Ivy Academy, Chapter Three

The third chapter of IA. Please, remember, this is entirely unedited. It seems as if the plot is not moving along, but I promise, we're getting there, little by little. Thanks for reading! :)

CHapter Three

There was another sophomore transfer in addition to the striking Amy St. Christopher. Evan was amazed at his luck this year; in all his years of hating his class mates, and his first year of misery in IA, he had not considered that his second year of high school- smack dab in the middle of his trip through hell- would bring two things he’d stopped hoping for- a friend and arm candy potential.
         
Justin was a strange sort of kid, which meant he was prime friend-of-Evan material. He had a wide forehead and narrow, pointy chin. His nose curved down, and his eyes were too small and virtually colorless- a clear gray, not a spot of pigment in them. Complete contrast to Amy St. Christopher’s eyes; polar opposite. But the best thing about Justin was, he somehow managed to have an endless supply of Salems on him. It was rather convenient, considering the first thing that was confiscated off Evan every year was his cigarette stash.
         
Evan didn’t really smoke. In truth, he had lit up once in his life, and hadn’t stopped coughing for a week. Instead, he liked to carry the pack around with a lighter, occasionally let the cigarette hang from his mouth. He liked the smell, but not the smoke, and certainly not the hot, unquenchable dryness it left in the back of his throat.
         
Justin seemed to have no problem with the dryness, seeing as when there was no one around who would be interested in taking his smokes, he was practically a chain smoker. They were behind the storage shed, as Fred wouldn’t let them smoke near his house- it stunk up the place too badly. So they stood behind the storage shed, smoking and pretending to smoke, and talking about music and stupidity and Edgar Allen Poe and Amy St. Christopher.
         
“Her roommate is in our Spanish class,” Justin nodded and took a long drag.
         
Evan blinked. “Who? How do you know?”
         
"Renata," he nodded knowingly. "She sits by the window. Tall girl, looks sort of like a bird, black hair, depressed?"
         
Evan racked his brain, trying to conjure a mental image of this Renata figure in his mind. All he could imagine was a lip ring and huge, ice blue eyes, and the other features were blurred and cartoon-ish. Evan shrugged nonchalantly, but stored this fact in his mind for future use. He didn't sit too far from the window himself; he would be sure to use that girl as his social gateway to the mythical Amy St. Christopher. If they were room mates, however, they weren't required to be friends. He would have to pay close, close attention.
         
"Ever feel like we're insane stalker psychos?" he asked, twirling his cigarette between his fingers, unlit. Justin shrugged, inhaling the last breath of life left in his own cancer stick and flicked it to the grass, stomping it to its death. He smiled vaguely, looking up at Evan.
         
"You could call it stalking, or you could call it flattering persistance." Evan grinned mentally, knowing he had liked this Justin kid's logic. Flattering persistance. Honestly, how many guys could a girl like Amy St. Christopher get? Better asked, how many guys would be possibly willing to hound her doggedly as he had? Very few, it was the truth. So she should be thrilled to have someone as good-smelling as he was (and Evan prided himself on his clean-smelling scent, it was true) pursuing her. He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking back towards the school. It was almost time for his lunch period, anyway- the only period he made a point to showing up for.
         
Except for Spanish, of course. Spanish had instamatically become a top priority. He grinned to himself and squinted up to the sun, white-hot and blinding. His vision faded to blue and then he returned his gaze to the grass, eyes watering and all sight tinged blue. Justin pushed him forward gently; Evan slugged him back. "Jerkoff."
         
Making a crude comment about Evan's mother, Justin jogged toward the main school building. Evan frowned, inhaled sharply through his nose, and then broke into a jog toward the school. Stale pizza and iced tea called his name loudly, more loudly than any stupid memory that could wheedle its way into his mind.





Not Renata, Cada, or even Marc had my lunch period, which was why I didn’t even bother to go to the cafeteria during my fourth period lunch. But one particular Wednesday, I was so starving that I needed the biggest plate of the greasiest, fattiest almost-food-but-technically-cafeteria-food-so-not-food food I could find. I scrambled to the cafeteria, trying to quiet the roaring in my stomach, to no avail.
         
The line to the register was too long, much too long.  I could barely stand the gnawing at the lining of my stomach before I spotted him across the caf.- Evan Jaron. With a boy who looked vaguely like a turkey. Turkey-boy met my gaze, eyes widening, and turned to Evan. Evan looked up, saw me, hesitated, shrugged, and looked away. They were table-hopping; I had the vague feeling that somehow, their route was going to coincidentally lead them in my direction.
         
I sighed, getting a cheese burger and carton of marinara-slathered fries and a cup of Coke, and a handful of napkins, and trudged to the only empty sophomore table there was. I began to eat, carefully and measurably consuming my burger and fries in careful, portioned bites, sipping my Coke every three bites.
         
Evan Jaron and his turkey-esque companion had made it to my table.
         
They pulled up chairs, the turkey boy next to me, and Evan across from me. He popped open a Dr. Pepper can, taking a gulp before gesturing from me to turkey boy. “Justin, I’m sure you know of the famous Madame Amy St. Christopher. Madame St. Christopher, meet my associate, Justin.”
         
