The Sherlock and Watson Association

Chapter 2

I stared at the clock, each moment passing by at an incredibly slow rate, as though each hand was extremely reluctant to move.

“Yes, and the second verb does not change,” said Maestra Gomez. I was trying really hard to ignore the entire Spanish lesson about conjugations, but Maesta Gomez was a I-want-everyone-to-participate-because-everyone-has-something-special-to-offer kind of person, and one of her favorite activities was calling on me. I tried to lower my eyes even more. No eye contact, I reminded myself, last class of the day. You can do this, Cathy.

“Señora Cathy,” She said, turning her head away from the board. Crap, I thought. I took a deep breath,

“Sí,” I mumbled

“Cuál es, ‘to swim’ en español,” she asked, with a ridiculous smile on her face. I clenched my fists together.

I know this one, I thought, I know this one. I tried to concentrate, as I slowly looked around the pale blue walls of the Spanish classroom, with an alarming number of motivation posters. Everyone rolled their eyes,

“It’s obvious,” someone behind me whispered. I closed my eyes and opened them again; Maestra Gomez still had her smile plastered across her face.

I was never really good at Spanish, or any school related activities. Honestly I was a shame to nerds everywhere.

“Nadar,” someone whispered. I whipped my head around. I didn’t have any friends in real life, I thought, wondering who it could be.

“Nadar,” they whispered again. This time I found her. She was right next to me. She had short, black hair that went to a bit above her shoulders but I bet it could have gone longer because it was quite curly. I think her name was Becky, but I never really bothered to learn anyone’s name. I turned back to Maestra Gomez, who was still smiling like an idiot, and I cautiously mumbled,

“Nadar.”

“Muy buean chica!” she exclaimed turning her back away from the board, as I exhaled a huge sigh of relief, my heart still pounding,

“I hate sharing aloud,” I whispered to myself

“Me too,” whispered the girl back. I nearly jumped out of my seat, and spun my head around in alarm. No one in this school talked to me. I was the weird kid that ate her homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the back of the cafeteria. She giggled quietly. She had a nice girly laugh. Mine was more like a dying walrus with asthma.

I suddenly realized, that due to the way conversations go, I was expected to ask a question next. Now, if you can remember from earlier, I am a rather socially awkward person, and this is not my area of expertise. My mind whizzed through questions I could ask, and then I nearly smacked myself right in the face. A question was right under my nose,

“What are you reading?” I asked. You did it Cathy, I thought. Wonderful job being social, you have earned yourself an extra hour of internet. You can see why my social skills are dwindling.

I looked at her folder; it read Becky. She had two younger siblings, judging by a picture on her binder. She liked guitar, calluses on her fingertips. Spends too much time on the internet, I thought, looking at a red crease on her wrist from pressing against the keyboard.

“Harry Potter,” she whispered back snapping me out of deductions, showing me the cover of the book, “I am such a dork!”

“Me too,” I whispered, showing her my book. You are doing it Cathy, I thought, you are doing it!

“Oh, number three,” She whispered, “One of my favorites!”

“It’s my favorite, I’ve read it so many times!” I said, “What about you?”

“Number seven,” she answered,

I looked cautiously over at Maestra Gomez, but we where still under the radar. She was talking about the importance of conjugation or something. Becky did the same.

“Favorite part?” I asked,

“Oh, the Battle of Hogwarts definitely, the start at least, where everyone is alive.”

“Oh Fred,” I whispered

“Oh Tonks,” she whispered back. I smiled; I don’t normally smile at people. And she smiled back.

The bell suddenly rang, and the once dead classroom came alive, backpacks grabbed, whispering stopped, and actual talking began.

“Do pages 125-127 by Monday,” cried Maestra Gomez, but no one was listening. It was 6th period on a Friday, we had two sweet, beautiful days of freedom. And all I could think about was Becky. I felt like a little kindergartener, happily bouncing around at the thought of making a new friend, but honestly I didn’t care. I wasn’t this happy since season three of Sherlock, and let’s face it, I couldn’t get excited about season four until I was old and complaining about how the next generation was online to much, which was a long way away.