The Flames In Mind 12 Talk! || Part 1

If I didn't know any better, Bee can easily look as if she's getting a little too close for comfort. With her arms draping over the new girl's shoulder and her face nearly smooching in her long black glossy hair, her words are not close to a whisper by the easy a.s.sumption of their proximity.

Bee's hangover is still a b.i.t.c.h considering her eyebrows st.i.tching together and her nose scrunching up every few seconds. Her stature is a bit wobbly, I only know that arm is purely for the new girl to be a human walking crane; other than trying to get the girl situated on how Bee acts - like f.u.c.king gum in your hair. Plus, my shades are still covering her deadbeat brown eyes.
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I scowl at Bee's natural flow of truth punches as I steadily walk behind them as we head towards AP calculus, first cla.s.s of the day. I would gladly admit I love p.i.s.sing people off but personally, I don't wish for the newbie to know. Although, it's no denying she won't notice eventually - or already does.

Earlier, the second Bee and I walked into the building, my mother was already calling us over the intercom to retrieve the sleep-deprived girl. Thankfully, no other students were in the building besides Bee and I - other than the new one. My mother calling us wasn't secondhand embarra.s.sment but I know an easy task as that would boost my mother's ego while she held her tongue of endearments.

"Oh and do not, I swear to G.o.d, do not have Mrs. Pink-bismol catch you wearing anything pink, on a Wednesday. This teacher lives by the rules of Mean GIrls. Her own grade book is literally t.i.tled "Burn Book'," the new girl is never going to hear the end of this. I lost track of the specified-coded names for each teacher in this school.

"Zivali loves p.i.s.sing off Miss. Lesbeanhonest, the most. The women's temper is as short as her height. Non-existent." A wicked grin displays among Bee's lips. The new girl's face is halfway turned towards Bee's but enough for me to see her struggle with both what to say and to hold her up with the misplace stumbles here and there. Her neon-like green orbs take a quick glance in mine though her peripheral, I swallow and avert my gaze to the boring posters dressing the pasty blue hallway walls.

They looked tired and desperate, as if she was silently asking me to get Bee to shut her trap. Or probably regretting her decision of coming here in the first place. Bee is trying to do the same thing for her - but the opposite. For now, it's just an onslaught of information, questions are later.

And not to lie, it feels good to see her in a predicament I don't have a bother in stopping - no matter the will those green eyes may draw. It's nice actually because Bee knows she is saving me from having to do the job. Talking to the green-eyed girl isn't nor will it ever be on my list.

As we rounded around the corner before we manage to reach the cla.s.sroom door, Bee shouts towards a tall but plump, sandy-blonde girl always sporting a smile eco-friendly to everyone.

"Hey Dal" featuring Bee's still coa.r.s.e throat. "Be a babe and let this girl here take your seat for the day? If not for the rest of the school year?" Bee squeezes nameless girl's shoulders then pats her head, teasing the height she's grown to.

Dal - short for Daleyza - softy smiles un-bashfully at the new girl, "Sure, Mr. Baccon probably wouldn't mind," then goes to take one of the empty seats in the last row waving towards the new girl ending it with a thumbs up.

Daleyza seat is next to Bee who sits in front of me. The chairs all go sevens by fives in every room. Bee and I always sat in the middle of the last row near the windows with two seats in front of Bee.

After taking our designated spots, I failed to not notice Bee still giving the girl purpose of our teacher's name - more specifically our current for AP Calculus. Mr. Baccon's name is his last name but the fact him and his wife own a little farm with some chickens and pigs, made it worth laughing at the iconicity of it.

However, Mr. Baccon just takes unhinged pride in it so it hasn't been a nightmare for him, unlike the others. Also why he's a teacher I have a higher tolerance for, he actually tries to make the cla.s.ses not boring and somewhat fun.

The late bell rings and Bee uncharacteristically moans in a depressing amount of pain - I snicker when her head hits the desk and she covets her head in her arms. I take notice of the new girl's eye's widening further at Bee before turning around, quickly getting a notebook out of her bag. She also takes a pencil out and atomically puts it in the duvet on the front of the desk.

I watch her lithe hands sneak into the bag again, taking out two sticks of something. I narrow my eyes, is that white string cheese? With orange cheese? In a twist?

Second after second, harshly scrutinizing those pet.i.te fingers wrapped around the flimsy cloudy plastic covering the stick-figured food tapping Beverly's arm to gain attention. Bee uses her arm to shove - what she's feeling - away. I can easily tell that was annoying her and wishes to nap free of disturbance.

Still watching the nonexistent interaction, the black-hairs stranger's porcelain skin turns skeptically undecided. Perfectly shaped brows crease in what seems to show that she's worried for Bee?

The next thing happens too quick. I blink and see those two sticks laying on Bee's desk. The new girl just has her chin in her hand, staring at the blank blackboard Mr. Baccon begins to teach the next lesson on.

Bee's favorite snack? Did she know that? There's no way - it must be a coincidence. I'm picky about my cheese but I do like string cheese - not as much as Bee who eats it every lunch and makes sure both mine and her kitchen is stocked with it. The girl even has a pillow as one.

I brush it off anyways, mother could've given her them this morning, easier than overthinking.

"Beverly Kleyman," Mr. Baccon scolding tone practically thunders in the cla.s.sroom. A muttering 's.h.i.+t' escapes pa.s.s Bee's enclosed arms.

She lifts her head and timidly looks at Mr. Baccon who raises his eyebrows in mock surprised. "Sleeping in my cla.s.s again?" Bee didn't reply but I see her biting her lip to hold back a retort. "Please take off your 'cool shades' and learn the respect this cla.s.s needs." He grins widely; Mr. Baccon takes the no bulls.h.i.+t rule to a manageable level of teasing.

Bee roughly takes off her sungla.s.ses, squinting at the bright lights; Mr. Baccon goes back to finis.h.i.+ng off the rest of attendance. At the prospect of taking off the sungla.s.ses, I see Bee finally take notice of the two sticks on her desk.

She grabs them and turns around at me with her forehead creasing, in a low whisper, "Thanks, my sugar daddy forgot again." I snort then shake my head.

"It wasn't me," I nod my head towards the new girl. "You weren't the only one who forgot," I whispered back urgently hoping Mr. Baccon won't call us out again.

"Her?" Bee questions with raised eyebrows then rub her head hoping to sooth the headache; I shrug unsure of what to say. "Um.. I'll thank her later," she continued.

Before Bee turned around, I blurt, "My mom probably gave her them this morning - before they left." Bee blinks, the cogs in head turning.

"Probably," She emphasizes, her playful tone trying to coverup her dry and patchy throat.

"Oh for G.o.d sake, it's just a f.u.c.king cheese stick. She's new, I doubt she knows it's your hangover snack. Just eat." I urge only to notice after Bee turning back, the new girl's head turned away just as quick.

Was she listening?