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I get in class fifteen minutes late, better than usual. Mr. Webster should be very much pleased with my progress, but judging by the look on his face I just don't think he is.
I plonk myself down, bags and all, next to 'Crusty Mary'. The stool next to her is the only one left, always is.
She won her nickname by having dandruff, crusty skin, and unfortunate rumours concerning her nether regions.
Fortunately we have never discussed this, and I do not feel the need to. When we are in each others' company topics of conversation normally encompass what she had for tea last night (usually some variation on pie), global warming, the Beatles, and other similar pressing current affairs topics.
I sit next to her quite a lot, because admittedly I am always late. But on the bright side, I make an entrance. Fashionably late.
Anyway, Mr. Webster acknowledges my presence with a 'Thank you for joining us, Miss Reed.'
Why does he have to be such a cliché?
I smile sweetly.
'Really, it was no trouble. Anytime,' I reply, a little louder than intended, granted.
He gave me his best glare, which I could easily top if I wasn't in my current mental state. He scribbles on the board in exaggerated green letters, as if we're all still in primary school. After close examination I discover it's about Biomass, however my learning process is rudely interrupted:
'Flooding in Dubai today, you know,' Crusty Mary whispers to me, in hushed tones. She even added little excited raised eyebrows, bless her. I'd find it sweet if little skin flakes didn't float down onto my notepad when her forehead creased.
Anyway, how does she know these things? Its 9:15am. Does some news correspondent text her? Does she even own a mobile? She never ceases to amaze me.
I stared at her blankly for a second, and smiled politely. Maybe smiling wasn't entirely appropriate, but I wasn't really sure what else to do.
As I sat there contemplating Mary's means of communication, Mr. Webster cruelly intercepted my thoughts.
'Lyra, seeing as you can't stop using your mouth, could you possibly tell us the amino acid generally found in saliva?'
I felt a look of panic and disgust spread across my face as all eyes turned to me.
'Oh, and I'm really going to have to separate you and Mary if your chatting continues. It's clearly distracting you from your learning' he paused.
''And for God's sake, you're in sixth form. Just grow up a bit,' he sneered.
Was he done?
He was stooping low. I mean, firstly, Mary had been the one keeping me updated on the water levels in Dubai, which was obviously a great concern of mine, alongside padlock welfare and hammock distribution.
Secondly, nobody gets separated from Crusty Mary. Correction, no one gets separated in sixth form. We're considered adults?
This is just plain embarrassing. No worse punishment could be given.
Thankfully, trusty brain channelled my frustration into my mind tank, and I managed to devise the answer using my supreme intelligence.
A more accurate representation of the situation would be to say that Mary slipped me her notes casually.
But there's no need to corrupt my self delusion.
'Amylase, sir,' I chirruped, despite my indignation at his threat to split me from my beloved Mary.
'Correct. Hard working friends pay off, don't they?' Webster said with half a smile. Yet somehow he managed to wink at me. Or maybe that was just some sort of strange facial disposition from the smile he just attempted. Maybe he's allergic.
Creeped me out nonetheless, and I couldn't concentrate on biomass. I tried to decipher how biomass and saliva and amylase were related, and whether we breached that gap at some point when I wasn't listening.
Why don't I listen?