Loving You

By Aurora Xavier

Hi,
My name is Laura. I know this where I am supposed to say something intriguing that will make you want to read my story but I am not crafty with words. Nevertheless, I am giving it a shot. Our eyes first met across the hall and there were sparks. I thought such a thing only happens in cheesy romantic movies, not in real life. Our second encounter happened when he sat next to me. Coincidence? I prefer fate. Fate with the promise of forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aurora Xavier
• Release date: May 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463387672

Book preview

Chapter One

I see you

Laura

Wearing the black fedora, I look at myself in the mirror and give myself a reassuring smile that does no good in calming my anxiety. I adjust the hat over my dark, and curly hair before dropping my hands to my hips. You’re going to be fine I say in my head as I hear footsteps come up the stairs.

Are you not going to have breakfast? Josh asks, pausing just outside the bathroom. He has that I know it all look.

He smirks. Nervous?

Not at all, I reply sarcastically as I switch the lights off and step out of the bathroom. He pats my back a little too hard. Yeah, sure.

I narrow my eyes at him as he walks back to the stairs that lead to the dining room. I follow him. Placing my backpack on the chair, I walk toward the fridge and take a chocolate muffin from the pantry and pour myself a glass of milk into a glass I’ve taken from the cupboard.

I sit down at the table and eat my breakfast quietly as I watch my young brother arrange his impressive sketches into his file before shovelling the file in his satchel. I am jealous of his calmness; he has nothing to worry about since he had done this before, flew from the east side of the world to the west of it, from one school to another. He had a whole year to settle in, unlike me who just moved to British Columbia almost four months ago.

One could argue that four months should be enough to at least in getting used to the city and new environment, however, it’s a different matter when high school is involved. When I arrived in May, a glimpse of summer had just been kicking in and the schools were about to close for the season; therefore, I could not enrol in any school. My mother and I were advised to wait until September to enrol.

Ready? Mother asks as she steps into the dining room, holding a grey tote bag and a silver thermos cup with hot lemon water. I don’t understand how she like that stuff but to each their own.

Almost, I say and drag myself to the sink and rinse my empty glass. Once I dry my hands, I pick up my school bag and stride to the garage and enter the car. Luckily, Josh doesn’t fight me for the front seat instead he sits at the back while I sit at the front beside mom.

You look like you are about to cry, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you cry. Don’t worry you will be fine. Lydia will be there to help you, my mother attempts to reassure me, as she reverses from the garage of the townhouse we live in before pressing the button that closes all the doors of the house.

My mother’s right. I don’t cry that often. In times of sadness or stress, I normally try to find a solution at most. It is just part of my personality.

I give my mother a nod of confidence and think of how I’m going to cling to Lydia. I’m normally not scared or shy about meeting new people or being in unfamiliar situations but come on, this is high school; high school is scarier than hell even under the best of circumstances. Add being the new girl and that just doubles the horror

I look at the clock of the car and note it is eight o’clock in the morning. Relaxing my shoulders, I gaze out the window and watch trees and houses stream? better verb past our car. My stomach dips low and my heart beats a little faster when the car finally comes to a smooth halt.

I straighten and stare at the front building and the large red sign words LA LUNA SECONDARY SCHOOL brightly embossed in on its forehead. My lips thin as my stomach churn uncomfortably. I feel mother’s fingers settle on my hand.

Take a deep breath and relax, she tells me with gentleness to her voice. I do this against the silence that has filled the inside of the car.

Managing a confident expression, I turn to her, I got this.

My mother smiles back, That’s the spirit love.

I smile back.

Alright, lets’ go now, Josh interjects, removing his headphones and letting them hang around his neck.

I love you, my mom says.

I love you too, Josh and I chime before getting out of the car. I watch nervously as our mother waves her hand toward me and then drives away before facing the daunting front building with students walking inside it.

You can stop being dramatic already… You are not going to an execution Josh says with a roll of his eyes. I punch him on the shoulder before pulling my phone from the pocket of my trouser and send a quick text to Lydia:

Hey, I am here with Josh, where are you?

