- Published on
A high school based in Chicago, Illinois, which boasts a track team, and probably various other sports teams and academic subjects. Maybe has some students, perhaps a teacher or two—vastly inferior to Hughes High School.
- Bilge’s Encyclopedia of the Universe
- Bilge’s Encyclopedia of the Universe
- Published on
A high school based in Chicago, Illinois, with a decent track team and a passable theater department. Rumour has it that its founder disappeared. Rivals with John Quincy Adams High School. Founded 1964. Mascot Ernie the Ermine. See entry Francis Bilge and the school brochure for more information.
- Bilge’s Encyclopedia of the Universe
- Bilge’s Encyclopedia of the Universe
- Published on
- Published on
Coffee is a stinky, caffeinated, brown-coloured beverage usually consumed hot, although the latest fashion is to drink it cold, poured over ice. The drink may be infused with all manner of additives, including milk, creamer, sugar, and even chocolate. Hospitals are noted for their terribly weak coffee. For some, it is almost an addiction; there seems to be a growing number of people who cannot complete the simplest of tasks without first having imbibed several cups of coffee. There are many shops dedicated to selling coffee, including chains of shops, such as the Blue Candle Coffee Company. This particular chain doesn’t make absolutely terrible coffee, though it is far from excellent, and is too sweet for most people’s taste buds. One thing is for certain—when comparing caffeinated drinks, there is no contest.
Tea is far superior.
- Bilge’s Encyclopedia of the Universe
Tea is far superior.
- Bilge’s Encyclopedia of the Universe
- Published on
Felis Catus is the only domesticated species of the family Felidae. Small, flexible, and almost liquid, these creatures are known for their paradoxical nature; they are both aloof, and seekers of human companionship. Most are soft, with long tails, though some breeds are entirely hairless. Fickle, sly, and entirely self-serving, these mammals can nevertheless prove useful and adoring companions, even helping their humans to heal from injury.
- Bilge’s Encyclopedia of the Universe
- Bilge’s Encyclopedia of the Universe
- Published on
Dream
Definition: A place where anything is possible.
Dreams are magic. Anything can happen in dreams, and that makes them wonderful, but that also makes them dangerous—too tempting, really, somewhere containing everything you’d ever want. Maybe that’s why control of a dream is so dangerous. Maybe that’s why we have nightmares—to make us want to leave. Otherwise, we might find ourselves spending a little longer in the warmth of an imaginary fire, to escape the cold outside, and then a little longer, and a little longer, until you don’t remember the cold exists at all…
-Bilge's Encyclopedia of the Universe
Definition: A place where anything is possible.
Dreams are magic. Anything can happen in dreams, and that makes them wonderful, but that also makes them dangerous—too tempting, really, somewhere containing everything you’d ever want. Maybe that’s why control of a dream is so dangerous. Maybe that’s why we have nightmares—to make us want to leave. Otherwise, we might find ourselves spending a little longer in the warmth of an imaginary fire, to escape the cold outside, and then a little longer, and a little longer, until you don’t remember the cold exists at all…
-Bilge's Encyclopedia of the Universe
- Published on
Hello, Blue Candle new hires! You may notice we have updated our menu with more options for both lattes and smoothies. Below you will find description cards for two of our seasonal specials. Please be sure to make these additions for yourself in order to recommend them to our loyal customers!
(Reminder that employees pay full price for all drinks)
The Passed Stone
This decadent latte includes more milk and less espresso than a typical order. One ristretto shot of espresso grown from the finest terraformed groves of Mars, mixed with Magenta fruit syrup and a healthy 40oz of grade-C semi-pasteurized milk.
The One True Smoothie
Featuring every fruit yet discovered by humanity. From Angel Fruits plucked from the mountains of the Fantastic Realm’s abandoned anime pastiche district, to members of the sapient grapefruit species who managed to escape their containment procedures. Available with chunks.
Please let us know your feedback! We are always open to hearing your concerns. Please place them near the office’s shredder for convenience in finding them.
Thank you!
