleasant social interactions to risk making her miss a class and having to apologise for it. So there I was.

Besides, Jamie reliably attended. I'm not exactly going to admit to it, but that might have — maybe, possibly — been a factor. I did have enough other reasons to be there that I could pretend that the perks of his presence didn't appear on the list of reasons I'd have to recite in my mind as I forced myself to get ready for class. On its own, my crush certainly wasn't powerful enough to drag me out of bed on a Saturday morning — but then, very few things were.

That day, class wrapped up mercifully early, after about an hour. They were supposed to be about that long, but we technically had to prepare to be there for up to two hours, because the general idea was that we would cover a concept in its entirety in each Saturday lesson, then do the textbook exercises and refine the topic over the week. So it still felt like a treat that it was over that quickly — the previous week, Mr. Farrier had gone the full two hours. That was not a good Saturday morning. Not that this one was, but at least the toll on my brain had been lighter.

Ellie was double-booked for some tennis thing that the school administration still needed to reschedule. She'd had to run out of the class slightly early, with Mr. Farrier's permission, of course. I'd agreed beforehand to wait for her if the class ran short. I hadn't thought that the lesson might end so early, and that I'd have to spend a whole hour waiting, but it was a bit late to do anything about it.

So I walked to a nearby cafe, which turned out to be a massive mistake. The wind outside was howling and unseasonably cold, and by the time I got there my ears were ringing and my eyes were watering. I was severely regretting not having caved into my impulse to be lazy and take my car there. I bought some breakfast, gobbled it down at a table by the window where I could stare broodingly at the palm trees outside, nearly being uprooted by the force of the gale.

Fortunately, it was a quick enough meal that I didn't have time to start identifying with one of the trees — assailed, struggling, barely hanging on. I'm a sucker for a good metaphor, but I was already feeling decidedly less miserable on a full stomach. It was just a small part of my Saturday, after all, and at least I was up and doing something, no matter how boring. I guess that was better than doing nothing, and I could always use the homework as an excuse if my mom tried to rope me into a family event this weekend that I didn't want to do.

I fought my way through the wind back to the school, and before getting in my car to wait for Ellie, I headed to the bathroom. The bathrooms at our school are of decent, modern construction, and most of them doubled as changing rooms for sports and physical education classes. It had three individual showers at the far end, after the bathroom stalls, and just next to the entrance there was a long wooden bench.

Which is where I found Jamie, casually reclining and playing with his phone, looking far too relaxed for someone hanging out in a bathroom. Especially this one. The combined use of the spaces had pretty much conditioned me to always be nervous in there, even if there was no one else there. It always felt like you were just one wrong look away from someone accusing you of checking out their dick and calling you a fag — which seemed mortifying, whether it was intended as a joke or not.

"Heyyy, it's Jayyy." He said in a mellow voice, looking up as I came in.

People who didn't know me well usually called me Jason, since they were more likely to know my name from class lists or academic award ceremonies. But my family had been calling me Jay forever, and I generally preferred it. Jamie had called me Jay since I'd introduced myself that way to him. It was a little thing, but it fed into the feeling of asymmetric familiarity that always had me off-balance around him.

"HI, Jamie." I said, lowering the volume of my voice halfway through. I'd started out too loud because after being out in the wind, my ears were ringing in the sudden silence of the bathroom. "What are you doing here?"

It sounded like an accusation, and I nearly winced. I was always like this around him. Around a lot of people, to be honest, but especially him. Something about being alone in a room with him just caused me to pick things to say that were pretty much guaranteed to massively misfire.

"Just staying out of the wind. Can't mess up my hair, you know." He winked, of course.

"Oh... ok." It still threw me off. I'm only human.

I went to go pee, hoping that I hadn't awkwardly broken off what should have been a conversation, and hyper-aware that he could probably hear me. After I was done, I tried to wash my hands quickly, and get out of there as fast as I could to avoid any further awkwardness. He was looking up at me as I approached on my way out though, clearly in the mood to chat.

