Explosive

09 || Lighter

"Happy Monday!" Mrs. Mackenzie says, excitedly clapping her hands together. Brandon groans from the back of the classroom. It's his usual response to pretty much anything Mrs. Mackenzie says. "As promised, I will be giving time for you to work on your assignments. Just a reminder, it is due at the end of October."

Tamara turns to look at me, her hair whipping around her. Blue streaks have replaced her pink ones this week. I'm waiting for when she decides to go back to green, my favorite color. "Ugh. I have to work with Mr. Minus. He's such an asshole."

"Feelings be mutual bee-itch," Brandon spits and plops down next to her. "Did you read the book?" Tamara shakes her head in response. "I didn't either. You do realize that we are going to have SparkNotes this shit."

"Moore!" I spin around at the sound of my last name. "You coming?" Right, I should probably go to my group. I drag my chair to the back of the classroom and take a seat across Blake and Cynthia. My eyes focus on the wall behind them. I had texted them my number last week but still hadn't received a response.

"Hey, New Girl. Did you finish the book, yet?" Cynthia says, placing her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. Blake has his hood pulled over his head. His lip is cut from the fight on Friday and there are bags under his eyes. It seems as if first period English is the last place he wants to be right now.

"Um, yeah. I did." I shrug, ignoring the nickname she uses.

Cynthia snorts in response. "Didn't you get the book last week?" I nod. This weekend was spent on a boat with Pi and Richard Parker. That sounds utterly lame of me but it's true. "I have a few chapters left."

I clear my throat. "How about you, Blake?"

He shakes his head, a look of annoyance spreading across his face. "I can't read to save my life." I frown. How is he going to help us on the assignment or finish his paper?

A suffocating silence falls over us. "So... what aspect do you want to focus on?" I ask, wiping my sweaty hands across my jeans. The norm for me back in Oakville was a group with Emily and Aryan, who were always full of great ideas.

I'm expecting a degrading response from Cynthia, instead, she says, "I think the easiest would be the characters and plotline. We could make a movie trailer, with a script and everything."

"Don't you think everybody is going to do a movie trailer or a skit? It seems so overdone," Blake adds.

I press teeth together at his rudeness. "Fine, dick-face," Cynthia says. "You think of something." She crosses her arms and leans back against her chair. Her silky black hair cascades down the back of the chair like a waterfall. It looks beautiful.

"How about a song?" I suggest, desperate to keep them talking. A song? Seriously. They would never agree to it, I think. "We could write a song about the characters and plot and sing it to the class."

Like a vulture, Cynthia squints her eyes at me and tilts her head. With her face like that, I can definitely see her painting over my canvas. Cynthia actually has a sweet face. But she always has her eyes narrowed and mouth in an angry scowl, which matches her rude attitude. "That's actually a cool idea," Blake says. He sits up on his chair, excited and alert at the idea of writing a song.

"Of course, you would like to do a song," Cynthia says with an eye roll.

"Hey, do you play an instrument?" Blake asks looking at me with his intense brown eyes.

"I play a little piano," I answer. The lazy summer days I had spent at my neighbor's learning the piano cloud my mind for a second. I remember the recital Agatha held one summer, where Emily and my mom brought cupcakes and punch for the guests. My shoulders sag at the memory.