(Reminder that employees pay full price for all drinks)
The Passed Stone
This decadent latte includes more milk and less espresso than a typical order. One ristretto shot of espresso grown from the finest terraformed groves of Mars, mixed with Magenta fruit syrup and a healthy 40oz of grade-C semi-pasteurized milk.
The One True Smoothie
Featuring every fruit yet discovered by humanity. From Angel Fruits plucked from the mountains of the Fantastic Realm’s abandoned anime pastiche district, to members of the sapient grapefruit species who managed to escape their containment procedures. Available with chunks.
Please let us know your feedback! We are always open to hearing your concerns. Please place them near the office’s shredder for convenience in finding them.
Thank you!
- Published on
At a high school there was always one thing you could guarantee: changes. Whether it was new slang, new fashion, or the latest drug making its way through the popular crowds, it would happen. What Rachel Bradney hated the most, however, was new members of staff.
From the moment they started, they came in with their way of doing things, not thinking for a moment that it might not be how things work around here. They’d ruffle feathers, and clash with the students, before making one of two decisions: get with the program, or find somewhere else to go.
Judgement was still out on Mr. Cwej, who was firmly rooted in that initial stage. Rachel had worked with him in a couple of lessons so far, overheard a few conversations in the staff room. Apart from asking way too many questions about the missing students (have a heart—we did know the kids!), he very much screamed newly qualified. Still, at least he was sort of cute in that, straight off the shelf Barbie way.
Rachel looked up from the desk of Tommie, the boy she was supporting, at the teacher’s desk. She had no idea what Mr. Cwej was trying to teach—something about motorbikes as best as she could gather—but the way he went about it was… bizarre to say the least.
He’d started by making crude drawings on the whiteboard, before then seeming to realize there was a computer in the room—the same one he had taken a register from at the start of the lesson—and began creating a 3D model using some of the Tech department’s rendering software.
Tommie had long since lost interest, much as he usually did, and had started to doodle in the back of his book. Whilst Rachel tried her best to bring him back on task by asking him if anyone at home owned a motorbike, she noticed that most of the rest of the class had also disengaged from the lesson. A group of girls at the back of the room were a fair few minutes into a discussion about whatever the latest gossip was around school.
She looked to see if Cwej had noticed, and to her surprise, it seemed he had. However, instead of confronting the behaviour and getting the students back on task, Rachel was shocked to see he almost seemed to have some interest in what they were saying. Every time he finished talking about… whatever it was he was “teaching” at this point, he paused, eyes lifting up over the monitor of his computer, spending several moments listening in to what was being discussed. Then, instead of prompting the girls to listen, he returned to his screen. “You’ll find that motorbikes in World War Two era France had much different…”
Rachel zoned out of the lesson, as a familiar pang of anxiety arose in her stomach. If a member of the leadership team happened to be passing by and saw Mr. Cwej’s… disinterest in keeping the pupils engaged in the lesson, there would be hell to pay, and as another member of staff in the room, the blame would fall the same on her as it would the one leading the lesson. Unlike teaching staff, classroom assistants were ten-a-penny, and if anyone was to be used to make an example to the rest of staff around school, it would be an assistant. Last month they had already fired Daniel Jefferson for failing to stop a fight, despite an Art teacher and the Vice Principal being in the same room, and closer to the students involved when the fight broke out. For her own sake, Rachel had to take some accountability in case Cwej unintentionally placed her head on the chopping block.
Marching over to the girls in a manner that said, ‘I’m onto you, now shut the hell up’, irritation took root in Rachel’s bones as she found that, in spite of the girls noticing her approach, they decided to continue their conversation regardless.
“Girls,” Rachel said, softly, but loud enough for Cwej to hear should he choose to intervene. “There’s a lesson going on here, and you’re a part of it. Mr. Cwej is new to our school, time to show him some respect.”
“Miss Bradney,” Cwej called across the room, “were those girls talking?”