"So why are you still hanging around?"

"Oh, I'm waiting for Ellie, she has tennis."

"You two dating now?"

That got on my nerves a bit. Boys and girls couldn't spend time together, ever, without being accused of that. It certainly would qualify as what my brother Brian would call 'classic high school bullshit'. I had other complaints as well, since the last thing I was thinking about when I was hanging out with a girl was romance, but I let it slide. I certainly wasn't going to launch into a lecture about heteronormativity and platonic friendships in the middle of the men's bathroom.

It was uniquely uncomfortable to be asked that about Ellie though, especially by Jamie. We'd both actually asked her out, although he was the only one that met with a degree of success. I'd sort of been pressured by a friend into picking a 'crush' on Valentine's Day a few years earlier. Since I thought at the time that you were supposed to just arbitrarily pick a girl, rather than feel something, Ellie had come to mind. She and I had gone to primary school together, halfway across the country, and the fact that she'd coincidentally landed in the house right next door to us seemed like destiny. It certainly felt like as good a reason as any. When my 'friend' spread it around that I 'liked' Ellie, she didn't react badly, so I worked up the courage to ask her out.

She'd turned me down, but we'd stayed fairly friendly. Not so long afterwards, Jamie had asked her out, and she'd said yes. Not that it had meant much. We were all still very much young and innocent, although more innocent than young, since I vaguely remembered that thirteen-year-olds had gone much further at my previous school. At Elohim, however, walking around the school holding hands was rebellious enough to be thrilling. It broke the 'No opposite-sex physical contact' rule, which was just one of many rules that perpetuated my schools crazy-Christian reputation.

Jamie and Ellie's 'relationship' had lasted a week, which was pretty standard for those types of relationships, because eventually the thrill of rule-breaking wears off, and your hand needs a break. I was still insanely jealous and outraged the whole time they were dating, but in retrospect, I'm fairly certain my jealousy wasn't directed where I thought it had been.

"Hah. No, she's just my neighbour. I'm giving her a ride home."

"Sure, man. Sure." He winked again. I wondered, with vague amusement, if he still thought I was trying to date her.

"Um... You?" I hoped he could figure out what I was asking and respond appropriately, because I wasn't entirely sure I knew.

"Oh, my parents are taking my sister to this thing." He shrugged. "I don't remember what. I'm stuck here till much later."

"Oh." I shifted on my feet. "I've got my car here. I can give you a ride home too, if you want."

That came out quite coherently, pretty much as fast as I thought it. I felt annoyed with myself. I guess I was a bit smoother when I had ulterior motives. Like getting cute guys into my car.

"Really? That'd be awesome, man." He pushed himself into a more upright position.

"We still have to wait for Ellie. She'll be done at ten, I think."

"Oh yeah, that's fine. You're still saving me like two hours. At least."

"Okay, cool." I stood still for a second, thinking. "I um... I was just going to hang out in my car."

"Oh yeah. For sure, man. Let's do that." He hopped up, shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing his bag. We didn't talk much on the way to the car, hurrying out of the wind as fast as we could.

We both climbed in, cold and windswept, throwing our backpacks in the back seat.

"Nice car, man. Birthday present?"

"Yeah, from my dad."

"Cool, man. Very cool."

We lapsed into an awkward silence. I don't know if I was supposed to brag about what speeds it could get to, or the engine size, or something like that, but I just could absolutely not. I knew precisely nothing about my car other than that it was big, comfortable, and gun-metal grey. Okay, I knew it was a Nissan Juke, because those words were on the outside. But that's pretty much it. It kind of reminded me of the bat-mobile, kind of like a blend of the one from the Tim Burton movies and the more tank-like thing in the Christopher Nolan trilogy — but I definitely knew that that wasn't a cool way to talk about it.

