A Unique Kind of Love (3 page)

“Les yeux d’une personne sont la porte à leurs pensées, leur sentiments et la pureté de leur cœur."
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A person’s eyes are the doors to their thoughts, feelings and the purity of their heart.

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French and Chicken

Lena Rose Winter

So, are there more chickens than eggs in the world? Or is it vice-versa?
 I wondered, twirling a new pencil in my hands.

Theoretically, every chicken lay an average of 300 eggs every year. If multiplied by the number of hens, which was 16 billion, there would be a lot of eggs.

Therefore, a lot of chickens.

 Mr. Johnson, our fabulous English teacher, had been gibbering and jabbering about Shakespeare's works and the ingenious way the playwright always chose to end them; in tragedy. Unfortunately for me, he was so absorbed in his subject that all the other talking going on in the class was ignored.

"And then she, like, totally told him to shut up, but he kissed her and now they're back together. Isn't that cute?" blabbered Stacy, not waiting for an answer.

She simply continued on and on and on. It seemed like Stacy felt the immediate need to fill me in on the lives of every single person in this school. I swore, if she had a slightly higher IQ, she'd be perfect for the FBI. Her researches were thorough and precise, even though they were completely futile. It was like every moment of her life was dedicated to knowing every piece of information there was about a human at Albany High School, from the first outfit they wore in freshman year to their latest lip gloss.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating.

You have no idea how much I want to tell you to shut up and go live on Mars, but I'm polite,
 I thought, pursing my lips. I closed my eyes and willed myself to ignore her. I opened them again and glued them on the professor. I admired how absorbed he was in what he was talking about even though three quarters of the class wasn’t even listening.

Stacy suddenly poked my shoulder. "Lena!" whispered the blonde girl, a tone of urgency in her voice. 

Ignore.

"Shakespeare's plays are now presented by every single theater in the world!" said Mr. Johnson, admiration written across his wrinkly face. I felt warmth enter my heart at how much passion the old man displayed.

“Lena, turn around!”

Poke me one more time, I dare you, 
I mentally threatened, keeping my eyes on the cursive, perfectly written Shakespeare titles on the white board.

At the jab in my side, I turned around. "What do you want?" I asked, in a hushed voice.

"Jonah has been looking at you," she informed me flatly, jealousy beaming from her. Confusion flooded over me. 

You see, moments like these apparently made Stacy’s top ten gossip lists. This was my third day at school and I had absolutely no clue who in the world she’d been talking about. So I nodded at her in the same manner a dad would pat his son’s head and promise them chocolate, but they really just want their sons to go away.

“Cool,” I said, averting my attention away from her.

This time, she grabbed my arm. I flinched and turned towards her again. “Jonah Walter is the hottest boy in school,” she clarified, as if that was supposed to change anything. Her eyes threw daggers at me.

I gave her a smile. “And I should care because?”

I suddenly noticed the silence in the room, quickly broken by the sound of a clearing throat. Stacy and I both looked at Mr. Johnson. His lips were pursed and he seemed deeply perturbed by us interrupting his lesson. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

If looks could kill, Stacy and I would've died the second he looked at us.

"Miss Winter and Miss Hennings. Was fantasizing about Mr. Walters so important that it couldn’t wait until
after
my class?” drawled Mr. Johnson. A few chuckles and hoots were heard across the room.

Face getting red?
Check.

Palms getting sweaty?
Check.

Getting embarrassed on my first week here?
Double-check
.
 

"Yeah,
Lena
, you are fantasizing about me?" asked a deep voice. I could feel the cockiness dripping in his words. Turning towards the source of the voice, I gave its owner a glare.

Stacy was not wrong when she had said that he was attractive. Green eyes twinkled in amusement. Not a hair on his head was out of place and his clothes looked designer-worthy. I found myself comparing him to the boy who’d saved my life earlier that week.

I chose not to answer his taunt and simply raised an eyebrow.

He winked. "Well, that makes two of us.”

I grimaced at the way he’d said that. He fits perfectly in the
player/asshole
category of guys. My first date, when I was fifteen, was with someone of that type. To put things simply, it was the worst date of my life.

"For your information,” I told him, “I wasn't fantasizing about you. I barely even know you and frankly, you're not worth fantasizing about at all." I gained some satisfaction from the bewildered look on his face. I gave him a smile and shrugged nonchalantly.

Jonah was about to answer, but Mr. Johnson gave him a look that could’ve frozen Hell over. "This is an English class, not a high school flirting class. Continue like this, and you'll get a detention."