Finally, he’s taking charge of the lesson. “That’s right, Mr. Cwej, though the girls have assured me they’ll be listening intently from now on.” Rachel shot them a look as if to say, ‘I’ve covered your ass, now don’t fuck around’.
“Thank you, Miss Bradney. What were the girls discussing, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Rachel blinked. Had he seriously just asked that? Unless she was mistaken, he was here to teach a lesson, not get involved in gossip.
“From now on it’s going to be your lesson, sir,” Rachel assured him.
“Thanks,” he replied. “But seriously,” he continued, now addressing the group of girls. “What were you talking about?”
Rachel’s eyes grew wide. She didn’t know how to react, and neither did the students. A moment of silence followed, before Maisy Wilson, Gossip Queen, spoke up: “We were talking about what happened to Megan and George, Mr. Cwej.” She then regarded Cwej as she did most people, like an animal who had taken a dump on her designer heels.
“And what are your thoughts on the matter?” asked Cwej.
Again Rachel balked at the man’s sheer unprofessionalism. As did the other students in the room, who began to chatter amongst themselves about the teacher who seemed to care less for what was being taught than they did.
Rachel decided it was time to speak up, before the students gossiped about her joining in on… whatever this was turning out to be.
“Mr. Cwej—”
Her protest was caught short by the loud shrill of the bell. The students rose from their seats and flooded from the room like it was on fire. It was lunchtime—who could blame them? Rachel waited for the room to empty, intending to speak to Cwej about what the hell he had been thinking, but to her dismay, as the room cleared, she found that he had left with the others.
Rachel felt the anger build inside; her face flushed. In the end, she’d been nothing more than a fly on the wall in that lesson. If the Principal heard about what had happened, both she and Cwej would be looking for a job by the end of the week. She had the right mind to walk right over to his office and make the complaint of a lifetime, shift all the blame onto Cwej before things hit the fan. As she left the room, that was exactly what she intended.
However, on the walk through the school’s overcrowded corridors, the anxiety took hold of her once more: was she making all of this more than it was? Cwej was the one who didn’t know how to teach a class—she’d done this job for years, proved herself amongst her colleagues.
She stopped in her tracks, blocked out the noise of the boisterous, hungry students around her, and drew in a deep breath.
Maybe she was being too paranoid. Sure, other members of her department had gotten the sack before, but there could have been other reasons she wasn’t aware of to explain it. The students in the class sure as hell weren’t going to say anything: they longed for a teacher who gave them an hour to mess around. And like any employer, the Principal had never taken to those who rocked the boat in the past…
Whilst it challenged her morals to do so, Rachel had to prioritize herself. She decided to keep quiet and hope that, before long, Mr. Cwej would be caught out and down the road before someone else took the fall for his shortcomings as a teacher. After all, there was another hour to go after lunch, and lots of things could happen in an hour…
From the moment they started, they came in with their way of doing things, not thinking for a moment that it might not be how things work around here. They’d ruffle feathers, and clash with the students, before making one of two decisions: get with the program, or find somewhere else to go.
Judgement was still out on Mr. Cwej, who was firmly rooted in that initial stage. Rachel had worked with him in a couple of lessons so far, overheard a few conversations in the staff room. Apart from asking way too many questions about the missing students (have a heart—we did know the kids!), he very much screamed newly qualified. Still, at least he was sort of cute in that, straight off the shelf Barbie way.
Rachel looked up from the desk of Tommie, the boy she was supporting, at the teacher’s desk. She had no idea what Mr. Cwej was trying to teach—something about motorbikes as best as she could gather—but the way he went about it was… bizarre to say the least.
He’d started by making crude drawings on the whiteboard, before then seeming to realize there was a computer in the room—the same one he had taken a register from at the start of the lesson—and began creating a 3D model using some of the Tech department’s rendering software.
Tommie had long since lost interest, much as he usually did, and had started to doodle in the back of his book. Whilst Rachel tried her best to bring him back on task by asking him if anyone at home owned a motorbike, she noticed that most of the rest of the class had also disengaged from the lesson. A group of girls at the back of the room were a fair few minutes into a discussion about whatever the latest gossip was around school.
