Restart - An Original Novella

Chapter I {Thank You, Happy Birthday} Part 2

I head to my locker, speedwalking to make sure I won't be late for homeroom with Miss Catella, when I feel a hand on my shoulder, fingering my necklace. I slowly turn around and see the familiar wavy golden hair and glinting olive green eyes of my best friend. I abruptly stop myself and greet him necessarily.

"Michael!" I practically shout. For a second, self-consciousness rushes through me. But then I think, Do I really care? and just hug him as tightly as I can.

He feels stiff at first, and I assume he doesn't expect me doing this. He relaxes and wraps his arms around me after only a second. His heartbeat feels fast, and his fingers tap on my back. I'm not surprised about this. With his hyperactivity, he's always moving. Always. Polar opposite of me, who can sit completely still for hours at a time.

"Hi! I wonder why you're especially happy to see me this glorious morning," he chirps in a silly high voice. "Oh yeah, and happy birthday. You've finally turned four years old!"

I giggle. He makes me laugh all the time, but especially today. Especially now. I'm so happy to see him, I'm almost bursting. "Oh, Michael, thank you so much," I manage, squeezing him harder in our hug.

He automatically knows what I'm talking about, of course. "Hey, no problemo. You totally needed one in your life. You'll do amazing things with that guitar, I know you will."

"You don't know how much it means to me."

"You're awesome. You definitely deserve it."

"It must have cost a fortune."

"It was worth seeing your face."

"Wait, what?" I finally pull away from him.

"Maria stole your phone, hid it, turned on your Skype app, and I saw everything." I'm surprised he's willing to betray this information so easily, but I try to hide it. Instead, I fix him with a glare.

"I'm going to kill her!" The threat is wimpy because I'm shaking with laughter. I attempt remembering if I said anything embarrassing when I saw the guitar. Now that I think about it, everything I said when I saw the guitar was embarrassing. That's not good. It's just adding fuel to the fire of Michael's 'humor.'

He grins, his eyes sparking. A dimple appears in his cheek. "Maria's sneaky. Also, I have a lot of connections." At that, he winks at me.

Suddenly remembering the time, I look at my new watch.

"Oh, no! It's 7:56!"

Homeroom starts promptly at eight.

"You better hurry," Michael jokes, grinning. Most of the time, his grins are endearing, but now it's slightly irritating. I don't like to be late.

"You held me up," I point out.

"You didn't need to thank me for the guitar right before homeroom."

"Oh, Michael. I'll owe you for eternity."

"Sweet! Let's start with a—"

"Michael, stop distracting poor Stephanie! Shouldn't you get going to your classes?"

That would be Mrs. B., the Language Arts teacher. The reason we call her by the first letter of her last name is because it is too hard to pronounce. Honestly, I don't even know what it exactly is. She's a spectacular teacher, which makes her class enjoyable.

"Well, yeah, then, bye," Michael says. And with that, he ducks in between the rush of kids desperate to get to their classes on time, and disappears. For a few seconds, Mrs. B. and I stare after his receding head, and then I turn to the teacher apologetically.