Chapter 8
I end up working through lunch, and it seems that I’m not the only one. The journalism room is still half full. My three submissions are ready. I put my heart into the recruiting piece but have the other two to fall back on. I submitted them via the online paper portal and saved them to my computer drive and online drive. I prefer the ”save it in at least three places” approach to writing. It took only one time losing a paper I worked on for days to adopt it.
Unfortunately, I won’t know if my article gets selected until the edition comes out. Seniors do all the formatting. According to Kate, junior editors won’t be picked until after winter break. There are only two spots for junior editors and the week before selection is hell week. Tensions get high; I can’t wait. The one area I have never lacked confidence in is my writing.
I leave the journalism room in a buzz. Based on my map, the science building is across the courtyard. If I rush, I can avoid Ben and get there on my own. He is caught in a deep conversation with Mr. Bannerman. While I really do want to confront him, how will that conversation go? ”Hey, are you stalking me? According to the girl I have also only known for a day, you took the last spot in the journalism class, which is weird because I thought I had taken the last spot.”
I make it halfway across the courtyard before the shuffle of rushed feet sound behind me. Wonder who that is? Picking up my pace a disheveled Ben blocks my path. I look up to see his shirt has wrinkled and come untucked a little. He is a tad out of breath. ”Avoiding me, Dorothy?” he huffs.
“No, I just don’t want to be late for Anatomy.” I walk around him, and he blocks my path again. “Problem, Benedict?” It was naive of me to think I could avoid him. Better to get this sorted now than drag it out over the course of the week.
“Benedict? Thought we were past that.” He slips his hand into his pockets, looking innocent and it’s annoying. He can’t possibly be hurt. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m just a game to him. Well, I’m not playing.
“Did you switch into Journalism because I was taking it?” His face levels. Busted. He is some sort of private school stalker.
“I did,” he drags his hand through his hair. One hand is still in his pocket. His shoulders tense. He shouldn’t be so handsome right now. “I asked to have some of my classes shifted to match yours.”
I wasn’t expecting honesty. If he is a stalker, he isn’t doing a good job. Caught off guard, I stare at him in expectation.
“Look, I am going to tell you something, but you aren’t going to like it.”
“Continue,” I gesture with my hand.
“I wasn’t randomly assigned as your mentor. My father set it up with your grandfather. He wanted to make sure you got off to a good start.” He knows my grandfather. I’m a family favor. My brain feels like the load screen on an old school computer, stuck on a processing page. “At first, I figured I would just show you around to your classes and make sure you got around okay, then you told me about the lunchroom with Lisa—”
“And you decided to go full stalker?” It’s one thing that my grandfather is meddling. I’m not too mad because I’m sure it comes from a place of caring, but switching into my classes is outlandish. I could handle Lisa on my own.
“It sounds creepy when you say it like that.” He attempts at defending himself.
“It is creepy. Favor or no favor, changing your schedule to match mine is absurd.” I’m almost shouting. I lower my voice to avoid attracting attention.
“My intentions aren’t creepy, I promise. I’ve known Lisa for years. I knew she wouldn’t back off you, so I switched into the Journalism class so she couldn’t mess with you.” He explains. Am I supposed to believe he some sort of knight in shining blazer?
“And my other classes, did we share those too? Or did you transfer into those?” Guilty again.
“I transferred, but I promise it’s only so I can keep an eye out for you.” He has to know that is something the serial killer says in a scary movie. My face gives me away and he attempts to explain further. “Not like that, think of it as a big brother protective, well not brother. I don’t want you to think of me as a brother. Shit. I’m not explaining this right.” He is more and more flustered, and it’s kind of cute. No, Amelia, stalkers aren’t cute.
“I’m not a princess. I don’t need protection. It’s a school. Transfer out of my classes.” He is smiling down at me. Psycho.
“No can do Dorothy. You may not be a princess, but you do need protection. I promised to look out for you, and that is what I am going to do. Now come on, we are going to be late.” I only start walking again because I don’t want to be late for class, not because he said so. I’m also not sitting next to him in class.
“Quit calling me Dorothy.” I am full-on pouting. I’m not sure which one bothers me more at this point. That he thinks I am some damsel in need of a bodyguard or that I’m a favor. I choose not to mull it over too hard. I guess it helps me either way. If I am just a favor, his flirtation isn’t real, and I don’t have to worry about him being a distraction.
“Okay, princess.” ugh.
“Not that either.” I scold.
“Then what would you like me to call you?”
“Amelia.”
“No, I think I’ll stick to Dorothy.”
“Ass.”
Benedict
She can hurl insults at me all she wants, but I”m not budging from her classes. Admittedly, I may come across as a bit of a creep, but it”s a label I”ll bear if it means keeping her safe. Leaving her alone with Lisa and her clique was a recipe for disaster. What Amelia doesn”t realize is that even in the confines of high school, there are still lurking dangers. I should know; I used to be one. That”s the old me. I wouldn”t dream of taking advantage of her now.
There”s an innocence about Amelia that”s both captivating and concerning. She”s smart, witty, and undeniably attractive, but her confidence might land her in hot water. I”ve witnessed firsthand how ruthless Lisa can be, and I shudder to think what she”ll do with Amelia as competition. My presence offers her some protection, a shield against the storm. I can”t protect her if I”m not there. Sure, I could have transferred into the Journalism class alone, but that wouldn”t cut it.
Golf. She signed up for Golf. Coincidentally enough, I have grown up on the golf course, which is why I take it every year to fill a credit, and I have seen what happens when I girl signs up. The thought of other guys in that class hovering around her, offering unsolicited advice—or God forbid correcting her form– it”s enough to make my blood boil. Amelia may not grasp her allure as the new girl, but mark my words: she”ll become a shiny new toy for every guy in sight. A trophy to be won.
I don”t want to collect Amelia like some prize on a shelf. I want to know her, to understand her. It”s a desire I”ve never felt before. Sure, I”ll probably mess things up along the way. Yes, transferring into all her classes may have been a mistake, but I”m not backing down now. Besides, there was something endearing about her scolding me. She may be small in stature, but her fiery spirit is impossible to ignore. Deep down, she knows I”m right.