She looked to see if Cwej had noticed, and to her surprise, it seemed he had. However, instead of confronting the behaviour and getting the students back on task, Rachel was shocked to see he almost seemed to have some interest in what they were saying. Every time he finished talking about… whatever it was he was “teaching” at this point, he paused, eyes lifting up over the monitor of his computer, spending several moments listening in to what was being discussed. Then, instead of prompting the girls to listen, he returned to his screen. “You’ll find that motorbikes in World War Two era France had much different…”
Rachel zoned out of the lesson, as a familiar pang of anxiety arose in her stomach. If a member of the leadership team happened to be passing by and saw Mr. Cwej’s… disinterest in keeping the pupils engaged in the lesson, there would be hell to pay, and as another member of staff in the room, the blame would fall the same on her as it would the one leading the lesson. Unlike teaching staff, classroom assistants were ten-a-penny, and if anyone was to be used to make an example to the rest of staff around school, it would be an assistant. Last month they had already fired Daniel Jefferson for failing to stop a fight, despite an Art teacher and the Vice Principal being in the same room, and closer to the students involved when the fight broke out. For her own sake, Rachel had to take some accountability in case Cwej unintentionally placed her head on the chopping block.
Marching over to the girls in a manner that said, ‘I’m onto you, now shut the hell up’, irritation took root in Rachel’s bones as she found that, in spite of the girls noticing her approach, they decided to continue their conversation regardless.
“Girls,” Rachel said, softly, but loud enough for Cwej to hear should he choose to intervene. “There’s a lesson going on here, and you’re a part of it. Mr. Cwej is new to our school, time to show him some respect.”
“Miss Bradney,” Cwej called across the room, “were those girls talking?”
Finally, he’s taking charge of the lesson. “That’s right, Mr. Cwej, though the girls have assured me they’ll be listening intently from now on.” Rachel shot them a look as if to say, ‘I’ve covered your ass, now don’t fuck around’.
“Thank you, Miss Bradney. What were the girls discussing, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Rachel blinked. Had he seriously just asked that? Unless she was mistaken, he was here to teach a lesson, not get involved in gossip.
“From now on it’s going to be your lesson, sir,” Rachel assured him.
“Thanks,” he replied. “But seriously,” he continued, now addressing the group of girls. “What were you talking about?”
Rachel’s eyes grew wide. She didn’t know how to react, and neither did the students. A moment of silence followed, before Maisy Wilson, Gossip Queen, spoke up: “We were talking about what happened to Megan and George, Mr. Cwej.” She then regarded Cwej as she did most people, like an animal who had taken a dump on her designer heels.
“And what are your thoughts on the matter?” asked Cwej.
Again Rachel balked at the man’s sheer unprofessionalism. As did the other students in the room, who began to chatter amongst themselves about the teacher who seemed to care less for what was being taught than they did.
Rachel decided it was time to speak up, before the students gossiped about her joining in on… whatever this was turning out to be.
“Mr. Cwej—”
Her protest was caught short by the loud shrill of the bell. The students rose from their seats and flooded from the room like it was on fire. It was lunchtime—who could blame them? Rachel waited for the room to empty, intending to speak to Cwej about what the hell he had been thinking, but to her dismay, as the room cleared, she found that he had left with the others.
Rachel felt the anger build inside; her face flushed. In the end, she’d been nothing more than a fly on the wall in that lesson. If the Principal heard about what had happened, both she and Cwej would be looking for a job by the end of the week. She had the right mind to walk right over to his office and make the complaint of a lifetime, shift all the blame onto Cwej before things hit the fan. As she left the room, that was exactly what she intended.
However, on the walk through the school’s overcrowded corridors, the anxiety took hold of her once more: was she making all of this more than it was? Cwej was the one who didn’t know how to teach a class—she’d done this job for years, proved herself amongst her colleagues.
She stopped in her tracks, blocked out the noise of the boisterous, hungry students around her, and drew in a deep breath.
