Chapter 4
As I approach the couple, they are oblivious not only to me but also the collection of other students enthralled by their tiff. Beginning to second guess my decision, I get closer and hear the anger in the voice of the assumed flavor-of-the-week. “What do you mean you aren’t coming? It’s the first party of the year. Do you know how bad I’ll look if you aren’t there?” Maybe she isn’t the flavor of the week, and he’s an even bigger jerk than I suspected. Flirting with me when he has a girlfriend.
“Summer, I told you at the end of last year, I’m done. Done with you, done with the party scene, and now I’m done with this conversation.” Or maybe I misjudged him after all. Now is the perfect time to announce myself.
“Sorry to interrupt this episode of “No Love Island”, but Ben, I need help getting to my next class.” They both turn to me. Benedict in shock and Summer with a look of disgust. You would think she swallowed a bug. She squeals at Benedict, “Who the hell is this?”. Calling him Ben instead of Benedict was calculating on my part. He looked like he needed saving, but I didn’t think her reaction would be this intense. I bet this school has a killer drama program based on the reactions of the girls I’ve encountered so far. Benedict, quick to recover from his initial shock of my appearance leans into me. “Summer, this is my new friend, Amelia.”
“Friend?” She scoffs. “Since when do you have friends that are girls?” She crosses her arms and shifts her weight onto one leg. Her pouty face makes me feel like I’m in a bad teen movie. I guess those films have to take inspiration from somewhere. I miss my small town. The girls were dramatic, yes, but not to this level. Plus, they were easier to avoid. Benedict shows no sympathy for her plight and is visibly annoyed by her tantrum.
“I started having friends that were girls when I stopped hanging out with the wrong girls.” His voice carries a hint of venom, but he doesn’t say it with as much determination as earlier. Still. Ouch. Summer looks like she might cry. “Let’s go Amelia.” Ben takes my bag and slings it over his shoulder, causing Summer to combust. He leads me to a door opposite of the way I came from. I follow along, feeling kind of bad for Summer. Yes, she is shrill, and a little rude, but it doesn’t make rejection easier.
Rushing to keep pace with him, we go through another elegantly crafted wooden door. Benedict quickly pulls me by my arm into a small alcove nearby catching me completely off guard. The area houses a water bottle filling station and leaves little room for us to stand. His intention is clear as we are out of the line of sight of other students. Craning my neck up to look at his face, I instantly regret interrupting him. His breathing is abnormal and makes his chest rise and fall, and the smirk that I assume is the reason he hasn’t had many girls as friends has returned. “What? I’m Ben now?” I just stare. “Not that I mind. But didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to interrupt?”
This guy. I narrow my eyes at him and ask, “Are you seriously scolding me for saving you?”.
“Saving me?” He laughs, actually laughs. My cheeks heat. I’m not sure if it’s out of embarrassment or anger. Probably a combination of both. “Dorothy, I didn’t need saving from Summer.”
Mimicking his tone I snap, “So now I’m back to Dorothy, huh? What happened to Amelia?” I bite back. “Besides, you could have fooled me.” I contemplate my next words carefully. I had planned on flying under the radar this year. Focus on getting the education and experience I came for. Avoid making any unnecessary connections. However, after my scuffle with Lisa, having one friend might not be so bad. “Besides, it isn’t bad manners when it”s a friend.” That dang smirk. He looks like he has won a prize. My insides coil. This is a bad idea. This space is too small.
“Okay. Amelia.” His voice drops, and so does my stomach. This is a very bad idea. The tiny space leaves no room to back away. “Since we are friends now, we should probably get to know each other a little better.”
My entire being is laced with uncertainty. The way he teases, trying to get a rise out of me. It’s working, even though I wish it weren’t. My god this space is small. Focus Amelia! You have handled boys before. He is just a boy. Shut him down.
“What did you have in mind? Braiding each other’s hair and gossiping about our love lives?” I question him. Sarcasm, my real best friend. Though I wouldn’t mind getting my hands in his hair. Dang it Amelia. No.
“Sure.” He matches my energy. “As long as we can have a pillow fight after.”
“Let me guess, in our underwear?” I hope he can hear my eyes roll as well as see them. “Be more original.”
“You brought it up, not me.” He says, holding his hands up innocently. Ugh. I need out of this space and conversation but curiosity takes the lead.
“Let me guess. Summer is your ex?”
“Why so curious about Summer? Jealous?” He tries to sound flirty but is obviously building a wall.
“Just want to know if my tires are going to be slashed later.” I don’t know my own intention in asking honestly. The root of my curiosity couldn’t possibly be jealousy. I’ve known this guy for five minutes.
“Summer is complicated. We didn’t date per se. We have known each other for years and kind of hang out when it”s convenient for each other.” He chooses his words carefully. “She’s upset that it’s no longer convenient for me.”
“Why?” the question slips and as soon as it does I’m desperate for the answer. Ben is an enigma. On the surface a clear party boy, but behind his eyes secrets brew.
“Enough about Summer.” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and checks the time. “We have to get you to class.” He exits the alcove, leaving me no choice but to follow, again. As we step out of the little world we’ve created in the contained space, reality sets in and Ben shifts the conversation. “It”s your turn to answer a question. Why the change in heart about being friends?”
