Chapter 4: Her

"You're having a friend over?" Forte asked, when he saw I was unfolding the study table in the living room.

"Yeah, for my Latin sessions."

"Oh, so your numbers are even again?" he asked once more. "One of your friends quit, right? What was his name? Jason? Jeremy?"

"It was Nick, For, Nick Thomas," I said, getting my stationary out and the video recorder. "Some dude enrolled last week when I was absent and in the hospital. I saw him on Sunday and Janet told me he was replacing Nick."

"Well, how is he?"

"He's... handsome, I guess."

At that, Forte ran over to me and took my temperature. I annoyed, whacked his hand away. "I'm not ill."

"You've never had a crush on anyone before."

"Who said I had a crush on him? I said he was handsome. Liking him is a whole different thing altogether. He's probably one of those obnoxious people with a huge ass ego."

"True, most good-looking people have those characteristics," said Forte. "Except me," he added with a grin.

"Of course," I smirked.

I checked my video recorder to make sure it could hold for two hours. Why? Well, our assignment this week was to speak Latin for a whole two hours and videotape it as proof.

"Do it everyday starting tomorrow until Saturday, which makes 5 days of Latin-only sessions. Then on Sunday, you will present it to me," said Emily. "May I remind you, this has to be videotaped because the date and time will be displayed. That way, I will know if you're cheating by postponing your sessions. For those who do not have video cameras, do not worry because the centre will rent them to you for a 5-dollar rental fee. If damaged in anyway, you have to give us a 100-dollar compensation fee."

She even gave us topics for us sessions. We could talk about our school, our parents or even our pets, long as it's for 2 hours and we videotape it.

"So, who's your partner?"

Before I could answer, however, the telephone rang and I had to pick it up.

"Hello?" I asked.

"I can't find your house."

"Where are you?"

"La Grange Park."

"Find Newberry Ave."

"Found it already."

"Then find the number 827."

"I'm standing in front of it."

"Then what the hell are you waiting for?!"

"The name plate says 'Zurier'. Your surname is 'Fuhrer'."

"Unless you get a reward for unravelling that mystery, you don't need to know. Now come in before I hang up."

I hung up and went to the door. After opening it, I said, "Get ready in the room there," I pointed for him to see. "I'll join you soon enough."

When I turned to leave, he asked, "That's it?"

I raised my eyebrow. "What else do you want?"

"No 'make yourself at home'?"

"No. Now go."

Watching him go, I shook my head. Honestly, whose house was this? Besides, we were only doing work. He didn't need to feel at home to do that. I prepared two glasses of tea then proceeded to the room. Once I got inside the room, however, I saw he was standing up and looking around the room.

Setting the tea tray down onto the table, I asked, "Is there anything wrong with the room we're in?"

"If there was, would you go your way to switch rooms to satisfy my desires?" he asked, in a tone that told me he already knew the answer.

"No, I wouldn't."

"What a shock," he feigned surprise. Then, rolling his eyes, he took the seat facing me, reached into his bag and brought out a fancy Sony video camera, placing it onto the table. "We'll use my video camera, it's got better quality than whatever you would have."

My heart felt as if an arrow - if not a knife - stabbed it and twisted itself deeper into me. The camera I was holding behind my back was two generations its senior, but at least it was something.

This was why jerks like him would never last more than two months with a single girl.

"Well, fine then," I glared at him, laying aside my camera and, lying through my teeth, added, "I don't have one anyway."

"Guessed as much."

Another arrow. Seriously, how much more of a bastard could he get? My fists were balled up, but I managed to calm down and not injure him. Instead, I said, "Then let's start. Don't forget we have to translate our sentences."

He set up his video camera by the table side and then looked at me. I nodded I was ready and he started filming.

"Heus," he said, "Quid agis?"

"Hi," I translated. "How are you?" After taking a deep breath, I answered, "Valeo. Et tu?"

"Fine, thanks. And you?" he then replied, "Bene. Quid est teum nomen?"

"Good. What is your name? Meum nomen Dawn est. Tu?"

He thought for a while then said, "My name is Dawn. You? Meum nomen Ansel est."

