Tuesday, June 5th; Flashback story! Take the time today to write a story about a past experience with Ivy. It can be good, bad, ugly, whatever you choose it to be!
chantal aria lisbon
scent - chanel chance
mood - dangerous
hair - both pics
nails - chanel; black satin
lips - m.a.c.; high tea lipstick
music - time warp by the rocky horror picture show
food - none
where - school
with - ivy
“CHANTAAAAAAAAAAL!” Ivy Stonem, the bouncy, bubbly blonde strode towards me, taking the steps of Coldgrove High School two at a time. It was the start of our junior year and Ivy couldn’t have been more excited. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, burying her face into my neck. I hugged her back, giggling lightly.
“V, we just saw each other yesterday.” We rocked from side to side until we pulled apart. Plenty of other groups of friends were having heartfelt reunions too, spending the long summer apart. But now we were back. I hitched my Urban Outfitters backpack farther up my shoulder, glancing at the toe of Ivy’s brown wedges to the top of her golden curls. Ivy always looked perfect.
She gave me the up and down too.
“You look a lot like the old Chantal…” She pursed her lips in thought and I feared she didn’t like whatever that meant. “The beat up Vans, the cut-offs, the button-up shirt…” I wouldn’t tell her I had the Vans since sixth grade. I wouldn’t tell her I still wore them 10 months later. “I like it. Very hipsterish, yet it doesn’t seem like you’re trying too hard. That’s /so/ in style now.”
I smiled back at her response and linked my arm in the crook of hers. “So, Tally, what’s your next class?” She banged her hip in mine as we walked through the hallway, her heels clicking and my Vans squeaking. Everyone looked at us with jealous, envious eyes. I felt a surge of pride boil in my chest. Ivy may be queen here, but I was right under her. And it felt good.
“English 11. You?”
“Ohmigawd! Yay, we have the same class.” She shot me a grin before we strode right into room 203. Students littered around the classroom, chatting to their friends about the previous events from this past summer, but as soon as we entered, the room silenced. Everyone watched as we made our way to a set of desks sitting side by side in the second room. Ivy waved at some girl she knew from field hockey before sitting down. She glanced up towards the front of the classroom.
“I heard our new teacher is so totally hot too.” Ivy nudged me, as I giggled.
“Hm hope so!” I replied, pulling a mechanical pencil from my bag.
“Oh Tal… we don’t like student/teacher relationships, remember?” My heart froze, instantly remembering my father and the affair he had had with one of his grad students. Mom didn’t know. Only Ivy and I did. And she constantly rubbed it in my face.
I glanced down at my desk and began to push the cuticles of my nails back when the bell rung. Our classroom door opened and closed, as everyone suddenly grew quiet. By the time I looked up, a figure stood with his back to the class as he picked up a whiteboard marker and began to scribble his name before us. ‘Mr. Fitz,’ it read.
“Hey everyone. Sorry I’m late… I know that’s not exactly the best way to start off into the new school year, but I promise, I’m not /always/ late. I’m Mr. Fitz.” He turned and began to unload papers from his leather laptop bag before glancing up at the class before him. For some reason, our eyes locked. His blue ones met my hazel ones and we just stared at each other for what seemed like a century. He was way too young to be a teacher, maybe only a few years older than myself. And he was absolutely gorgeous. My heart beat wildly in my chest.
Mr. Fitz cleared his throat.
“Uh, so, instead of going over rules and regulations, like most boring teachers, we’re going to be doing a little exercise for me to get to know all of you better. After I take roll, I want all of you to pull out a piece of paper and write a list of your favorite books and why you like them. I know we have to read all the books on curriculum, but if there are any interesting reads any of you recommend, I’d be greatly interested in knowing what they are…” We met eye contact again as he said this.
Ivy glanced at me with a weird expression before pulling out a notebook of college-ruled paper. She handed me a sheet without saying anything before looking down and beginning her list hurriedly. I wondered what she’d write about, since she never read. I shrugged before glancing down at my own paper. Ezra began to take roll as I started writing.
‘Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov; the emotion and power of Nabokov’s writing is insanely startling. He takes a relationship so wrong, and makes the reader feel like it’s so right, even if it’s extremely perverse. His love for his Lolita can resonate with any reader and as you follow his obsession with nymphets, you understand why one man can be absolutely so insane.’
I finished the curve of my e when I heard my name being called.
I glanced up at Mr. Fitz’s direction before raising my hand slowly. “Here,” I murmured softly. The teacher watched me for a good three seconds before glancing down at his clipboard. I examined his curly dark hair and his defined jaw line as he wrote, and before speaking the next name aloud, he looked up at me once more.
“Uh…” I looked away, starting in on my next bullet point.
“Looking For Alaska by John Green…”
I continued writing for the next ten minutes until Mr. Fitz finished and began walking around the room, collecting our assignments. I stared at my paper, thinking about the books I chose carefully. It’s Kind Of A Funny Story by Ned Vizzini. The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides. Looking For Alaska. Lolita. Lolita was honestly a favorite. Humbert Humbert had been an English teacher, I thought. Lo was a student.
As those exact thoughts flashed through my head, Mr. Fitz stopped at my desk, glancing over my paper. He nodded appreciatively.
“Nabokov. Good choice there, Chantal.” I smiled brightly as I grabbed my assignment, holding it out towards him. Our fingers brushed against each other’s as he grabbed it and I yanked my hand back at the contact. An electric current had wafted through his touch onto mine and he was now looking at me with a very confused expression.
(type 'madness takes its toll' if you read it all)