I guess honesty is the best policy. “I ran into Lisa Taylor at lunch.” I don’t go into detail. Based on his expression, I won’t have to.
“Damn, Dorothy, skipped the flying monkeys and met the Wicked Witch of the West.” His tone is back to being playful. “Anyone would need a friend after that. Lisa thinks she runs the entire school. She’s been the top of our class since kindergarten.”
“You know her well?” We continue to walk down the maze of hallways. The structure of the school is overwhelming, navigating each day it going to be its’ own complicated task. He wasn’t kidding about my Lit class being a trek.
“Everyone knows Lisa, but yeah, I’ve known her longer than some. We’ve been in the same class since preschool. Our families also have shared business ventures.”
“Lucky you.”
“Hardly.” Something ticks in the corner of his eye. “I’d tell you not to worry about it, but I’m not surprised she tried to come for you. With your success in Journalism, she’s threatened. Becoming editor of the school paper has been her dream since she could write a complete sentence. You threaten that with your stuff being picked up by the city paper.”
“How do you know about that?” Did he research me? I’m hardly a famous author. I just had a couple of pieces I wrote for our local paper picked up.
“Google,” he smirks. “Your stuff is good.”
I’m surprised he read my articles. I’ve been working for the local gazette for years, fascinated with the way newspapers work since I was a kid. The editor took pity on me and let me volunteer in middle school, then I started freelancing. I helped get the paper digitalized and talked the editor into doing online posts. A couple of my pieces got picked up by City News. It’s cool, but nothing a high school student would be interested in.
“You’ve read my articles?”
“Surprised Dorothy?” He stops for a moment.
“That you read. Yes.” I know that I shouldn’t tease when he’s paying me a genuine compliment, but I’m uncomfortable under his praise.
“Ouch. You know I’m more than a pretty face, right?” He holds his hand to his heart in mock offense.
“I mean…” shrugging my shoulders.
“So, you agree. I have a pretty face?” he quips. Yup, walked right into that one.
“I just mean you seem like your interests would be directed in a different direction.” I can’t believe this is where this conversation has led.
“What type of direction?” He really doesn”t want the answer to that.
“A Summer-shaped direction.”
I can’t pinpoint the emotion that plays out on his face. It isn’t hurt or offended, but… pained.
“At one time you would’ve been right.” His face drops.
“But not now?” I raise a brow and study his face. It’s earnest.
“No, not now.” I believe him.
“What changed?” I know it’s too personal. Call it journalistic intrigue. I’m always after the story. At least that’s what I am choosing to tell myself.
“We don’t have time to answer that question. Besides, we’re here.” He points to a doorway. I still have questions, but I guess they’ll have to wait.
“Any advice?” I can’t explain it, even with the giant red flag and alarm bells going off in my mind, I feel comfortable with Ben. He hasn’t been boring, which can’t be said for my past experiences with the guys at Wilcocks. I just hope I’m not being na?ve again.
“Keep up with the reading. Even though I doubt that will be a problem for you.” I wait for him to slip off my bag and hand it to me, but he doesn’t. “After you?”
“You’re coming in?” I thought he was a year older based on his mentor status. He couldn’t have this class too.
“Obviously.” He gestures for me to enter the room. All I hear is Professor Snape in my mind, but I will keep that tidbit of my personality hidden. We walk into the room, and I’m surprised to see there are no desks. There’s one large round wooden table with cushioned leather chairs around it. It’s more like a meeting area than a classroom. There’s no teacher desk either, only a podium holding a laptop and a smart board. Ben takes my bag and sets it down closer to the board. We’re the only students in the room. I sit down next to him and ask, “Are you sure we are in the right place?”
At the same time, a handsome man in his mid-thirties walks in. Mr. Laurence, I presume. He has dark brown hair that is combed back and is wearing a navy sweater, designer, with a light blue button-down underneath. Apparently, private school teachers get paid well. Does this school recruit all their teachers from a modeling company? I have to physically pick my jaw up. Suddenly I’m hyper-aware of Benedict staring at me staring at the teacher.
“Early birds. Glad to see some people are excited for the first day of school. Welcome back Mr. Blake. Who is your friend?” Has he taken one of his classes before?
“Mr. Laurence, this is Amelia Roberts. She’s one of the new students from recruitment. I’m her mentor.” His tone loses all playfulness and is serious. Even business-like.
“It’s nice to meet you Miss Roberts. Welcome to Briarwood. I hope your first day has been successful so far?” His voice is warm. I can tell he actually means it when he says he hopes my first day is going well. Then his tone adjusts slightly with Ben “and Mr. Blake, it’s good to see you taking your duties as a mentor seriously this year. I trust we can expect a new and improved Ben from last year?” Ben tenses next to me under Mr. Laurence’s stern glare.
“Yes sir. New leaf” as if he doesn’t believe himself, he adds “I promise.” More students start to file in, and just like that, the exchange is over. I take out my notebook and favorite felt-tip pen. The headline for a news article scrolls across my mind. Who is Benedict Blake? Or better yet, who was he?
I stop myself. This isn’t why I’m here. Do better Amelia.