Beyblade Fan Fiction ❯ Vanilla Girl's Story of a Nobody ❯ Lunch Time Will Always Come Again ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Tala or Beyblade, but I do own all my original characters (Vanilla, Mrs. Gorttam, Mrs. Hunney, Tiffany, and I think that's it for this chapter).

 

Author's Note: Sorry that I haven't updated in forever, but I don't really know how I should word this. I know what I wanna say, but… Oh, and thanks for the ONE REVIEW! Jeez, is only one person willing to take off time from their busy schedule to write a sentence to encourage me to continue!?

 

Chapter 5: Lunch Time Will Always Come Again

 

(Original POV)

 

I hate lunch. I never have any where to sit. All the tables are jam-packed with people, and the growing population doesn't help. So anyway, I walked into the cafeteria with my freshly bought lunch. Scanning over the seats available I saw none were left. Then I (unfortunately) remembered I was supposed to go to Mrs. Gorttam. Yay Me.

 

So I took my wet lunch tray and walked down the silent hallway. Very, very silent. The only noise that could be heard was my sneakers hitting against the linoleum floors (which are this putrid shade of brown, I might add), which sounded like missiles launching with every step I took. I got there and balanced my tray on my arm and opened the heavy door with my free hand. Mrs. Hunney was playing this game called Stressre on the computer and didn't notice me until the large door creaked shut.

 

Was it cold in here or was it just me?

 

“Hello, Miss Girl. Mrs. Gorttam will see you now. She says there's a new student for you to escort; he's a hotty. I saw him myself; I was just sitting here and doing work when he entered the office looking mad. When I asked him what was wrong he just said he ran into Tiffany and walked into Mrs. Gorttam's office. I think that's her new husband or…. ” But I didn't here the rest because I had already walked into the destined office. Didn't she ever stop talking?

 

I didn't spare them a passing glance. I just sat down in one of the leather chairs, looked down at my food, and began eating.

 

“Why hello Miss Girl. I believe you're late,” she said testily in her hippie voice. I shrugged. I mean, you would have shrugged too. There's really no way to respond to someone telling you you're late without being able to voice an excuse. “Anyway-” she said suddenly with a new perk in her voice- “This is Tala Viagra or Valentine or something like that.” I could feel her eyes boring into my head.

 

I could also hear the boy next to me shift slightly in what I'm guessing would be hatred. “It's Valcov.” His voice was like ice. But hey, I couldn't blame him. He was in the one and only Nightmare High.

 

“Of course it is,” she said in an uncaring way, continuing to stare at me. God I wanna transfer. I heard him grunt angrily and out of the corner of my eye saw his slender fingers tighten on the arms of the lumpy black chair.

 

I stood up suddenly, letting my empty tray fall to the ground. I grabbed his wrist without looking at him and basically dragged him out of there. He'd thank me later… I hope.

 

I marched him past Mrs. Hunney, who gave us a weird look, down the silent hallway with the ugly floor and around a corner into a deserted classroom.

 

“I hate her already,” he said slightly distractedly. I took out my notebook and wrote in clear, blue letters, You have no idea. Believe me, you're on her list now. You might wanna close your curtains when you're getting dressed, and pushed it into his arms. He read over it, then looked up at me. I had my eyes closed, leaning against an old, squeaking desk. I could tell he was looking at me for an explanation. I just took the notebook and wrote about an inch below what I had just written (opening my eyes so I could write neatly), Trust me. I've been in this school district forever. I know what I'm talking about, and handed it back to him. He looked at me after reading it quickly, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“Why didn't you just say that? It takes too long to write.” I took the notebook and wrote I don't talk; I'm a mute. I can talk, but I opt not too. I showed it to him long enough for him to see it, then put it back in my bag and grabbed him wrist again, walking this time into the lunch room, pointed to the lunch line, where the last students were getting their lunches, and let go of his wrist to go sit in an abandoned seat on the other side of the room. And I did all this without catching a glimpse of what he looks like. Impressive, ne?