Him & I

25

Once the bell goes off, I'm one of those rushing out of the classroom. The teacher doesn't even bother to stop us for final thoughts or homework and I think class was over a long time ago. 'Cause for many minutes all he kept saying was 'So,... uh', straighten up on his desk when he realized we were expecting him to say more and teach since he's, well, a teacher. Then he'll go back to his laptop, giving up. But none of us had a problem with it.

Thanks to the classroom being downstairs, it's no hard work getting to the MJR room, pushing open it's mighty black doors. There's rumor about how this was supposed to be a catholic school, that's a proper one, and the MJR space was the chapel. If it's true, that'll explain why the place has more space than needed.

Being a room filled with computers and other media electronics, air-conditioners here are never turned off. And nobody's blazer is strong enough to save from the cold. I keep a straight face regardless, used to it.

In the crowd of busy people, moving around so fast I could get dizzy if I stare too hard —  some are sitting anyway, I spot a particular blonde. There are many blondes definitely but this one has her hair up in the Ariana Grande type of ponytail she claimed she'll be having today. Pamela. Moving to the side for someone else to get through, I start a walk to her.

"Ooh, just came to check up on you." She says when I tap her from behind and ask what she's doing here, offering a porcelain smile that I think is pretty. But I wait a little longer for the truth. "Okay, fine, you caught me. I came to have a word with George." Knew it. She rolls her eyes when I groan.

"I told you not to worry about it, Pamela."

"Yeah, but in my defense you also said a lot of other stuff too like how peanut butter and jelly sandwiches shouldn't exist, remember? And then you asked to be dropped off at Nathan's 'cause you had a book of his to give- did you get to meet him? I told you he won't be home."

"Pamela." I say, "There is no need for you to be here, please just leave it be. Don't make me regret telling you I helped do someone's work."

"Helped. Ha. That's a funny way to put it." She scoffs, looking all over the place and past me.

"Don't tell me you're still waiting for George."

"I won't tell you then. But I actually am."

"Pamela, let's just—"

"And look who's finally come around." She smiles at me like we're in this together, and starts heading for George who I now spot as soon as I turn around. He's in his signature black cardigan. I know it's a hundred percent of the time cold around here but I bet he just feels like some kind of Sherlock Holmes whenever he wears it. Did Sherlock wear black cardigans all the time? Did he even ever wear one?

Well, my point is he feels intelligent - which he is, anyway, but that's not the point.

Before Pamela can get to him, I make a run for her, pulling her by the elbow. "Pamela, I've told you to stop this. Please."

"Why? Why,why,why? Should I talk to somebody else? You know he's not the boss right?"

"Wait." I  sigh, stop her, making sure to hold her hand in mine so I know she's following. After cornering a few people, running into another few then apologizing, we finally get to one of the black tables where two girls sitting are studying dozens of white paper sheets and one is standing over. I tap the one standing.

She's first surprised, but smiles once she spots me. "Melissa, hi! I heard what you did for me."

"Yeah, came to give it to you." I say, handing the padded notepad to her.