Part 1 – Introduction - 1 comment

“Nicole Chase and David Sinclair!”

I froze in my seat. She had said it, she had really said it. But this was ridiculous. David Sinclair, of all people! How the hell had that happened?

I turned around in my seat. He sat behind me. He always sat behind me. That was Mrs. Young’s rule. Everybody had the same seat, all the time. That way she didn’t have to remember how we looked like, she could just connect our names with the seat we were supposed to sit in.

Now, I think I need to clarify a few things, before we continue this amazing story. I’ll begin with Young Miss Dale.

The town I live in is called Dale. It’s not a big town, but not small enough for everybody to know everybody. We have a big shopping centre, four churches, two big factories, a big hospital, a University and two grade schools, one of which is called Dale Prime, which is where I am and where this story began. Dale has its traditions, as all other towns of its kind, and one of them is the Young Miss Dale competition. It’s a competition for girls of age 14 to 16. I’m 15, and I’m in it.

By the way, I’m Nicole Chase, but my friends call me Nikki.

Mrs. Young is my French teacher. She is also my class’s supervisory teacher, unfortunately.

When you’re in the Young Miss Dale competition, you have to sign up for some kind of a peer aid program. I signed up to be a French tutor, because my mother spoke French to me all the time when I was little and I know it as if I had grown up in Paris. I also consider myself a good teacher, so I felt fully ready to take on whatever moron they threw at me. But I didn’t expect this.

This is the thing. David Sinclair speaks French better than I do. His name should be enough to convince you. So why the hell am I being assigned to tutor him on something he should be tutoring me on?

Why both of us take French in school, you might ask, since both of us seem to already know it? Well, ask Mrs. Young. I dare you!

David looked up at the mention of his name. He saw me staring at him and stared back for a few moments. Then he looked at Mrs. Young.

“I didn’t sign up for tutoring,” he said in a dark and a little rough voice. He didn’t speak much. Mrs. Young looked at him with a mean grin.

“You signed up for tutoring, Mr. Sinclair, when you stopped doing your homework!” she retaliated. David looked at her for a few more moments. He sat at the far back, in the corner by the back window. The whole class was looking back at him, staring at him. Then he looked back at whatever he had been looking at outside the window before his name had been mentioned.

David Sinclair was considered a little bit odd by the class, and actually by the whole school. His look didn’t help. He had dark, almost black, hair and a heavy brow, dark grey eyes and a long, pointy and rather ugly nose. He had a big scar over his mouth, from the right side of his upper lip to the left side of his lower lip. This might make him look interesting to strangers, but for us who knew how he had got it, it wasn’t very remarkable. He had started at our school when he was 13. He had transferred from the other grade school of Dale, the Royal Dale Grade School, and nobody knew why. Early in his first year he had been playing football with the other boys in his class, slipped and fallen on a big piece of glass. It was a tragedy for his face, but he didn’t seem to mind it or care. He always wore an expression that made him look like he was thinking about all the bad and serious things in the world, and as I have already mentioned, didn’t talk much. He shook or nodded his head and stared out of the window. His hands also seemed always to be a little dirty, but he didn’t play any sports in school or climb trees or do anything that seemed to cause it. It was like they just were that way.

The most interesting thing about him was the fact that he had been with us for a year, and then he had disappeared. Not many noticed, but those who did thought he had moved away. Then he appeared again a year later, but he didn’t go back to the same class he had been in when he left. He continued as if no year had passed, and came into my class, where he was one year older than everybody. Apparently, wherever he had been, he hadn’t been at school.

The other boys tried to teas him at one time, like little boys and girls do, and called him Scarface. He just stared at them as if he didn’t notice they were calling him names. They stopped after a short while, because it’s no fun calling someone a name if it doesn’t bother them, is it! They would perhaps have turned to teasing him by shoving him and stealing his things, but he had one quality to him. He was the tallest boy in school, the tallest person in school actually, because there wasn’t even a teacher that was as tall as him. This, plus his scar and his constant look of seriousness and silence, made him rather intimidating, and no one had ever picked a fight with him.

When the bell rang I turned myself completely around in my seat and stared at him accusingly. He looked rather surprised, but just stared back.

“Why don’t you do your homework, it’s not like it’s hard for you?” I asked indignantly.

“I shouldn’t have to,” he simply said, and stood up.

“What the hell does that mean?!”

He stared at me some more, but finally answered.

“Neither of us should have to take this class.”

This, I thought, was a ridiculous answer.

“But it’s Mrs. Young, you know her, everybody has to be the same in her head, otherwise her perfect little world falls to pieces!”

He didn’t say anything more. He took his bag and walked out. It took me a few seconds to realize this was our last class. He was going home.

I jumped up, stuffed my books into my bag and ran out after him. I caught up with him outside, heading west towards the part of town that was considered to be the bad part of town, although it wasn’t really bad. Just liberal.

“Wait, I’m supposed to tutor you!” I called. He stopped and let me catch up with him. “Whether you need to be tutored or not. I suppose I could just call myself your homework supervisor, because if I can’t get you to start doing your homework I might as well just sign myself out of the competition.”

He was just looking down on me, almost like he didn’t understand why I was speaking to him.

“Tomorrow,” he finally said, and walked away.

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One thought so far, but there's room for more

  1. Tengdamamma ;) says:

    Anna bara haltu áfram!!þetta er glæsilegt hjá þér!!

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