I send up a small prayer that she replies quickly as Josh and I finally walk inside the off-white halls. I let out a relieved sigh when my phone starts to ring and see that it is none other than Lydia calling.

Hello, I say when connected.

Hey girl, I’m by the teachers’ office. Tell Josh to bring you here, Lydia says at the other end of the line.

Okay I reply before hanging up and telling Josh to take me there. We move past the bustling halls with students and take a left turn near the library. There, I see Lydia standing by herself outside the teachers’ lounge room. Her whole face lights up the moment she sees me, her lips splitting into a smile.

Hi! Lydia shouts practically bouncing on her feet as she wraps her arms around me.

Hi I return her hug with the same enthusiasm as hers.

Seeming to be satisfied, she disentangles herself from me and moves her eyes to Josh. Hey, Josh.

Hi. Josh smiles and adds. She’s all yours now, and he quickly scampers away to meet his own set of friends calling out to him.

Chuckling, Lydia gives me a look.

I roll my eyes, Ignore him.

Lydia pushes a few strands of blonde hair behind her ear. So what class do you have this morning?

Culinary Arts, I say and show her my printed schedule of classes. She looks it over, my other three classes for the semester, Precalculus and Creative Writing 11, Urban Studies. The school has a blocked schedule, so while the students only have 4 classes a semester, each is an hour and fifty minutes long.

Great, we’ll be together the first period, she says, handing me back the schedule.

Have you been to your locker?

No. I just got here. I reply closing the zipper of my bag, then glancing at three girls walking past us, Actually, I don’t have one, to begin with.

Let’s get you one before the bell rings. You don’t want to be carrying all your books everywhere, Lydia says and tags me along.

We enter the student help centre, and we are greeted by a male staff member. I look at the name tag pinned on his blue striped shirt and read George.

Hello, my friend here Laura is new and needs a locker, Lydia speaks before I do. I’m grateful for her confidence and companionship today of all days especially.

Ahhh new student. Welcome to La Luna Secondary School, George looks from her to me and smiles.

Thanks, I say with a tight smile whilst I stand next to Lydia.

If you can just give me your student ID, I’ll process things up and give you the number of your locker. He says.

Brows narrowing slightly, I answer. I haven’t been given my ID yet.

Have you taken an ID picture? he asks.

I shake my head.

Mmmh… What’s your full name? he asks, sitting down, his fingers hovering over the computer’s keyboard.

Laura Scott Mela.

How do you spell the last name? he glances at me.

M-e-l-a I spell it out for him.

I see that you’re in the system. I’ll schedule you to have your picture taken during lunch break. Is that alright with you? George gives a crooked half smile at me.

Yes, I nod.

Good. Then I’ll see you at lunch break.

~*~*~

You can keep some of your stuff in my locker until you get yours, Lydia suggests as we take the stairs and go to the second floor.

Thanks, I don’t know what I would do without your help here, I state while squeezing her guiding arm.

We stop at her locker. I look at other students as Lydia unlocks the lock pad. Looking around, I look at the three boys behind an emo boy. The three boys in red jerseys with the school’s white dragon emblem sewn on them. It’s here that I notice him.

I hate to admit this, but at the same time, I want to say that at that moment, it felt like one of those cliché teens romantic comedy where the main male character locks eyes with the girl lead and everything else stops or move very slowly except for the invisible attraction and sparks flying between them. This is what it seems like as my brown eyes lock with his blue ones to what feels like an eternity, but in reality, it is just a few seconds.

Our connection is abruptly ended when the boy at the centre talks to him. I look away and proceed in putting a precalculus textbook in the locker. When I turn my head to look at him, he is disappearing into a corner and the last thing I see is the number ten on the back of his jersey and his blonde medium length hair.

I also leave my fedora in the locker when Lydia tells me the school doesn’t allow students to wear hats in the classroom. I casually try to adjust the bangs on my forehead.

Just as Lydia locks her locker, the bell rings loudly across the building, giving us a five-minute warning before classes start. The two of us hurry along the hallway to our first class.

