The War Between Us : Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

“… you’re not serious, right? You’re gonna put a fizz bomb in his chemistry test-tube thingy?”

I roll my eyes at Liv.
It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything.
Okay, fine, it is- but she doesn’t have to widen those huge eyes at me, like I’m doing some sort of crime and she isn’t believing it.
“It’s not a ‘chemistry test-tube thingy’- it’s the mixture of carbon sulfide we’re supposed to heat with a Benson burner, today in the fifth period. And, it’s graded”, I grinned wildly. Not to mention, rather evilly, but, hey.

And Olivie looked at me like I was some sort of horrible monster – sprouting red horns at the sides of my head, even.

I shrugged as I glanced at her, stuffing my Physics books into my locker. Liv standing beside me still clutches her books- her locker is a whole mile away.

“Do you even know what you’re saying, Cind?” she raises her eyebrows at me seriously.
“You’re planning on blowing up some freaky solution in Mark Wilcox’s face. Mark Wilcox. Mark Wilcox’s face”.

I scowled at her. “Alright, alright already. And, could you keep it low, please?”, I tensed as some passersby glanced at us.
“And besides, quit saying his name. It’s bugging”.

I reach into the locker and seize a tiny, round ball from among my ton of books.
The mighty ‘fizz’ ball.
Guaranteed to blow up with steam with the correct amount of heat applied.
The perfect solution to ease up all of my anger issues with a certain blond boy.

Oh, yeah.

Liv’s eyes widened even more. “Cindy! Come on! You’ll see who’ll get bugged when you get sent into the principal’s office- again!”.

She was getting hysterical, I can see. Slamming my locker door shut, with the tiny white ball wrapped tightly inside my closed fist, I push back my bangs and face her, sternly.

“Olivie. You’ve got to calm down. It’s just a harmless ol’ fizz ball- what harm could it do?” I blatantly lied.
I added jokingly, “Besides, do the French get hyped up faster than us, Americans?”

Livvie grimaced mockingly at my joke concerning her ancestry and I laugh, falling into step with her as we walk to her locker.
But she wouldn’t let go of the subject.

“Oh, shut up, Cindy. But really. It’s Mark Wilcox, for heaven’s sake”, she whispers furiously to me as we pass a group of chavs laughing loudly.

“And, besides- where’d you get the –erm- ball, from?”, she says, glancing nervously down at my fist, as though the ‘ball’ in my palm was going to erupt at any moment.

I let out a whooshing sound, as though I was sick of her pestering – and she glares at me.
I sigh. “Liv, so what if it’s Wilcox? I’d do it to anyone. But he’s the one who gets on my nerves”, I emphasize, a fiery emotion spreading though me wildly as I remember the smirk on his face in Bio class.
When I questioned him angrily whether he though cutting up frogs was a talent.
Urgh.

I think my emotions got the better of me, and were seen on my expression – because Livvie looks rather anxiously at me.
I relax my face quickly and go, sheepishly, “And I got the fizz from a prank store – this morning. I didn’t take the bus”, I added hurriedly.

I must admit, I’m rather a planning person when it comes to being insubordinate.
I’ve already thought the whole thing through.

All I have to do, is, that when this 4th period starts, and gets over – and the 5th period arrives, I’d go into the Chem class.
And act perfectly ordinary, innocent – you get it.
And then I’ll pounce on my prey.
And make his solution explode in his face.

And secretly feel good in my heart that I’ve accomplished the impossible.

Because, you know – I will not allow myself to get caught.

Well, yeah, I admit it, I’m feeling a little dizzy at the thought of using the fizz ball for evil means – but, hey – it’s supposed to be payback time, isn’t it?
And it’s not like I’ve been completely innocent my whole life.

I’ve taken some chances.
Some… risks.
I have, I have!

Like… um… - oops.
I can’t think of any.

Yikes.

But it’s okay, I assure myself. I mean, it wouldn’t be all that hard, would it?
I’m broken out of my thoughts when Liv speaks again, kind of the on pleading side, I notice.

“Cindy! Don’t do this – come on. Have you lost a brain cell or something?” she raises her hand to my forehead and I slap it away, mad.

But then, I realize that she’s joking – the twinkle in those eyes proves it – and we both laugh freely, as Livvie pushes her books into her locker, which we have reached, without me even noticing it.

Do I think that hard that I don’t even notice where my feet are taking me?, I think.

Olivie’s laughter fades, as she sighs and says, placing an Algebra textbook on top of its second volume, “Okay, fine, do what you like, Cind. But, you’re making a big mistake, I’m warning you. A really big mistake”.

As she slams her locker shut, I smile inwardly and go, “Okay, okay, Liv. I’m gonna think about it – but I’m not promising anything.”
Livvie raises one eyebrow as we walk along the hallway, now.
I’m worried that I’ll be late for class, again, but, hey – assuring friends that you trust their views is the first step to everlasting friendship – isn’t that what they say?