My dad had just driven up in it the morning of my birthday. He didn't live in the country, so I thought it was just his rental, but then he'd put the keys in a box and handed it to me. My mom was pissed off, because she'd gotten me a PlayStation, and felt like my dad was trying to show her up in some sort of weird divorce-parents contest. I think he'd just gotten an amazing deal and got excited about it. It was second-hand, but barely used.

I'd had to spend some time convincing my mom that the PlayStation was the more exciting gift, which wasn't exactly difficult. After a weekend locked up in my room playing games rather than driving anywhere, I think she was eventually convinced. Where was I supposed to go without a driver's licence, anyway? I only had my learners licence, a terrible sense of direction and no social life. Not exactly a good recipe for teenage hijinks. My test for my driver's licence was a few weeks later, as soon as the traffic department opened up after New Year's Day. It was stressful, but I'd passed, and since then it'd had been pretty great having my own car, even though I'd only really used it to go to school so far.

"You can connect your phone and play your own music, if you want to." I gestured vaguely at the radio. "There's a cable, and bluetooth."

"I don't know if I have anything good." He said, pulling out his phone. "Don't you have music?"

"I think I left my phone at home." I lied, patting my pockets. My phone was safely on silent, in the front pocket of my bag. Mr. Farrier could be an ass sometimes if your phone went off in class, and I didn't need the aggravation. But there was no way in hell I was showing Jamie my taste in music. I have a weird, eclectic mix of stuff I like — classical stuff I picked up from music classes, 30s-40s-50s jazz that my grandad had loved, a blend of pop, punk-rock and cartoon theme songs by way of being influenced by my various siblings, and a random mishmash of things I'd heard in movies and advertisements. I didn't want to have to explain myself. Not to Jamie, anyway.

He shrugged, and connected his phone and started playing some unobjectionable classic rock.

"So," He turned to me. "How's school going?"

I just sighed.

"That bad?" He laughed. "It's only the second week."

"Yeah, my optimism really didn't last long."

"I don't get it." he had a way of twisting up his face that I found adorable. "You do more than just okay."

"I guess. But that doesn't make it fun."

"I hear that, man." He grinned. "Still, I'd rather get your grades. I feel like I'm working my ass off, and it's still getting kicked."

I just nodded, letting the conversation lapse back into silence, which was a bit more bearable with the music. As much as I'd like to commiserate with him, I didn't feel like I was working as hard as a lot of other people in school. Not that I really had a good idea how much everyone else was working. Everyone was always complaining about how overloaded with schoolwork they were, and I'd never really felt that way.

Occasionally I'd forget to do a project and have to rush the whole thing the day before it was due, but I felt like that was just because I was disorganised and lazy. It was just easier to not talk about it. I felt like I'd already passed a social test — being gloomy about school was a good, safe topic of conversation. Everyone hated it, for their own different reasons.

I glanced over at him. He was just sitting there, tapping along to the song and doing something on his phone, completely at ease. He could envy my academic prowess all he wanted, but I would have traded that in an instant for his confidence and comfort with himself. I was so jealous of the fact that he could walk into any room and make friends, no matter the situation. I was always uncomfortable, unsure, impatient. It was kind of exhausting.

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him looking at me, but when I turned my head he was still just looking at his phone.

"Hey, it's Ellie." I nodded towards the school gate.

Ellie was a tiny girl, short and thin, but she compensated by filling up the space around her with expansive gestures and her clear, lilting voice. Neither of which, at that moment, were helping her battle the wind. She eventually managed to struggle her way to the car, and seeing Jamie in the front seat, she climbed into the back. Her hair, usually in a tight bun, had clearly not held up well in the ordeal of playing tennis in this weather. Wisps of her ashen blond hair circled her angelic face, giving her a slightly embattled look.

"Hey Jamie," she said politely, "Hey Jay."

There was a hint of curiosity in her voice, which seemed fair. Jamie and I never hung out.

"I'm giving Jamie a ride home."

"Yeah, my parents are busy until twelve."

