My Best Friend's Brother

Chapter Twenty-Six

The scenery passed by in a blur as I looked out the window of our gray Honda Odyssey. My knuckles were white from hanging on to the leathery arm rest. We, my grandmother and I, were on our way to parent teacher conferences. I was terrified. Not because of my grades. No. Actually, my grades are usually pretty decent. Most likely I could do better but it's not like I'm flunking out. I was scared of what my grandmother could find out. She could find out more about Michael and I. That's what scared me.

My grandmother, being the social person she is, seemed to know everyone in existence. She knew the librarian, the health/gym teacher, the guidance counselor, the assistant principle, the technology teacher and a couple janitors. This is why I have no privacy. Ever.

Michael and I still had not discovered who told her about our "passionate embrace" or hug, whatever you want to call it. Your call. We did have a pretty good idea, however. The two from that list that I actually see on a daily basis and my grandmother knows fairly well are the librarian, Mrs. Valorie and the gym teacher, Mrs. Crabtree. The three women all worked together at one point. My grandmother was the only one who still worked at the same place. Mrs. Valorie moved from her old school to ours about three years ago. Mrs. Crabtree moved to our school this year. Ironic, huh? When I get into high school, she, my grandmother's close friend, does too. Coincidence? I think not. So we were kind of leaning toward Rebekka, or, Mrs. Crabtree.

The tires rolled us up the small incline to the school. I felt like I was going to lose my lunch. Had I eaten anything. My grandmother parked next to the flag pole and immediately pulled out her phone. She was an addict. Though she wouldn't admit it, she used her phone more than I used mine. Also, she had an obsession with Facebook. Honestly, I'm not dissing Facebook. I like Facebook. I just don't think anyone over fifty should have one. That's just what I think.

When I got my Facebook, I asked my mom, not her. So when she found out, she made me log in and she went through everything. Then she forced me to send her a friend request. That's why I made a new Facebook. And I have a total of one friend. A girl I met on Kik named May Bride. We were really close though we'd never actually met. Online friends are real friends. They are.

After about five minutes, my grandmother put her iPhone in her purse, without locking it, and opened the door. So I did too. I followed close behind and she hobbled to the red roofed building. We walked through the double doors into the lobby connected to two hallways, the office and the study hall room. The old woman stopped to lean her weak side on the wall. "Where are we stopping first?" She asked. But before I could respond, a woman in a black dress behind the office desk organizing papers. Mrs. Crabtree. All the blood drained from my face and I felt numb. What would she say? Did she know anything more?

My grandmother pushed past me like a five year old seeing her best friend, and walked into the office. Dread nipping at my heels, I followed her in, forcing a half smile onto my face. By the time I had made it in, they were conversing. They talked about basketball games and why Mrs. Crabtree, a tomboy, was wearing a dress. She thought that was a mandatory thing for this event. But nothing came up about a secret love between a junior and a freshman.

Sherry, an office worker, soon joined the conversation which caused my grandmother to bring up the topic of not being able to log into progress book. Seeing that this conversation didn't pertain to her, Mrs. Crabtree excused herself, explaining she had work to do. When she left, the conversing continued and Sherry explained that the guidance counselor, manager of progress book, was not in at the moment but would be back within the next hour. My grandmother and Sherry agreed that we would return for a small conference.

She and I left the room and headed down the left hallway to another split hall, took another left and passed the technology room. I stopped my grandmother and pointed out that this was one of my classes. Knowing the woman, my grandmother waved to her. The teacher responded with an overly cheerful, "Hey!". Much to my relief, my teacher explained that my grades in her class were perfect and there was no need for a conference. However not until after she gave several sarcastic comments such as, "Oh yeah. She causes LOADS of trouble." Or "I always am getting onto her." This was a typical thing amongst my teachers. Most of them liked me. I've only had one who didn't. And he didn't like anyone so it seemed.

So we left the warm room with its humming computers and I started to lead my grandmother to the elevator to the second floor. "You really don't have any more classes down here?" She questioned.

"Well, I do. Math. But we have a sub in there, remember?" My College Geometry teacher had been out for several months because she had her baby. Ironically, the past three years, I've had pregnant math teachers.

Not convinced by my answer, my grandmother turned from the elevator and wobbled down the hall. With a sigh and slight eye roll, I followed after her. "They should at least have the sub in."

"They wouldn't..." I muttered, irritated with her lack of trust in me. Thankfully she didn't hear my snarky comment. Much to her surprise but not my own, there was a note tapped to the door.

"Mrs. Alen is not able to be here today due to her pregnancy. If you wish to contact her, please do so at this address," It gave her email address. "Sorry for any inconvenience." Not wanting to admit defeat, my grandmother turned up her pointed nose and walked back to the elevator and waited for me to press the button for her.

A ding and then the doors opened and we stepped in. It was on our way up that I realized the feeling that had been so sickeningly chewing at my stomach had all but disappeared. None of my other teachers really cared about the personal life of their students. I started thinking about the situation with John as I leaned back against the rectangular bar that wrapped around the inside of the elevator box. The threats had stopped and he had actually apologized for what he said. He said he was just angry and didn't actually plan on pursuing anything. In fact, he even said he felt bad. Though I know you are always supposed to forgive, it was hard. But forgiving doesn't mean things will ever be the same. Because they won't.

At that statement, my mind changed its corse. I started to think of Alex and how I'd hurt him. Just as I thought the feelings would overwhelm me, another single ding disrupted my thoughts. I would like to say a special thanks to who ever decided, "I'm going install something in an elevator that signals when it has stopped.". Thank you. Thank you very much.

Following my grandmother, we exited the small box of death. She waited for me to lead the way, so I lead her down the far side of the hallway to my Language Arts class. A very interesting class. Not just because I always get A's in that class, but because of the teacher. A very monotoned lady named Ms. Gleam. She was kind of strange, even aside from her lisp and lack of emotion. You could hardly ever tell if she was joking or being serious. And apparently she told one class that she was left at the alter and hasn't been in a relationship since. I felt kind of bad for her. Really she was a nice lady. Just misunderstood I suppose.

Her room was always warm and on occasion would smell like summer sausage. Today however, she had cracked a window. The scent changed to the smell of paper and ink. Almost like an art room but without the paint smell. Out of all the classes I had though, her room was always the brightest. I liked that aspect.

The middle aged woman sat behind her desk, wearing a blue skirt and a yellow bee sweater. Light reflected off her glasses from the near by computer. Her black hair was spiked slightly in different directions.

As soon as we stepped into classroom, my grandmother immediately started talking. Typical. She explained how she used to teach with Ms. Gleam's mom. While I waited for her ice breaker conversation to stop, I say at my desk and looked around the room. Soon getting bored with the aimless surveying, I took the literature book out from the cage under the seat and looked for an interesting story to amuse myself with. It ended up being a story called, "The Scarlet Ibis". A story we had read earlier in the year about a young boy with a disability, it almost made me cry.

"So how is Bella in your class?" My grandmother asked.

"She's excellent." Mrs. Gleam replied with a white smile. "She loves to write."

"Yes." My relative returned the smile. "Could you perhaps tell me her grade in here?"

That's how the rest of the conference went. I had a 102 in Language Arts. A 98 in World History and a C in Science. All of my teachers though, mean roomed they wished I'd speak up in class. All except for the Science teacher. She said she wasn't going to make me speak up if I didn't want to and I appreciated that.

My grandmother and I walked downstairs. I was relieved we hadn't come to any problems. At least... Not yet...