Retarded Winter

The leaves were flowing in a chaotic swirling motion. Winter was just around the corner and I was still not ready for it. I smiled. There was no way in the world that I could have been ready for what this winter had in store for me.1

This is how I chose to begin this story. In the middle of fall, with leaves entrapped in the concept of gravity, proving it right. I have nothing special. If you're interested in some kind of female characters that spend their nighttimes chasing some evil force and go to school on the next morning--you better stop reading this. Except if you're interested in the latter part.2

I can't hear voices or see the future. I don't know any type of intimidating martial arts.3

I'm nineteen years old and somehow this feels like a sad fatality. I thought I had some time left before starting to worry about my age.4

So to begin my story, picture me, standing in front of a classroom. There are colourful leaves dancing in the strong autumn winds. These are visible by the large window, which I am staring out at. I'm waiting for my turn to talk. Today is my oral presentation due date and my team is presenting a project about a deceased celebrity.5

I don't really mind it, though. There's nothing I can do about hating oral presentations, but I'm oddly saved today from the anxious discomfort of it.6

I had a talk with my mother last night and I'm moving out. Today is my last day at St-Burton High School.7

I bit my lip. I should be more focused on the oral, but I really could not bring myself to be concerned by it. I felt trapped in a dream and I was just waiting for it to end, for me to wake up and realize that it was fake.8

I glimpse at the classroom before returning my gaze to the window. There was nothing dreamy about this situation; it looked like plain reality to me.9

I was supposed to finish my year here with a bunch of people ignoring me and some three or four girls really enjoying my presence. I was supposed to get excited by prom and wonder about prom prospects.10

I still could not understand how my father could possibly have agreed to this. I hardly saw him once per year--sometimes two. Starting tomorrow I was supposed to live with him 24/7.11

I didn't like the fact that I couldn't properly consider myself as a mere teenager due to my nineteen years old. I was quite close from entering the twenties' part of my life.12

However, as a post-teenager I knew that living with a semi-existent, semi-improvised father was not a great idea. Even more when the idea included a change of high school, a change of town, and a change of province.13

Honestly, people in their forties' part of their lives had a peculiar manner of evaluating things. I was glad that my mother was supporting my choice of career, but she didn't need to push it this far. True, I wanted to write scripts and direct movies, but sending me to the "most renowned university" was not a prerequisite for it. I could do it here just fine .14

Hence,the plotting started. That's when my mother and father had these peculiar discussions about my "moving out option". When their plan got settled in their minds, I could not fight it in any possible way. Even with the use of my all non-supernatural abilities, I could not escape from it.15

The intense stares of my partners brought me back from my reverie. It must have been my turn to talk. Well, nothing was better than to discuss Marylyn Monroe's death to stop thinking about frivolous self- matters. 16

Somehow, even if today was my last day here, I couldn't say goodbye properly. It was a known fact that I wouldn't be in St-Burton High School anymore, but no one seemed to really mention it in my presence. I guess that was part of the post-teenage friendship--we were just not as close as we thought. I walked down the hallway in order to assist to my last class at St-Burton: French.17

"Bonjour et bienvenue. Today we will..."18

I dozed off. The teacher had a very compelling voice and it was hard for me not to picture him and I in some far exotic place having a long conversation in French. Did I mention that the man was quite handsome?19

It was indeed a sad thing to quit this school when I had precisely chosen this option for its teacher. Let's face it, that man was dreamy. However, his course was really killing my average. It was quite the sane decision to let go of the class.20

"Florence, dis-moi, quel âge as-tu?" 21

That sure caught me off guard. I stared at the teacher in wonder. I looked at the girl to my right for a tip, only for her to mouth the silent word "sorry".22

I replied the only thing I could.23

« Non? »24

The teacher looked at me curiously. He then asked to have a word with me after class. I felt a warm tingling sensation spray in my cheeks as I stared at my notebook in shame. I still had no idea what he had asked me. Now that I thought about it, the overall average of this class was quite low.25

The bell rang and it was my cue. I had two choices: either quickly walk out of the classroom and avoid an embarrassing moment, or simply share my last moment in this school with its most charming teacher. Alright, my choice was already made. But I wanted to confirm that I had given a fair trial to the first option.26

I walked to Mr. Simore's desk, repentantly.27

The teacher offered me a small smile, which I could not return.28

"I'm really sorry sir, I did not understand the question,"---"You weren't listening. " he cut me off.29

I bit my lip. I must admit that detentions for dozing off wasn't exactly how I had pictured my last St-Burton moment. But then again, I had pictured it with my teacher and I escaping my fate by traveling through Europe. Reality had chosen its side.30

I waited for him to go on. I really had no intention to talk back, he was right after all--and it wasn't the first time I had been drowsy in his course.31

