Sometimes

Chapter thirty-one

I nearly forgot I was angry with Cassie the next day at College.  I was just rounding the corner of the corridor that lead to my History classroom when I almost walked into Mr. Henderson.  His briefcase bumped against my knees but he didn’t seem to notice.  He looked down to see who was blocking his path, giving me a withering look.

    “Ah, Harriet Collins.  Turn around.  Class is in the computer room today.”

I felt myself frown at his use of my full name.  It irritated me how he couldn’t just call me by my first name like every other teacher did.  I wiped the frown from my face when I realised he was staring at me.  I was still in his way.  I stepped back, allowing him to move past me, before I followed him to the computer room at the other end of the corridor.

    It was when I spotted Cassie sitting a couple of seats from the door that I remembered I was annoyed at her.  I could smell her perfume and it hung in my nose, making my throat itch.  Cassie considered me with a blank expression for a second before she moved her eyes to her computer screen.  It was the secret smirk to herself that made my blood pressure rise and I headed to the far corner of the classroom.

   I’d sat alone in French class yesterday.  I’d contemplated taking the seat next to Cassie, just to see how she’d react, before deciding that it wouldn’t be worth the hassle.  I’d almost wished that we’d have to sit with our speaking practise partners, so that Cassie wouldn’t get the satisfaction that she’d forced me out of my usual seat.  But then I’d remembered that my partner was Brandon and I’d been thankful that luck, if I actually had any, was on my side.

    Now, I chose to ignore her, pretending that I couldn’t feel her icy blue eyes on my back.  Mr. Henderson had set up post at the front of the room, his back to the class as he wrote down the topics that we needed to research.  I didn’t know why we needed to do research in lesson time when I was pretty sure that everybody in the room had at least one computer at home, but I didn’t shrug off the chance to check my emails.  It was something I rarely did, receiving spam and junk mail more often than anything of importance, but something inside me was urging me on.  I typed in my email address and password slowly, trying not to make the keys click, alerting Mr. Henderson to what I was up to, and then waited for my homepage to load.  Twenty-six messages.  I scrolled down the page, seeing nothing of interest, until I spotted an email address that I’d only seen one place before; on The Dead Atlantic’s blog page.  I was pretty sure it was the email account that Sonny used.  My heart skipped a beat as I clicked on the message.

Hey Harriet,

Just wondering if you’re free after college today?  Don’t worry about emailing back, just meet me at the coffee shop on Parlor road at 4.30pm.  Feel like we should have a chat J

Sonny x

    My eyes lingered on the kiss at the end of the email for a long moment before I made myself read the message over again.  A chat?  What did that mean?  Nerves and excitement bubbled inside me as I signed out of my email account and tried to focus on the speech that I’d only just noticed Mr. Henderson was giving.  Usually I’d be annoyed at myself for missing one of his lectures.  They were always boring, but they held answers to questions that I knew we’d have to answer for ourselves later.  Today, though, I couldn’t care less. 

    The email flashed in front of my eyes again and I propped my elbow on the desk, leaning my face into my palm.  A chat?  Was that a good or a bad thing?  I was about to reason with myself that it could be either, or both, when I heard Mr. Henderson calling my name in full, like he always did.

    “Harriet Collins?”

Assuming he was taking the register, I called a vague ‘here’.  When the classroom erupted into whispers and sniggers, I realised I’d assumed wrong.