My eyes widened and I clenched my teeth together. I turned around and looked down at the empty notepad in front of me. I began copying what was on the board, not paying any attention to my surroundings.

It was incredibly unnerving that I had just been on the point of getting a detention. And because of who? A boy I didn’t even know. Despite the fact that I wasn’t the typical, utter nerd, it still annoyed me to almost get a detention on my third day of school.

Class ended soon enough and I stormed out. I could hear Stacy calling me, but I couldn’t bother to turn around and answer her.

I stuffed my books in my locker, grumbling gruesome words under my breath. The boy drinking from the water fountain looked up at me suddenly and I recognized him faster than you could say
idiot.
He was smiling at me cheekily. I gave him a glare and continued taking my stuff for Art class. He leaned against the locker beside mine, the strong scent of Axe making me scrunch my nose in disgust.

I refused to acknowledge his presence. “Hey, Len,” he said. I took my sketch pad and special pencils.

“Sorry about the whole almost-detention thing.”

I never looked at him when I replied, “You’re not sorry.”

“So I take it you don’t forgive me, then?”

I turned my back to him and started walking away, but he grabbed my arm and in a sudden motion I was facing him again. The bullets my eyes were shooting him were enough to start and end a war.

“Would you forgive me if I take you out on a date?”

I snorted in a way that was the opposite of ladylike. "Absolutely not,” I answered firmly. “Never going to happen."  

“Oh, come on!” He pouted. “I’m a nice guy! You won’t regret it.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I have no reason to like you.” I tried to shake my arm from his grasp.

“But you have no reason
not
to like me either. I apologized for the whole
almost
detention thing.”

He had a point.

“I don’t
want
to go out with you then.”

He put his hand on the spot where his right lung would be and feigned a disheartened face. “That hurt.”

The bell rang, signaling that I was late for class.

“Not going to happen, that date, alright?” I slipped my arm from his grip and started running towards the Art studio, which, sadly, was on the first floor of the school. And where was I? On the
third.

I heard footsteps behind me as I ran, but I didn’t turn around. I sprinted down two flights of stairs, not sparing a moment to catch my breath. What I didn’t notice was the extra step I had to take on the landing. I felt myself starting to fall and the rails seemed to be too far away for me to hold on to. I fell to the ground, feeling my rear end and my knees send messages to my brain: I was hurting.

I looked up at the other person who had been running behind me. He wore an expression that was between worried and amused.

“You okay?” He offered me a hand.

Groaning, I took it and stood up. “No, I am not okay.”

“I’ve got to admit, no girl has ever run away from me when I asked her out on a date,” said Jonah, snickering. I gave him a glare that made the smile disappear. I started walking towards my class. He walked beside me.

“Lena, come on. Please? I won’t eat you.”

“You never know.”

He laughed. “I’m serious. Would it really hurt you and step on your pride to go out on one date with me?”

“Yes. Don’t you have a class to go to?”

“The teachers love me. You don’t take me seriously.”

We stopped beside my classroom and I grimaced at the sight of Mrs. Pilon already teaching the class something. I had to get rid of Jonah and
fast.

"I give up, fine. I'll go out with you on one date. Only one," I said, my expression tight. He leaned in so close I could feel his hot breath on my ear. I could feel goose bumps on my arms, I shivered. This made me extremely uncomfortable. The ounce of acceptance that had just begun to form towards him was slowly fading away.

"I’ll pick you up at six, Saturday night.”   

Then he walked away.

4

Dates and Insults

"You will get lost before finding the right path."

Lena Rose Winter

Some parents don’t like the concept of their daughters going out with boys, leading to teenagers either sneaking out or suffering formal and strict meetings with the boy. Other parents couldn’t care less. They acknowledge the boy with a nod and simply cry out, “Bring her home by ten!”

Mine, however, acted like a teenage girl best friend. The fact that she was a designer made my mother want to make me look absolutely stunning for any event, important or insignificant.

"Oh, baby girl! You look gorgeous! Now turn around, you should see how beautiful you look like right now! That guy, Jones, is going to melt at your sight!" exclaimed Mom dramatically.

I'd been sitting in this chair for almost 2 hours, getting "pampered" for my date by my mom. I stopped bothering to correct her way of saying my date's name about an hour ago.

I stood up and turned around to face myself in the mirror. I smiled. My makeup was simple, it was almost unnoticeable.

I was wearing a pale, pink, strapless dress that reached my knees. It was simple, cozy and serene.
My definition of perfect
. Luckily, my mom lent me her black high heels. To top it all, my mom placed a gorgeous necklace on me.