"Listen, I know that you're moving out tomorrow, but I don't want you to feel like it gives you a right to slack in your courses." he said, with an overly stern stare for his character. I glimpsed at his eyes before returning it to the floor. He was mad. What was happenning to my beloved and young teacher that seemed to be friendly to everyone? This really wasn't like him.32

"Sir, really, I'm sorry." was my lame retort.33

"Florence..." he said as he let out a sigh. I gazed up. What was wrong with him?34

"No Florence, I am the one who's sorry. It's just that I see some potential in you, but you never quite put the efforts to it. You often doze off and I hardly see you study at school. I'm only concerned about the fact that it may worsen when you change school... " he let out in one breath.35

It took me several minutes to register what was happenning. Was it me or I had heard the words "Florence" , "potential", and "concerned about" in the same sentence from my favorite teacher? My expression must have been priceless at the moment. I was feeling an odd mixture of proud happiness, sheer excitement, and sincere gratitude for his concern. But mostly, I felt anguish, for I was about to leave him. This was starting to look like a soap opera.36

"I have potential?" was all I could utter. Really, someone should have whacked me with a bat for such an inadequate reply.37

He smiled his infamous grin that got me to register for the last two years in his overly difficult class. My courage ran away and I felt weaker in the knees. I returned my stare to the floor, which I was hoping not to fall upon.38

"You learn very fast when you put your mind to it. I've seen your progress along the years."39

I smiled at the floor. Was there any possible way not to like this guy ? 40

"Thank you. It really means...a lot." I replied back. My mind had decided to team back with me on this reply, hence making me feel a bit more confident.41

"I'll miss your classes, sir." My heart literally stopped when those words left my mouth. Who had deactivated my auto-censure?42

"I'm glad that you will. But please keep practicing. Refusing to answer to someone asking you if they could know your age won't start a conversation in French..."43

I wanted to sink into the floor. So that was the question I had replied a "no" to. I had stupidly guessed that it would have been a mere "yes or no" question. The embarrassment surely killed the romantic moment I was having here.44

"I---I will." I retorted.45

It was an odd thing that the only person I had properly said goodbye to was my French teacher. I never had more than ten seconds conversations with him, even when I seriously needed help. I smiled as I left the high school ground; this was so much better than escaping to Europe. He had smiled at me, and was concerned about me. Yes go ahead. Mock the severely infatuated post-teenage girl. I was in my own dreamy world now.46

I laid in my newly set bed that night. My eyes were wide open. It was a silly thing to feel so awake when I desperately wanted to sleep. I needed a good and long dreaming session before waking up to attend Athlon High. I would need all my brain to be able to use my semi-existent sense of orientation and social skills.47

I sighed. All I could think about was what my mother had told me before I left. She had loaded the truck with a small smile, before turning to me.48

"Ready for your new beginning?" she then asked. I tried to answer with a smile, but miserably failed to do so.49

"It's not like I'm gone forever. I'll come back on some weekends..." I added, when I saw her already small smile shrink.50

She jumped in the truck in a quick manner. As she started the engine she looked at me. "You're right. There's no need to say goodbye, yet... "51

I met her gaze, slightly confused by her odd response.52

It was that last line that wouldn't let me rest at the present moment. I had expected her to be anxious, stressed or sad, even. But I haven't seen any of these emotions on her features in the last few days I spent at home. Well, that I had spent at my mother's place. She had behaved as if all this had been planned since birth.53

I managed to fall asleep somehow later that night.54

----55

I inhaled deeply, taking in the fresh air of this humid morning. The sunlight was vivid and remind me of the warm summer that already seemed far in my memory. It really was an odd thing to be observing autumn's ravishing colors one day and to see a clear cobalt sky on the next. The only thing that tarnished this beautiful day was the gray-looking monuments and the protuberant school building. Their stonish monotonousness stood against the moist ambient air; my school was a decrepiting gray-looking old castle56

If I wasn't nervous before, now I was clearly petrified. The school's diginess was quite intimidating for the small-town girl that I am. Or was, I guess.57

I entered the building by the impressive wooden doors, trying to look like panic was a foreign emotion to me. It was not that simple, since I had no idea where I was supposed to head to and I only had few minutes to get there--thanks to my paralyzing moment in front of the school.58

I couldn't look alarmed; students could feel fear as wild animals could. And I was a very vulnerable pray at the moment.59

"Excuse me--are you lost?" I heard someone ask behind me.60

I turned to see a pair dark emerald eyes staring at me in amusement. The man in question could be my only chance for rescue.61

"It's obvious, isn't it?" I answered, offering him a small smile.62

He smiled back, before approaching me. "I'm Nicholas. And I kind of got a clue when I saw you head directly towards the male's Rugby team vestiary... "63