Maybe she was being too paranoid. Sure, other members of her department had gotten the sack before, but there could have been other reasons she wasn’t aware of to explain it. The students in the class sure as hell weren’t going to say anything: they longed for a teacher who gave them an hour to mess around. And like any employer, the Principal had never taken to those who rocked the boat in the past…
Whilst it challenged her morals to do so, Rachel had to prioritize herself. She decided to keep quiet and hope that, before long, Mr. Cwej would be caught out and down the road before someone else took the fall for his shortcomings as a teacher. After all, there was another hour to go after lunch, and lots of things could happen in an hour…
- Published on
Sang Mi stepped out of Martha’s car—it was a weird noisy thing that spewed smoke out the back. Well, that seemed to be the general case around here.
“See you tomorrow, Sarah!” Martha said.
“Yeah! See ya!” she replied, and walked up the concrete path to the house. This in itself was different—she’d lived in an apartment her whole life after all. There was no glint of glass-polymer between herself and the sky, no occasional sound of the habitation dome's air circulators kicking on. She put that out of her mind, and opened the door.
“Welcome home!” Chris called.
Home. Well, for a little at least. “Thanks.”
“Kinda weird you’re getting home after me.”
“Welcome to High School sports. Hey, did you know that all the sports teams use the school mascot? Like everyone is a stoat? And for some reason the mascot has a roman helmet on?”
Cwej walked into the entryway from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Yeah, I don’t really get it either.”
She set her stuff down and stretched out. “Can we speak Korean tonight? I'm getting tired of English.”
“Of course,” he replied in Korean.
“That's a relief,” she replied, also in Korean.
“Dinner is ready.”
She didn't waste time, and followed him to the dining room, and was taken aback. “Were you reading my mind?”
He’d set out a bunch of dishes—bibimbap, tteokbokki, kimchi pancakes, white rice, bulgogi beef… “Maybe a little,” he replied.
She danced her way to her seat, and started serving herself before catching her error and stopping to say a very quick prayer, and then resumed piling her plate.
“I figured you might be getting a little homesick, so I ordered a bunch of take out.”
“This is great—though ‘dinner is ready’ sort of implied you cooked it.”
He chuckled as he started serving himself. “I'm just glad you’re enjoying it.”
She glanced over at a pile of papers sitting by him at the table as she shovelled some tteokbokki in her face. “I still can't believe they use so much paper here. It feels so excessive.”
“I guess there has to be ways of doing it with less environmental impact.”
She shook her head, “I don't know anything about that, I just mean like, there are so many trees here. There’s literally one in front of this house.”
He stopped. Right, of course. “That would have to be weird for you.”
“I mean, it’s not like I see no trees. They have them in parks, and there are some whole indoor forests and stuff, but they just… show up places here, like boom, there’s a tree.”
“Welcome to Earth, I suppose… actually, I’d been wondering something Sarah—sorry, Sang Mi—I was worried I was going to have to compensate for gravity for you. Your bones and body structure didn't grow up under this kind of gravity on Gongen after all. But you said it would be fine.”
She nodded, her cheeks full of rice like chipmunk, before she chewed and swallowed. “Yeah, we took a field trip to Earth a while back. It was this huge thing. We had to get injections and gravity therapy treatments and take all these supplements, so I figured I'd still be alright.”
“How’d that trip go?”
She shrugged. “That's a story for another time.”
“Fair enough.”
She stirred some of the food on her plate around. “You're from Earth right? But like, the future?”
“Something like that. I was born in the Spaceport Five Overcity. They call it London at this point in history.”
“They call it Londonplex in my time. I guess it’s sort of an inbetween.” She set her fork down. “Hey, so, you work for someone right, you always just call them your Superiors? And one of them was that guy in the office we met, right?”
He nodded, and looked a little anxious where this was going.
“Are they like some sort of... time cops?”
That made him laugh. “They’d absolutely hate to hear you say that.”
She nodded. “We’ve met a few times now. When I saw you with the deer, later when I helped you with the kitten, then when you came back during the storm… do you remember my friend Saki?”
