by Bera, Ilia
He closed his eyes for a moment, and then took a deep breath, pushing away the cloud of thoughts and concerns. He stood up from his seat and made his way over to the library. He jogged across the street, and then made his way towards the door. The closer her got, the more nervous he became. The moment was quickly becoming a blur.
“Am I actually going through with this?” he asked himself as he stopped at the library door to consider his actions. He held the door open for a little old lady while he waited for his brain to let him in on what was the next sensible move. As he continued to think, he held the door open for yet another little old lady.
Then, he bit his tongue and went inside. He could see Brittany from across the library. With a temporary burst of confidence, he started to walk towards her.
His mind repeated the phrase, “You’ve got this, Andrew. You’ve got this, Andrew. You’ve got this, Andrew,” over and over again.
He could see the back of Brittany’s beautiful brown hair as she flipped the page of her novel. As he drew closer, the sweet smell of her elegant perfume wafted up his nose.
And then, when he was within five feet of the beauty, he turned down one of the library isles and started to walk away.
He’d failed. He’d chickened out.
He was upset with himself, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked himself.
Andrew paced up and down the library isles, trying to build up the confidence for a second try. He muttered encouraging things to himself, picking up the speed of his pacing. He closed his eyes, trying to channel a sense of confidence. Eyes closed, he punched the air, like a boxer preparing for a fight. He thought that, maybe he just needed to get his blood flowing.
“Excuse me sir, is everything okay?” the librarian quietly asked.
Andrew opened his eyes and looked over at the librarian. She was standing at the end of the isle, keeping her distance from the possible insane young man.
“Yeah—Why?” Andrew asked.
“You’re scaring our customers away from French Fiction.”
“Oh—Sorry. I was just—trying to decide between two books.”
The librarian stared at Andrew for a moment in silence. “If you could sit and decide quietly, that would be appreciated.”
“Okay—Thank you,” Andrew said.
The librarian slowly walked away, keeping her eye on Andrew.
“I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where'er I sail. The envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track; let them; but first I pass.”
—HERMAN MELVILLE, MOBY DICK
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MISSED THE BOAT
Kane, with his school stuff, made his way back to the library where he’d dropped Brittany off. He pulled the Mustang up to the curb and looked towards the library window. His eyes immediately found her, sitting in a cosy corner next to the window, with her cup of hot chocolate from the café across the street. She had a sort of luring glow about her.
Kane got out of the car and went into the library. Brittany turned and smiled at him as he approached her little table. She carefully adjusted her hair and straightened her back.
“You came,” Brittany said.
“Are you aloud to have drinks in here?” Kane asked.
“No—But I figured I’ve done worse things today, so to hell with it.” Brittany smiled.
Kane sat down. On the table, Brittany had her binder out, with half of an assignment written. Next to it, she had her copy of the assigned Dickens book, as well as another book that she’d been reading for her own enjoyment—Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov.
“This class is such a mess,” Brittany said.
“What do you mean?”
“Everything is just so rushed—like he’s cramming too much into each day.”
“Yeah—it’s pretty dense.”
“I mean, with all of this homework, you’d think this was a masters program.”
Kane laughed.
“Anyway—Do you want me to run you through the chapters?”
“That’s okay—I’ll just skim them quickly.”
“It’s not really the kind of book you can just skim,” Brittany said. “You’ll miss the theme that Fenner is looking for.”
“Resurrection?”
Brittany looked at Kane curiously for a moment. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“Dr. Manette is released from prison—He’s resurrected from prison—a living death,” Kane said. “Mr. Lorry says ‘he was called back to life’.”
Brittany looked silently at Kane for another moment. “I thought you said you forgot to read the chapters.”
“I did.”
“But you can quote the book?”
“Well, I read it years ago. I could use a refresher though.”
Brittany stared at Kane for a moment, perplexed. “You didn’t strike me as the Dickens type.”
Kane smiled. “I guess there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about me.”
“Well excuse me for judging a book by its cover. In that case, maybe you’ll come in handy after all.”
Kane smiled as Brittany continued to write her assignment.
“I’m going to use that quote too—that’s a good one,” Brittany said with a smile.
“That Connor guy…” Kane said. “You like him?”
Brittany looked up at Kane. She thought for a moment. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Yeah, sure,” Kane said.
“I like him—yeah. He seemed charming, confident—handsome.”
Kane looked into Brittany’s eyes as she spoke.
“But classic Brittany—it turns out he’s just another insensitive asshole—Completely oblivious to the real world around him.”
“What do you mean?”
“That Hanna girl. I mean—Sure, maybe I was oblivious to think I had a chance. But he used me.” Brittany laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
Kane smiled at Brittany. “Well if you ask me, you deserve better than Connor. There’s something loose in that kid’s brain.”
Brittany smiled at Kane. “Thanks,” she said.