When we step in the class, I take in the arrangement of the chairs placed in one big circle several feet away from the table in front and three ovens and sinks in the room. There are fifteen chairs in the room excluding the teachers. I find my seat next to Lydia and wait for the class to begin. Once the second bell rings, Miss Romanov does not delay in kicking off the class with questions of how people spent their summer and distributing the small cookbook that we’ll be using for the entire semester.

During the first six weeks, you will go through the basics of kitchen rules and learn how to use the oven and utensils and where they are to be put after being used, Miss Romanov explains as she starts to hand out the class syllabus.

Chapter Two

What are you getting? I ask Lydia standing behind me as the line moves slowly. It’s lunch break and we are in the cafeteria waiting to make our orders at the food station.

I’m thinking of getting two slices of Hawaiian pizza Lydia replies, looking at the menu screen. I opt for a turkey sandwich, we wait our turn for our orders.

After getting our food, we look for a place to sit among the hundreds of swarming students. Luckily, we find an unoccupied table.

As I eat, I take in the different banners of sports teams hanging from the ceiling. There is a white banner for volleyball, hunter green for hockey, red for football and grey for cricket. At the far end of the room, a glass cabinet housed numerous trophies.

So, how did your creative writing class go? Lydia asks, chewing her food.

Went well. I feel a little more relaxed now I take a sip of the juice before putting the bottle down on the table. I started feeling less anxious during the middle of the creative writing period, realizing that besides being the new girl, high school was similar in some respects everywhere you go. Same types of kids, same teachers with ever-probing questions, same hated classes and loved classes I am looking forward to my next class, Precalculus. I love mathematics, and I am confident to say I am good at it.

That’s good. You’ve got me if you need anything, Lydia reminds me.

I know, I say with a thankful smile.

Her reassurance is a welcomed comfort. Lydia is a good person anyone would want to be friends with. When I met her a few months ago when I and mom had gone to visit her family at their home, Lydia had been very welcoming, didn’t make things awkward, and instead invited me to hang out with her over the summer, show me around, go shopping and movies. Her cheerful and kind personality had been easy to warm up to.

Before I forget, will you accompany me to the student’s help centre to take my ID, I tell her.

Sure.

I throw the empty bottle juice in recycle bin placed at the entrance of the cafeteria door and follow Lydia.

Hey, Lydia someone calls behind us. We stop and turn our heads. A petite brunette girl in shorts, tank top and sandals stride toward us.

Hi, Anna. Lydia gives the girl a quick hug and asks. How was your break?

It was good. I went to Paris, Anna replies, What about you?

Cool. I just worked over the summer.

Anna nods then turns her curious eyes to me.

I am Laura, a new student here, I say to lessen the awkward silence, offering my hand for her to shake as her brows tilt up a little.

Nice to meet you, Anna takes my hand and shakes it, smiling at my formality. She drops my hand and returns her attention to Lydia, Where are you guys heading?

To the student help centre to get my ID, I reply, tucking one of my hand in my jeans’ pocket.

Anna looks at me again, nods and says, I’ll catch up with you later. I can’t figure out if that went well or not, so I smile feeling awkward.

I’ll text you Lydia calls out to the vanishing brunette bobbing down the hall, and we start to walk again. A minute or so, we reach the office and I’m greeted by another student-staff member who directs me where to stand so she can snap a photo of me.

Just give me ten minutes, the lady behind the student-aid says and the two disappear into another room to work on my ID.

I nod and sit on the couch and read the notices posted on the walls. A blue and white abstract painting catches my eye. It looks like a mountain with a river between it. Narrowing my eyes, I read the name inscribed on the left corner of the painting. You paint? I ask Lydia, seeing it’s her name written on it.

Yeah, just as a hobby, Lydia says casually as if her painting is not that great. But looking at it, it is very impressive, the kind of art worth to be sold for a good price.

It’s really nice. Are you going to pursue this in University? I ask, still staring at the piece of art.

No. I still don’t know what I’ll major in but not art, she shakes her head.

Why not? I ask incredulously.

"It’s just a hobby, I don’t want to turn it into work. I don’t want to hate doing it later you know what I