I immediately pictured the scene in my head, which made me want to run for it. I looked at the entrance doors in envy; five minutes in this place was enough to make me picture all kinds of escaping scenarios to return to St-Burton.64

"R-right. Florence." was my eloquent answer after a good minute of silenced fleeing plans. Well, my dignity was certainly out the window and embarrassment was written all over my face. So much for trying to look under control . "Do you mind telling me how to get to... ", I handed out my crumpled sheet of paper to him, "Leacack Building room 234 A?"65

He seemed to focus on the task asked, removing all traces of amusement previously ensconced in his features. "Humm. Head towards the stairs at the far end of this corridor, then turn left when you see a small snack bar. Your local should be around there."66

"Think I can make it on time?" I asked him, noticing the hallways to be alarmingly empty.67

He smirked. "It's a matter of how fast you can run while following my indications..."68

That was all I needed. I guess I should have thanked him for helping me to decipher the complex school map, but I had a mission to follow through: getting the less attention possible on my first day. And frankly, getting late in my first class would ruin it all.69

Oh I ran. It started as a mere jog, but I speed up as I crossed the deserted hallways. The bell decided to curse me as I took the turn in front of the snack bar.70

I entered the class, panting, with hair in disarray and a to-be-expected flushed face. Honestly, the only good thing about this place was the weather.71

"Nice of you to join us...Miss Nelson?" was my new teacher's introduction speech. My mission was a clear failure, but I was glad that I didn't have to introduce myself since the class had already begun. In sum, it was a good trade-of.72

I took the only seat available in the last row of the classroom.73

----74

Unfortunately, I haven't been exactly clever. It must be written somewhere in a survival guide for first days in new schools that you should try to initiate friendship during the first classes. I, instead, had taken back my dozing off habit.75

Why in the first classes, must you ask? Simply to avoid not knowing where to sit during lunchtime. This kind of situation isn't usually dramatic, but it is something else when you're the new attraction in town--or city. I could feel people's stares on me from various angles. My every steps were scrutinized as I was desperately looking for a refuge on someone's table.76

I bit my lip nervously. It was appalling to see what kind of school my parents had selected on my behalf; all of its useless luxury was sickening. The massive chandelier at the center of the cafeteria's ceiling was scaring the heck out of me. I needed to sit, soon.77

"This chair is free...?" I asked to a pair of girls sitting at a table to my left, trying to sound unaffected. Truth was, as this was the only emptied chair I had spotted, I was a bit frantic and expectant of their answer. The two girls did not even glance at me before leaving the table altogether.78

I raised an eyebrow in wonder, looking at their departing figures. Was there some sort of unknown dialect here and the words I had just spoken meant something terribly wrong? I really needed to read that survival guide, someday. Or to even write one, to spare some new girl's life.79

I sat down, resigned to survive through the day. This was supposed to be a version of what I had dreamed of, after all. It was the best college for its literature program, and the path I had chosen was only mine to protect; any side issues could cause my parents reconsider their support of my career.80

"What do we have here---fresh meat?" I glanced up to see a girl smirking down at me. Her dark and heavy eyeliner emphasized her annoyed look as she stared at me during my lack of responsiveness. Clearly, the students here had their own language.81

"Didn't catch that..." was my brilliant answer, before looking down at my plate. Sure Florence. Just try to walk away after tumbling down on some hungry lions--they'll just ignore you.82

The seemingly gothic girl took a seat next to mine, before nodding at a girl behind her. It was the kind of sign that great mafiosi made to one another to be left alone. I was glad to have watched all parts of the Godfather to have been able to understand that share out of today's odd behaviours...unless I was the one being strange.83

"Listen up, newbie, because no one will repeat this out for you. You're on the enemy's territory, everywhere you go. Everything you do is observed, and everything you were-- you are no longer. If you were the queen bee at your previous school, you're no more than the insect here. Use your head, and you might survive the week." with that appalling speech said, she stood and turned away--about to desert my table.84

"Nice to know that some people still take the care to translate..." I muttered.85

The appearing worshipper of the dark arts turned around, facing me. "Didn't catch that..."86

I gave her a conspiratorial smile. "I just want to make my time here and be out as soon as possible. I'm not really interested in the student's regiments..." I added. Was it me or my speech sounded a bit like an incarcerate's? Oh well, the joys of school could often be compared to their reality.87

"You do realize that saying this won't automatically make me your prison-buddy..." she answered, smirking.88

I grinned. I had a feeling that we would get along just fine.89

"I'm Florence..."90

"Samantha--most people call me Mant, though." she replied, slowly sitting back in her original spot.91

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