“All books are judged by their covers until they are read.”
“Hey You, Do our work will you?” spoke the cutesy sick voice of a beautiful girl; too bad her personality was seemingly ugly.
I watched from the corner of my eye as the boy named as a nerd shoved the pile of books directly onto the floor from the tall science table and raised my eyebrows in interest. It was not every single day that you’d see a nerdy kid have a backbone in situations involving rich girls and boys who have no time to do their school work because they’re too busy having hangovers.
Me? Well, I was assumed to be part of what they’d call the ‘popular’ or ‘rich’ group in this private school; though it had nothing to do with me and I was only in there because of my parent’s successful jobs and brother’s fame.
To say that I’m bitchy is a massive understatement, if you saw how disgusting our school was in regards of good behaviour and manners; you’d be shocked and left gaping in the entrance of the school grounds.
I guess some people have reasons to act like that; others just do it for fun.
So what came to my attention a couple of days ago was the new transfer student; apparently he first arrived at our school a couple of months ago but never came to school until now.
What strikes me about him was the messy coal black hair that was gathered in spikes and his long straight bangs covering about half of his facial features. Nobody has ever seen the colour of his eyes; it was always hidden behind those thick round glasses he always kept on and he had the skin colour of pale snow.
He never really had to participate in anything at school either; it was like the teachers were bowing down a pathway for him to step across.
Strange
Suddenly the shrill and loud noise of the school bell had rung for the end of school and crowds of students stood up quickly and scurried away like mice in their own personal conversations outside in the corridors.
I slowly closed my notebook and placed my textbook along with the notebook into my shoulder bag; which was my replacement for a school bag. As I zipped up the bag, I noticed the boy creep slowly outside the door as if planning to leave for somewhere in secret.
This roused up my interest as I glanced at him leave the room until he quickly slipped out of the classroom and made for a run down the right corner of the corridors; so I followed. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t usually stalk people in my school looking like a paedophile or rapist, in fact this was a first, stalking people I meant; not the part about me being a paedophile or rapist.
I tailed along behind him until stopped in front of an unfamiliar room inside the school that he had just entered. Did this room even exist? Attending this school for five years sure hasn’t helped.
My hand moved down the dark grey door until it reached the door knob and I stopped to think if opening the door would be the smarter option or taking a quick glint from the windows.
While my mind was processing my brilliant brainstorm inside my head, I heard a soft tune flow from the inside of the room. I perked up at this and leaned over to place my head against the door to see if I was just getting paranoid from standing outside for so long; I was wrong, there was really an upbeat and addictive melody being played inside the room.
Forgetting the existence of invasion plans, I opened the door and closed it behind me; I froze at the scene in front of me.
The sky outside in the afternoon was pale red and vivid orange colour, contrasting with the white and fluffy clouds floating gently as if the best of friends; the windows ripped open, letting whirls of wind tumble forward into the room and positioned inside the middle of the spacious classroom the boy held a golden brown acoustic guitar in his hands, his movements were slick and careful and it enchanted me to watch him play the instrument.
He was absorbed into producing the complicated composition and did not notice me, so I slipped back outside the room.
It was the most radiant thing that I saw in my five years in school and I could not help but remember the day I first truly understood the meaning to admire someone for something they lived for.
How his mouth curled up into a light smile, his shoulders softened and relaxed, his legs flung carelessly hanging off the side of the table he was sitting on, the way his hair waved swiftly side to side as the wind blew inside the room and how his fingers strummed the strings of his guitar.
I was bewitched by the alluring and mysterious boy in my grade.
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