Yes, I ended up being paired up with the new student. Trust me, it wasn't pleasant having all the girls peering at you through hateful eyes. It was thanks to Janet that they stopped. She said, "It's not her fault she was chosen. If you want to blame anyone, blame Ansel, since it was him who picked her."

I was always thankful to Janet. She knew I was uncomfortable having everyone staring at me just because Mr Handsome Saint James became my partner that week. Actually, I tried to change my partner with someone else, but Emily said that would make things worse.

Although it insulted me indirectly, I knew what she meant and agreed. The girls would gladly offer their partners and the guys would protest vehemently because they don't like me.

I was, after all, the problematic child.

Nobody would understand what I was going through though, because they had such perfect slim bodies to opt and attitudes that matched third-rate sluts. Yet, they complain about how they were getting fatter and developing spare tyres. It made them sound so stupid because they weren't even half my size.

Me, on the other hand, besides being abnormally tall at 170 centimetres at 15 years, I was constantly wavering between 75 to 80 kilos and I always wore black because it concealed the fact I was overweight.

My arms were twice a normal girls' and my thighs were twice my arms. People could barely see my neck and to top it all off, I had problems that wound me up in hospitals most of the time. When that happened, it was not my friends who would take notes on my homework for me but my brother, Forte, who would have to go all the way to school to get my books and such.

Of course I tried dieting, but in school, who could stop me from eating junk food? Nobody cared for my health and Forte would very rarely find me chowing on a double-cheese burger with extra mayonnaise because most of the time, I wouldn't have a seat during recess so I had to make do with the girls' restroom.

Gave up losing weight eons ago. If there was no one who would accept me the way I was - whatever I was - then I'd rather have no one. It's been like that all along anyway.

"Dawn?"

I snapped out of my reverie and answered hurriedly.

"Me miseret. Iterum dicere potes?"

"Sorry and can you say that again? Ita. Quotos annos habes?"

"Yes. How old are you?" I translated. Crap, what was 15 in Latin again? "Err... Me miseret, mea lingua latina est mala. Ignoro quomodo Latine hoc dicitur."

"Sorry, my Latin is bad. I don't know what that's called in Latin. Quaesitionem nullam."

That was pretty much the gist of our session that Tuesday evening. I managed to stay focused more or less after that and before I knew it, our 2 hours were up.

"Same time tomorrow," Ansel said, packing his books and his video camera.

"You don't need to remind me," I snapped, irritated with the tone of his voice.

"You can't blame me, can you? You spaced out during the 2-hour-filming. I know you're mesmerized by my looks, but-"

That caught me off guard. I stopped him with a wave and asked, "What did you say?"

"You heard me loud and clear."

"Who the hell's mesmerized by your looks?" I ignored his statement.

Ansel gave me a look that screamed, "You, duh." He then said, "I know you were probably thinking about me the whole time. You were finding it hard to concentrate, so that's proof."

"Proof of what?!" I yelled, annoyed. "You might be better-looking than some guys, but that's not going to hypnotize me. You have the girls in Latin class going gaga over you, but I'm not one of them. Cause unlike them, I've got better things to worry about than finding a way to twist you around my finger," I took a deep breath then continued, "If you're done with your stuff, you know the way out of my house."

That said, I turned on my heel and walked away from him and towards the kitchen. I opened the door of my secret cabinet and took a packet of marshmallows. I went out again to my bedroom to eat them but stopped when I saw Ansel was still in the room.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" I asked.

"I was going to give you something as an apology for assuming," said Ansel, leaving a piece of paper on the table. "I'll be off, then."

I grew slightly red at the fact that he would try and rectify his wrongs, but I pretended not to care. "Go, then," I said, letting him leave. After the door closed and he had started walking to the road, I went to the table and took the piece of paper on the table.

What was written was, "999-245-657. You know you're happy to receive this."

I grew redder still, with hatred. "This was an apology?!" I thought, unaware than I had started ripping the piece of paper into about a hundred pieces. "The bastard's so full of himself that he thinks he can atone for his mistakes by giving me his bloody phone number?!"

Just then, Forte came in and asked, "Your friend's gone already? Damn, I couldn't see him."

"He could never be my friend."

Forte paused for a moment then continued, "Well, then, makes no difference if I do this," he said, reaching for the bag of marshmallows. "No snacking."

Shit.