Francis Harlyn Aldridge
The next morning my mind is still reeling from the conversation with Lance. His inability to understand we're over is partly my fault, I've been weak and have given in when tempted with sex or just an offer of spending time together. But that ends now. Today is a new day, and I'm prepared to hold my ground.
My phone chimes.
Quinn: Yo
Quinn: Everything ok this morning?
I'd called Quinn last night after Lance had left. She listened to me wallowing in self-pity while the tears flowed for hours before stepping in and offering up her advice. She didn't hold back either.
"Don't beat yourself up about it, Har. If you weren't feeling it with him, then what you did needed to be done. He thinks he loved you, but I didn't see it. Maybe his mention of money says something about your relationship and his intentions. Could it be he is after yours?"
She'd raised a valid point. There were many occasions where he'd pried a little too deep into detail around my grandfather's will. The thought lingers in the back of my mind. I'd call her and talk through this newly discovered theory, but I'm already running late, so a quick text reply is all I have time for while readying myself for school.
Me: I'm fine
Me: See you English Lit
With our schedules not aligned for senior-year, that means I'll not see her until Mr. Harrington's class, which I'll be late for because I've misplaced my copy of Hamlet again. I was sure I tucked it in my bag to read last night.
I toss things from my locker onto the floor, frantically searching for it. There's math, science, and biology textbooks along with a ton of unnecessary other crap but no worn hardback.
"Well, it seems I've missed locker cleaning day ladies," Catarina says, giggles erupting around her from what I can only assume is Rebecca and Scarlett. Her followers.
Ignoring her, I continue digging through my locker.
"You know it's obvious, don't you?"
I let out a frustrated breath and sit back on my heels. She's baiting me; I shouldn't respond, but I'm curious what she feels she needs to point out. "What is so obvious, Catarina?"
"Your crush on Mr. Harrington. Everyone in class sees it. I must say he would be a step up from that trailer trash scum, Lance Freeman. What I'm curious about, though, is if not having parents at home make you more of a slut than if they were around." More giggles erupt around her.
It's the last straw for me, I stand and take a step toward her. We're face to face, so close our tits are almost touching. "Don't you dare say anything about my parents, Rina," I emphasize the name her friends call her knowing full-well I'm not one of them.
"Or else what?" She asks, standing taller.
"You'll regret it," I say, poking her in the collarbone with my finger.
She scoffs at my response and opens her mouth to say something, but the bell is signaling we're late. With one flippant glance, she turns on a heel and heads to his classroom. "Let's go, girls. Mr. Harrington is probably waiting for us."
The whole scene sets my heart skipping at a rapid pace. I've had just about as much as I can take from them. Had the bell not rung at that very moment, I could've easily unleashed my fists on her. Tossing everything back in my locker, I shove the door closed, but it springs open. It takes several shoves before the latch engages, making me even later to class.
Outside Mr. Harrington's classroom, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what I expect is going to be a disaster before stepping through the door.
Everyone already has their nose in their books, and I breathe a sigh of relief no one is watching when I enter, but my relief doesn't last because Mr. Harrington decides to make an example of me by announcing my arrival.
"Glad you could join us, Miss Aldridge."
Giggles and laughs rumble through the classroom, but I ignore them and instead saunter to my desk as though my presence is a privilege before taking a seat. "I'm happy to be here, Mr. Harrington." I retort.
The giggles and laughs turn to oohs and a dramatic "burn" or two from some boys in the back. It draws a narrowed stare from the teacher, but he's quick to regain his composure, beginning class as though nothing has just happened.
"With a show of hands, how many of you finished reading Hamlet last night?" He asks, rising to his feet and coming around to the sit on the front edge of his desk.
There are only a few who don't raise their hand.
"For those of you who've read, I'm going to pass out a quiz. Once you've completed it, place it on my desk quietly, and you're free to go early." The room erupts in whistles and clapping from the majority, but a raise of the teacher's hand quiets them.
My breath catches when I realize what he's holding. It's my copy of Hamlet. I know it's mine by the pink frilly bookmark dangling from the top. How did he get it?
Most of the class has e-readers for their required reads, but I still prefer a hardback. There's nothing like the feel and smell of an aged book, especially the older editions like the one he holds so carefully now. That edition was obtained from our home library and is one of the initially published copies, not something you can easily buy off the internet.
"For those of you who haven't finished, please continue reading through the rest of the scenes. If you finish in time, you will be given the quiz and can leave once you've completed it. For those of you who don't finish," His stare lands on me. "I'll give you until Thursday at the latest to have read and completed your quiz. And make sure you do because Friday I have a surprise announcement and trust me, you don't want to miss