“How could I forget?” he deadpanned.
“You remember how she gave me the drugs, Delirium? At first I thought those were just like… drug trips. Not that I have a lot of experience with that mind you but… eventually I realized that the Delirium really was messing with reality. That when we took it during the cosmic storms that we could go to places our bodies weren’t in different times, or move ourselves to different places far away, or change the world around us…” She bit her lip. “I know that Delirium can’t be a secret forever. Will we have like… time cops stop us? Superiors, or whatever?”
A strange look came across his face, and Sang Mi couldn't tell if it was pity or envy. “No. Where you are, there are no Superiors. Heaven is empty, and so is Hell, for better or for worse.”
“Well not literally,” she said.
“Nothing shakes your faith, does it?”
She shrugged and returned to the bibimbap that was just begging her to eat more. “I'm a good Catholic girl, didn't you know?”
“Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere.”
“Do you believe in anything, Chris?”
He stopped, fork halfway between his plate and face. He thought for a moment, his eyes distant. “Maybe,” he answered finally.
“See you tomorrow, Sarah!” Martha said.
“Yeah! See ya!” she replied, and walked up the concrete path to the house. This in itself was different—she’d lived in an apartment her whole life after all. There was no glint of glass-polymer between herself and the sky, no occasional sound of the habitation dome's air circulators kicking on. She put that out of her mind, and opened the door.
“Welcome home!” Chris called.
Home. Well, for a little at least. “Thanks.”
“Kinda weird you’re getting home after me.”
“Welcome to High School sports. Hey, did you know that all the sports teams use the school mascot? Like everyone is a stoat? And for some reason the mascot has a roman helmet on?”
Cwej walked into the entryway from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Yeah, I don’t really get it either.”
She set her stuff down and stretched out. “Can we speak Korean tonight? I'm getting tired of English.”
“Of course,” he replied in Korean.
“That's a relief,” she replied, also in Korean.
“Dinner is ready.”
She didn't waste time, and followed him to the dining room, and was taken aback. “Were you reading my mind?”
He’d set out a bunch of dishes—bibimbap, tteokbokki, kimchi pancakes, white rice, bulgogi beef… “Maybe a little,” he replied.
She danced her way to her seat, and started serving herself before catching her error and stopping to say a very quick prayer, and then resumed piling her plate.
“I figured you might be getting a little homesick, so I ordered a bunch of take out.”
“This is great—though ‘dinner is ready’ sort of implied you cooked it.”
He chuckled as he started serving himself. “I'm just glad you’re enjoying it.”
She glanced over at a pile of papers sitting by him at the table as she shovelled some tteokbokki in her face. “I still can't believe they use so much paper here. It feels so excessive.”
“I guess there has to be ways of doing it with less environmental impact.”
She shook her head, “I don't know anything about that, I just mean like, there are so many trees here. There’s literally one in front of this house.”
He stopped. Right, of course. “That would have to be weird for you.”
“I mean, it’s not like I see no trees. They have them in parks, and there are some whole indoor forests and stuff, but they just… show up places here, like boom, there’s a tree.”
“Welcome to Earth, I suppose… actually, I’d been wondering something Sarah—sorry, Sang Mi—I was worried I was going to have to compensate for gravity for you. Your bones and body structure didn't grow up under this kind of gravity on Gongen after all. But you said it would be fine.”
She nodded, her cheeks full of rice like chipmunk, before she chewed and swallowed. “Yeah, we took a field trip to Earth a while back. It was this huge thing. We had to get injections and gravity therapy treatments and take all these supplements, so I figured I'd still be alright.”
“How’d that trip go?”
She shrugged. “That's a story for another time.”
“Fair enough.”
She stirred some of the food on her plate around. “You're from Earth right? But like, the future?”
“Something like that. I was born in the Spaceport Five Overcity. They call it London at this point in history.”
“They call it Londonplex in my time. I guess it’s sort of an inbetween.” She set her fork down. “Hey, so, you work for someone right, you always just call them your Superiors? And one of them was that guy in the office we met, right?”