“You knew Hanna before this class, right?”
“Yeah—we went to the same school.”
“What do you know about her?” Kane asked.
Brittany’s expression dropped. “Don’t bother—She’s a psychopath.”
Kane laughed. “No, no—That’s not what I meant. I’m not interested in Hanna.”
“Oh,” Brittany said as joy slowly returned to her face.
“She’s definitely not my type,” Kane said.
Brittany looked down at her paper and continued to write. “What is your type?” she asked casually.
Kane smiled while he thought about it. The silence brought Brittany’s attention back up to Kane. She looked at him for a moment, waiting for his answer.
“Someone who isn’t afraid,” Kane said.
“What do you mean?”
“Someone who isn’t afraid of who they are,” Kane said. “Someone who knows who they are, and embraces it. Someone open, who doesn’t hide.”
“What about you?” Brittany asked.
“Me?”
“Do you know who you are? Are you open?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you embrace it?”
“Yeah.”
“So tell me—who are you?”
Kane thought for a moment—Brittany rhetoric made a strong point. Kane was guilty of hiding parts of himself, just like anyone else.
“I guess I’m just a guy who wants to help people,” Kane generalized.
The lights in the library began to flicker. For a moment, the power went out.
“That’s getting old fast,” Brittany said as she looked up at the waning lights.
The power came back on again.
“Can I borrow a piece of paper?” Kane asked.
�
��Three thousand dollars and you can’t afford your own piece of paper?” Brittany asked as she ripped a sheet out from her binder.
Kane laughed. “It just seems counterintuitive to exchange paper for paper,” Kane joked.
“In that case, why not just write the assignment out on twenty dollar bills? I’m sure Mr. Fenner would appreciate it.”
Kane smiled. “Maybe that’s the trick to getting him to loosen up a bit.”
“Let’s take a picture.”
“What?”
“A picture. Let’s take a picture,” Brittany said, pulling out her camera phone. She stood up and walked around the table. She crouched down to one knee and held the camera out with her arm.
“Why?” Kane asked.
“Because I like pictures—c’mon.”
Kane looked towards the lens of the camera.
“Smile,” Brittany said.
Kane smiled, and Brittany snapped the photo. She turned the phone around to inspect the photo. Kane was blinking awkwardly. Brittany laughed. “Cute,” she said.
“That’s a terrible photo,” Kane said. “Let’s take another.”
“No—that’s against the rules.”
“The rules?”
“You can’t retake a photo—then it would be a fake memory. You would make adjustments based off of this picture and suddenly it wouldn’t be genuine. This is the photo—this is the memory.” Brittany admired the awkward picture.
Kane looked at Brittany with a curious smile.
Then, she noticed a familiar face walking towards the library’s front door.
“Andrew?” Brittany called out.
Andrew turned and looked at Brittany. “Oh—Hey,” he said, pretending he didn’t know that she was there.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was just—looking for a book. Couldn’t find it... I’ll see you guys at school,” Andrew said. There was a stagnant disappointment in his voice.
“You can come sit with us until class,” Brittany said.
“Oh no—That’s okay. Thanks though,” Andrew said, forcing a smile.
Awkwardly, he left the library, and continued to wander the streets alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
FALLING BEHIND
Connor thought that he could squeeze in a two-hour nap between work and school. He hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before, and work had consumed the very last drop of energy from his body.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
His mother, who was knocking at his bedroom door, pulled Connor out of his slumber.
“Connor!” Charlotte yelled. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Connor’s eyes opened slowly as he looked towards the door. “Yeah—Why?” he asked.
“Your alarm’s been going off for half an hour.”
Connor looked towards his alarm clock, which was in fact going off. It was ten minutes after eight—Connor was missing school. “Shit,” he muttered.
Connor sprung to his feet and quickly dressed himself. He stuffed his schoolwork into his backpack, and then ran out of his bedroom. Charlotte watched him as he scurried to put his boots on his feet.
“Be careful on the ice,” Charlotte said. “Don’t fall and hit your head.”
“I’ll be fine mom.”
“Don’t stay out too long—you need to start getting more sleep.”
“I know mom—I know. I’ll be home in a couple of hours.”
Connor quickly opened the door and ran out, in too much of a rush to even do up his coat.
“Do up your coat!” Charlotte called out. She watched as her son disappeared down the dark snowy street. “Goodbye to you too…”
It didn’t seem to matter how hard Connor tried—he just couldn’t get his life organized. It was almost beginning to seem like the harder he tried, the further he would fall behind.
The snowfall that night was thick and heavy—blinding as it enveloped the town of Snowbrooke.
Nearly thirty minutes late for class, Connor ran into the university building. He made his way down the hallway, and through the classroom door. All of the heads in the class swiftly turned to him as they looked up from their desks.
Connor stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to catch his breath from his long sprint.