I continue hesitatingly, “But if anything – erm, drastic – happens during this period and the next, um, you’ll realize what I decided upon, right?”

Liv glares at me amusingly, and she goes, nodding her head, “Yeah, whatever, Cindy. You go do that – while I’ll – “, and she stops abruptly, eyes the size of saucers.

Okay – that was weird.
Why’d she stop speaking all of a sudden?

“Cat got your tongue?” I joke as I pause in front of room 347 – my French class.
She halts, too and she looks nervous again.

And then, it was my turn to widen my eyes. Something was up, and Liv wasn’t telling me about it.
“Um, Liv? Something wrong?”, I add, concerned.

“What did you say you were gonna do again?”, I questioned, furrowing my eyebrows. Thankfully, they weren’t as hairy as the Acron’s, so, I don’t think Livvie might’ve been appalled to see them.

But Olivie looks disturbed, and she goes rapidly, “I- I- I’m gonna be late for my class- I’d better go! Bye, Cind!”, and she rushes away in the opposite direction – back through the hallway we have just passed.

Whereas I know her Trigonometry class is right next to mine – room 348.

Is that girl in dream world, or what?, I shake my head to myself, black curls bouncing on my shoulders as I watch her disappear into a crowd of juvenile delinquents (also known as: druggies. Ugh.)

I smile to myself, knowing what was to come in the 5th period.

And just when I do that, guess who comes right around the corner?
That’s right.

Mark Wilcox.
With his herd of admirers.

The “M ‘n’ M’s”.

You see – that’s another subculture.
One that I’ve never heard of at Stuyvesant High, of course.
One completely formed here, at Chelsea Heights High.

And this group… this group only consists of five members.
One being the oh-so-handsome Mark Wilcox, of course (although, I definitely don’t agree on the handsome bit of this sentence, but it’s what the school’s female population says – so, I can’t go against facts, can I?).

And the rest… the rest being of four silly, twittery, screechy girls – posses of Candice Quinto and admirers of her boyfriend.
Mark Wilcox, again, of course.

I don’t know how he can stand them, actually (not that I care or anything).
Really.
I mean – he goes one step into the gym class, and there they go, twittering after him.
He walks a mile to the student body president meetings (which, I think they have every Friday) and there, hurrying after him are all those crazy girls, giggling at everything he says or does.

Really – probably, the only place he can get time alone to himself is when he goes into the restroom – or when he has classes that don’t include them.
But most of the time, even one of those annoying girls would be in the same class with him, flirting the whole time and not concentrating on what she’s supposed to do when she enters a class (that is, study and listen to the teacher!).

Marietta Petra is a member of this group.
See – there she goes, strutting behind Wilcox like some kind of peacock, straight dark tresses floating behind her. Straight henchman to Quinto, rumors – the horrid ones – are most usually spread around by her.
Olivie hates her to the core – yes, that’s what she told me when she was telling me about the M ‘n’ M’s.
I’m not sure why though.

And next comes Maryam Al-Dabbagh.
Thinks she rules the world, can get any boy she wants (especially the boy next-door, the rumors say, too, that she manipulated poor Skander Kantar if he wouldn’t go out with her) , and even dares to disobey Quinto’s orders sometimes (at rare, very rare times – but, hey, she’s got the guts to do it, doesn’t she?).
She makes the girl in Paramore’s new music video of Misery Business look sweet and innocent.
– I’m serious. Not kidding.

With wavy brown hair and a lean figure and more – that girl has it all.

Uh – wait - with the exception of Quinto, of course.
Of course.

Pulling on Mark’s arm was another member or the M ‘n’ M subculture.
Meera Potanani.
An Asian-American and proud of it.
Dark eyes, a tan complexion, and wonderful hair – she’s the envy of every Asian-American who walked the halls of Chelsea Heights High School.
No – I’m wrong – she’s the envy of every girl who walked the halls of Chelsea Heights High School.

But don’t forget Candice Quinto.
(But nobody could ever forget that vicious beast. I know I certainly never would, at least.)

And finally, giggling hysterically, follows the last – but not, least (I wish) – comes Malavika Hearth.
Yes, yes, the surname lives up to her – she’s the heartthrob of every boy at school (excluding the impossible Candice Quinto again. Definitely.)

Black short hair (reminds someone of Rihanna) and sharp features; she makes me sick.
But not more sicker than seeing Candice Quinto, of course.

I smirk at Mark as he passes me and he notices, because he raises an eyebrow quizzically, arrogantly at me.
But he doesn’t say anything.
So I don’t either and I watch with a triumphed smile as he walks past, rather annoyed I can see, with the four girl tailing him, talking rapidly to each other.

Probably at how badly dressed I am today, or something – because I had noticed their looks at my clothes.
But who cares what they think, anyways?

As Wilcox and his female cronies bend the corner of the hallway, I turn and push open the door to room 347.

Now, I have to face the wrath of being late from my French teacher.

And then…

Then, the chaos will begin.
Big time.