He nodded, and looked a little anxious where this was going.
“Are they like some sort of... time cops?”
That made him laugh. “They’d absolutely hate to hear you say that.”
She nodded. “We’ve met a few times now. When I saw you with the deer, later when I helped you with the kitten, then when you came back during the storm… do you remember my friend Saki?”
“How could I forget?” he deadpanned.
“You remember how she gave me the drugs, Delirium? At first I thought those were just like… drug trips. Not that I have a lot of experience with that mind you but… eventually I realized that the Delirium really was messing with reality. That when we took it during the cosmic storms that we could go to places our bodies weren’t in different times, or move ourselves to different places far away, or change the world around us…” She bit her lip. “I know that Delirium can’t be a secret forever. Will we have like… time cops stop us? Superiors, or whatever?”
A strange look came across his face, and Sang Mi couldn't tell if it was pity or envy. “No. Where you are, there are no Superiors. Heaven is empty, and so is Hell, for better or for worse.”
“Well not literally,” she said.
“Nothing shakes your faith, does it?”
She shrugged and returned to the bibimbap that was just begging her to eat more. “I'm a good Catholic girl, didn't you know?”
“Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere.”
“Do you believe in anything, Chris?”
He stopped, fork halfway between his plate and face. He thought for a moment, his eyes distant. “Maybe,” he answered finally.
- Published on
The drizzle threw itself against the windowpane, trying and failing to obscure the grey fields dotted with grey cows and grey calves. The world stretched out before her, drifting to the horizon, bigger than anything. She leant on the ledge between the coach and the window and felt the vibrations tremble through her body, simultaneously calm and urgent in their whisperings. She closed her eyes, and listened to the endless chatter of her schoolmates.
You’ll never believe what happened Friday/What?/Go on…/I was talking to Tania—/Tania Bell?/Yes, Tania Bell. And she said that she’d seen Georgia and Emma snogging in the toilets at Charlie Ashbrook’s house last week/She never!/She did!/Eww!/Good for them/Nobody asked you, Lily/Sorry/She said they were quite drunk, mind/How drunk?/I dunno, she didn’t say./Still!/What’ll Tim say?
Latifah was jolted from her reverie by something brushing her hip. She looked, and saw that it was only Mr. Cwej’s coat shifting.
She sighed. Of course she would end up sat next to the teacher. Mr. Cwej was alright (despite her not liking English), but still. She had all the luck.
He smiled down at her, looking slightly tired.
“You doing alright?” he asked.
“Ye-es—yes. Thank you,” she stumbled.
“Good,” he said, and looked over her, out of the window. He looked as if something was troubling him. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “If there is anything wrong, please do tell me, won’t you?”
He held himself in such an awkward way, for a teacher. It was rather endearing.
“I will,” she lied.
Sighing, she looked back out at the drizzle and the grey-blue sky, and her mind began to wonder what it would be if she had said something else, and a hundred scenarios played out disjointedly in her head, slightly different every time. To her horror, she found that her mouth was enacting one of the scenarios quite of its own accord.
“Have you,” she began, stumbling over the words even as they ejected themselves from her brain, “Have you ever been lonely?”
It was out before she could stop it.
Mr. Cwej smiled.
“I think everybody gets lonely sometimes,” he said.
“It’s just… cause…” What was she saying? “Well, I had this friend, and she was… I dunno, she was so… beautiful. And we would laugh together, and she would be happy, and then sometimes she wasn’t happy, and she’s gone—uh, moved away. Now. So I—I don’t know why I’m talking about her.” She sighed, and cringed internally. God, was she mucking this up.
Mr. Cwej was looking at her. She was looking out of the window again.
“And, like, I tried messaging her, but she didn’t reply, and Emma said that somebody had said she was mean to them, and—oh, I don’t know! It’s just that… well…” She sighed again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. It’s got nothing to do with you, I don’t even know why I—”
“It’s alright,” said Mr. Cwej, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I—I’m glad you told me, at least. It’s good to talk to people about… about things. Uhm.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, then smiled sadly at her. “What was her name?” he asked.