“Connor, right?” Wade asked.
“Yeah—Sorry I’m late…”
Wade looked down at his watch. “Don’t apologize to me. You have five minutes to finish the quiz.”
Connor stared at Wade for a moment. “Quiz?” he asked.
“Pop quiz—Everyone had forty minutes to write it.” Wade held out a quiz for Connor.
“I—I can explain…” Connor said.
“Four minutes,” Wade said.
Connor ran up and grabbed the test from Wade. He quickly sat down at a desk and unzipped his backpack. He began to dig for a pen.
Around him, people were walking up to Wade and handing in their finished quizzes. For the life of him, Connor couldn’t find his pen.
He looked around. Andrew beside him was finished his test. “Can I borrow your pen?” Connor asked.
Andrew handed Connor the pen. Connor flipped the quiz booklet open and quickly scanned the seemingly endless number of questions—all requiring a comprehensive written response.
“In Book The Second, what is John Barsad and Roger Cly’s motivation to frame Charles Darnay?” the first question of the quiz asked.
The quiz may as well have been in Mongolian, as Connor hadn’t read the assigned chapters—and had no idea who the aforementioned characters were.
“One minute,” Wade said, looking directly at Connor.
Everyone else in the class was finished their test, and waited on Connor. Connor looked back down at his quiz. He scanned through all of the questions to see if there was anything he could answer—so he could at least walk away with something. But to his dismay, there was nothing.
“Hand in your quiz, Connor,” Wade said.
Connor looked up at Wade with a look of disappointment—in himself. He stood up and walked up to the front of the class. Behind him, he could hear the whispers of his fellow students, commenting on how screwed he was. Wade took the test from Connor and looked down at it.
“Mr. Fenner…” Connor said.
“Stick around after class,” Wade said in his most unimpressed tone of voice.
Connor sighed and slowly turned around to his desk. His eyes met with Hanna’s in the back corner of the room. “She must think I’m such a loser,” Connor thought to himself. He fell down into his chair—still wearing his snow-covered coat.
For the rest of the class, he sat zoned out, staring down at his desk—unable to focus.
The remainder of that class seemed to drag on for an eternity, as Wade droned on about “when to use conditional progressive tense”.
“Hold on,” Connor’s coach said to him, as Connor was about to board the team bus.
“What?” Connor asked.
“Connor—One of your teachers came to me this morning—he said that you’re flunking his class.”
“Which teacher—which class?” Connor asked.
“Are you flunking more than one class?” the coach asked.
“Um,” Connor thought. He was. He was flunking almost every class, except for gym and some of his electives.
“You know that I can’t let you play until your grades are up above fifty percent, right?”
“What? What are you talking about?” Connor asked.
“It’s a provincial regulation. You’re playing on a high school team—a team run by The Education Board.”
“But—I’m your leading goal-scorer. You can’t win this game tonight without me.”
“It’s definitely not the ideal situation, but I don’t have a choice.”
Connor was looking at his coach, watching his whole world crumbling before his eyes.
“Take the next month and get your grades back on track. There’s still two months before playoffs,” Connor�
��s coach told him.
“But—Math? I can’t pass math. I can’t understand a word Mr. Foster says. Biology? I haven’t even gone to a bio class.”
“I’m sorry Connor—I can’t help you there.”
“Please...” Connor begged.
“Sorry, Connor—I can’t let you play.”
“I can’t let you play.”
“I can’t let you play.”
The voice of Connor’s coach echoed over and over in his tired mind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
DETENTION
“Mr. Knight!” Wade’s voice said firmly, snapping Connor back to reality.
Startled, Connor looked around. All of the other students were leaving the classroom—class was finished. Connor had dozed off and slipped into a recurring nightmare.
Near the door, Brittany was carefully putting her fluffy white coat over her tight sweater.
“Hey,” Andrew said as he walked up to Brittany. “What’d you think of the test?”
“It was okay—I was expecting worse,” Brittany replied.
“Yeah, it was okay—not bad at all.”
Brittany smiled.
“So, um—Did you hear about the big party on Friday?” Andrew asked.
“The big party?”
“These biker kids throw this big party every year out at the big house on Moncton Street—you know the one, with the big purple garage door?”
“Oh—I think I know the house,” Brittany said.
“I’m going to head over after class tomorrow. You should come, if you’re free,” Andrew said.
Brittany was silent for a moment.
“I mean—everyone should come. I’m just letting you know—you’re the first person I’ve talked to about it. I’m going to pass on the word.”
“Okay—maybe,” Brittany said, smiling.
“Cool—cool…” Andrew said. He tried to muster up the courage to ask her out on a date. He opened his mouth, but no words slipped out.
“Are you okay?” Brittany asked.
Andrew cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry—I think I’m coming down with a cold. I should probably take off, and get some rest.”