"Right. Well, I'm quitting Tennis if they don't fix this scheduling thing." She began to brush the errant strands of hair behind her ears. "Or if the weather keeps being this awful. Caitlyn was there, by the way."

"She's going to fail her ass off." Jamie settled back as I started up my car. "I don't get how people can skip these classes."

"Lea's planning on dropping it soon." Ellie said. "She's just working up the nerve to tell Mr. Farrier."

"Good luck with that." Jamie smirked.

"Is Caitlyn dropping it?" I asked, hopefully.

"No." Ellie sighed. "She just wanted to miss today because it's her birthday party tonight. She wants my notes, but I didn't really take good ones, and I don't know what I missed after I left."

She paused, as if about to say something else.

"I'm not lending you my notes so that you can copy them and hand them over to Caitlyn." I said pointedly.

Ellie never cared about maintaining proper notes. She just barged into my house and stole mine before tests, usually. I didn't mind, as I usually had a neater rewritten set by that point, because even I couldn't read my own handwriting sometimes. If she could read the original notes, she honestly deserved to have them. But that was usually too late for her to share them with anyone.

"I know, I know. I'll just put it off until she gets annoyed and asks someone else, I guess."

"Are you guys going to her party?" Jamie asked.

"Might as well. It'll probably be good, right? She knows a lot of people." Ellie held up her hands as if physically weighing the option. "Plus, if we don't go to parties now it's going to be prelims and then finals, and no one will be partying."

"Yeah, I hear she's got like a hundred people coming. It'll probably be the biggest party we see for a while. What about you, Jay? Going?" Jamie asked.

"Me?" I scoffed. "I'm not invited."

"Jay," Ellie shook her head dramatically, like I was a lost cause. "It's not that kind of party."

"What kind of party is it?" I asked.

"Rich girl, whose parents are out of town a lot, makes everyone suck up to her for free drinks and food." Jamie said.

"Yeah, exactly, a typical Caitlyn party." Ellie said, causing Jamie to laugh. "Jay, you need to come. Seriously."

"I don't know." I grimaced. "Caitlyn hates me."

"Caitlyn hates everyone, and everyone hates her." Jamie said. "It's normal — you'll blend in."

"She's not THAT bad." Ellie said, a bit half-heartedly. She waved her hand dismissively. "Plus, it's not like she'd kick you out. A lot of people will be there. You might not even bump into her, and even if you did, she wouldn't make a scene."

"Yeah, she wouldn't want to share the attention." Jamie smirked.

Ellie looked like she was going to say something, but then just nodded emphatically.

"I don't think I'll really know anyone."

"You'll know us." Jamie shrugged.

"Yeah," Ellie bounced on her seat. "We should all go together. Jamie?"

"Sure. You live close, right? I can get dropped off at your place, and we can walk there."

"Okay, cool." Ellie turned to me. "Jay?"

"Ummm..."

"Oh come on. It'll be fun. You need to have more fun. Jamie, back me up." She held out her hand to him, imploringly.

Jamie turned to face me and grinned. I groaned inwardly, frustrated with myself for wanting to do something that would give me more time to hang out with him.

"Okay, fine. I'll go." I could probably have told Ellie no, but Jamie sitting there next to me made it difficult. Impossible, even.

I didn't want to think too much about it, because then I'd have to examine my motives.

"Cool, we'll meet at Jay's house," Ellie said to Jamie. "It's the big white one next to mine. Just text us when you're there. That okay, Jay?"

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Terms: (Not necessarily appearing in this chapter)

• Matric - Final year of schooling in South Africa. (Senior year is the American equivalent, I think.)

• Moderation - Sort of an educational audit, where external moderators check up on the school's standards.

• Prelims - Mock finals, essentially mid-terms, but specifically geared to prepare you for finals.

• Maths - Self explanatory, of course, but I just want to make the point that the are MANY mathematics, so calling it Math is bizarre. Get your shit together, America.

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