Bookshelf Boy

two.

LATER THAT DAY, I make my way to my Literature class. Mostly everyone is already there; there's still a few minutes left before lecture starts though so students are still chatting amongst themselves.

I head over to my usual seat near the front of the room. There's usually two at a table, but since there's an odd number I'm sat next to Emerson and Marie, who stop mid-conversation to greet me.

"What are you guys on about?" I ask when I sit down.

At my words, Emerson groans and sets her head down on the table so that her brown hair curtains around her.

"She's partnered with Priya for a History presentation," Marie explains for her.

I immediately make a face. It's no secret Priya is a nuisance. Aside from this class, I also shared Statistics with her last year, and all she did was flirt with the guys and bully any girl who she considered 'beneath' her, which was pretty much everyone outside of her own friend group. But with her slim figure, heart-shaped face and cunning eyes, nearly all the guys at Prempton fall to their knees if she so much as bats her eyelashes at them. It's really too bad she's got a rotten personality underneath such a pretty exterior.

Emerson picks her head up and blows her hair out of her face in frustration. "We're going to fail the project at this rate. All she did for the entire hour was complain about how her stylist got her nails wrong. I mean, they do look absolutely horrendous, but I could honestly care less."

I barely manage to stifle a laugh, and only because of how genuinely distressed she looks.

Before either of us can reply, a loud clap resounds. "Alright class, let's get started."

We all quiet and turn towards Mr. Levington as he writes on the chalkboard. "We'll be moving onto a new unit starting today—notable female literature of the 20th century. The first text we'll be looking at is Virginia Woolf's The Waves. Now you can either buy a copy online or from the bookstore, but you're going to need a physical copy since you'll be turning in chapter-by-chapter annotations..."

He drones on about our new unit and our syllabus for this part of the term, then gives out a worksheet about the historical context of the 20th century for us to fill out as a group with our seat mates.

We're productive for around twenty minutes before we get distracted when Emerson continues on about how Priya refused to do any of the work and made Emerson do the worst bits of the project, which made her want to claw her own eyes out.

"Maybe you should just try being honest with her," I say with a shrug.

Her eyes widen. "What? And tell her that she can't get away with dumping me with all the hard work?" She says this like I've just advised her to slit her grandmother's throat.

I blink at her. "Mate. Yeah."

She blinks back, looking absolutely petrified. Poor Emerson. She's a sweetheart, but she's also the least confrontational person I know and a huge people pleaser—which is saying a lot coming from someone who also suffers from the judgement of literally everyone and their mums. But sometimes I think if Emerson was injured she wouldn't even be bothered to call an ambulance, thinking up some bollocks about someone else 'needing it more than her.'

"Here's a better idea," Marie says, breaking the silence and leaning back in her seat with a smirk. "Look her dead in the eyes and go, Priya Manning, shut the fuck up."

Emerson throws her head back and laughs. "God, I wish I was enough of a bitch to say that." Her eyes move to something behind my shoulder, her gaze turning thoughtful. She sighs wistfully. "You know, as prickly as he is, I could honestly stand to learn from King."