“Oh,” said Latifah, “Uh, Bridget.”
Why did she feel so funny talking about her?
“That’s a nice name,” smiled Mr. Cwej, “You know, sometimes… Sometimes people move on from your life. And—well, I don’t know anything about Bridget, but—”
He was interrupted by the sound of the bus drawing to a halt and the familiar grey structure of the school appearing.
“Sorry,” he said, “I have to go.”
“That’s alright,” said Latifah, but it wasn’t.
Everyone filed off of the bus, and Mr. Cwej, after talking quickly to the driver, looked at those heading back into the school and sighed.
“Well,” he muttered, “I cruked that one up.”
Absent-mindedly he wiped away a tear, then wondered why he had been crying.
Ah well, he thought, and back he went to school.
You’ll never believe what happened Friday/What?/Go on…/I was talking to Tania—/Tania Bell?/Yes, Tania Bell. And she said that she’d seen Georgia and Emma snogging in the toilets at Charlie Ashbrook’s house last week/She never!/She did!/Eww!/Good for them/Nobody asked you, Lily/Sorry/She said they were quite drunk, mind/How drunk?/I dunno, she didn’t say./Still!/What’ll Tim say?
Latifah was jolted from her reverie by something brushing her hip. She looked, and saw that it was only Mr. Cwej’s coat shifting.
She sighed. Of course she would end up sat next to the teacher. Mr. Cwej was alright (despite her not liking English), but still. She had all the luck.
He smiled down at her, looking slightly tired.
“You doing alright?” he asked.
“Ye-es—yes. Thank you,” she stumbled.
“Good,” he said, and looked over her, out of the window. He looked as if something was troubling him. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “If there is anything wrong, please do tell me, won’t you?”
He held himself in such an awkward way, for a teacher. It was rather endearing.
“I will,” she lied.
Sighing, she looked back out at the drizzle and the grey-blue sky, and her mind began to wonder what it would be if she had said something else, and a hundred scenarios played out disjointedly in her head, slightly different every time. To her horror, she found that her mouth was enacting one of the scenarios quite of its own accord.
“Have you,” she began, stumbling over the words even as they ejected themselves from her brain, “Have you ever been lonely?”
It was out before she could stop it.
Mr. Cwej smiled.
“I think everybody gets lonely sometimes,” he said.
“It’s just… cause…” What was she saying? “Well, I had this friend, and she was… I dunno, she was so… beautiful. And we would laugh together, and she would be happy, and then sometimes she wasn’t happy, and she’s gone—uh, moved away. Now. So I—I don’t know why I’m talking about her.” She sighed, and cringed internally. God, was she mucking this up.
Mr. Cwej was looking at her. She was looking out of the window again.
“And, like, I tried messaging her, but she didn’t reply, and Emma said that somebody had said she was mean to them, and—oh, I don’t know! It’s just that… well…” She sighed again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. It’s got nothing to do with you, I don’t even know why I—”
“It’s alright,” said Mr. Cwej, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I—I’m glad you told me, at least. It’s good to talk to people about… about things. Uhm.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, then smiled sadly at her. “What was her name?” he asked.
“Oh,” said Latifah, “Uh, Bridget.”
Why did she feel so funny talking about her?
“That’s a nice name,” smiled Mr. Cwej, “You know, sometimes… Sometimes people move on from your life. And—well, I don’t know anything about Bridget, but—”
He was interrupted by the sound of the bus drawing to a halt and the familiar grey structure of the school appearing.
“Sorry,” he said, “I have to go.”
“That’s alright,” said Latifah, but it wasn’t.
Everyone filed off of the bus, and Mr. Cwej, after talking quickly to the driver, looked at those heading back into the school and sighed.
“Well,” he muttered, “I cruked that one up.”
Absent-mindedly he wiped away a tear, then wondered why he had been crying.
Ah well, he thought, and back he went to school.