I took a bite of my burger as ‘Justin’ smiled, did some strange wiggle dance, and saluted me with two fingers.
         
“So you’re his cronie?” I asked after swallowing.
         
Justin shrugged, then grinned. “Naaaaaah.”
         
With a snort, I sipped my Coke. “Maybe you’re less of a turkey and more of a goat.”
         
“Waaah?” He made some strange finger-snapping gesticulation, shaking his head at Evan. “This girl talkin’ crazy,”
         
“Wow. Just wow.” Words could not express my contempt for this Justin fellow. Nor for how disgusted I was that Evan thought it might be a good idea for me to meet him. It did not make him look impressive, at all, even by contrast. Both guns were blazing. With fire in my eyes, I turned to Justin.
         
“Neither naaaah or waaaah are found in the Webster nor Oxford dictionaries, any edition, and the correct way to make that statement, though it is false, is this girl is talk-ing crazily.”
         
I was met, like I always am when I go on a wild grammar-Nazi rampage, with confused blinks. And then laughter.
         
The girl from the Shakespeare table, the tall redhead with the hearty laugh, tossed her head back and slid next to Evan. Two other girls, one round-faced and blond, with dark blue eyes and pink streaks in her hair, and the other mousy-haired with glasses and plump lips, sat next to me.
         
She dunked a French fry in what looked like ranch dressing and smiled at me. “Good day, Amy, dear. How are you on this fine morning?”
         
I was, of course, shocked. Because this girl was a) a senior, b) in none of my classes, and c) someone I had only spoken to one in my life. And I hadn’t even introduced myself. Before I could answer, she glanced at Evan.
         
“And Evan, good man, how art thou?”
         
I glanced at Evan, and Evan glanced back. No, we had no idea what I was going on. So the redhead went on, a clear voice cutting into the chorus of her friends’ giggles.
         
“I thought I would let you know personally that this year’s first official meeting of the Shakespeare club is going to be Friday. Yes, Friday. And it is less of a meeting and more of a Shakespearean Shin-Dig. Because we like to party just as much as we like classic middle-ages literature. Which is quite a bit, seeing as we formed a whole club around it.”
         
Justin scoffed, shooting a look at Evan that clearly translated into ‘your masculinity is in question.’ “Shakespeare club?”
         
Evan, lost for words, stared at the table top. At first, I thought this Red-Headed Amazonian Woman was trying to humiliate him on my behalf (which, for some odd reason, I felt rather bad for), but her next question clarified.
         
“Of course. You like Shakespeare, don’t you, Evan?”
         
So in a way, she was humiliating him on my behalf.
         
But more importantly, she was testing him on my behalf. I could tell from the sharp look she gave him (roughly translated into 'Answer correctly or lose all you hold dear- below the belt') and then the look she gave me. She didn't change her expression, but I could tell right away the look she gave me was much different from the look she had given Evan, though nothing about her features had changed. Her look to me meant 'Watch closely and follow my lead.' I could tell that what she was doing was testing him to prove to me where his loyalties lay- and, as she had said the first time we had spoken (also, about Evan), determine just how hard an egg Evan would be to crack.
         
I resisted a smile, munching on my burger (shockingly delightful for cafeteria food- I suppose boarding schools need excellent cooks) and trying to watch Evan through my peripheral vision. From what I could see, he looked defeated. "Yeah," he started. "Shakespeare really pumps my nads." The three girls burst out laughing, and I tried to hide my choking with a cough.
         
He had managed the impossible. He had used a double edged sword pointed at his throat to work out for him. How? How had he done it?
         
Red and I exchanged glances. She had been right. He would be a very tough cookie to crack. This confirmation caused a very strange stirring in me. Now, I wanted more than ever to crack this cookie named Evan.




Amy St. Christopher would be the death of him. It was certain. He was screwed. On the one hand- she was a babe. She was blond and busty (but not too busty, which was good), and she had the damn oddest eyes he had ever seen. She was so smart she could have given Einstein a run for his money, or even beaten him at a chess game (assuming that Einstein played chess, and was good at it). He could go on and on with all the good things about Amy St. Christopher- not the least of which being that she smelled very, very good. There were very few things bad about Amy St. Christopher.
         
How ever, what was bad about Amy St. Christopher was so bad, it would end up killing him. And that was- a single word out of her mouth (or, more accurately, the Random Cherry-Head body guard she had pulled out of now where's mouth) would cut his throat, wrists, and dick off. He was fucked.
         
And then there was Justin, who still hadn't given up on it. It was Friday. The first meeting of the Shakespeare club. Was Amy St. Christopher even going, considering that she knew he would be there, and that she seemed to dislike talking to him (especially with Justin around. Evan made a mental note to never be in a room with both of them at the same time)? But Justin wouldn't be around. Would she still refuse to speak civilly to him?          

And, more importantly, since when did Evan care about a girl choosing to speak with him, let alone civilly? Sure, he had checked out chicks before. Sure, he had even decided to talk to a few of them, before coming to IA. But never before had he cared. So what was so different? What was so different about this time?
         
Amy St. Christopher. She was different. Very, very, very different.
         
Meeting room 13-A. Evan sighed, readjusting his bandana and reached for the doorknob. A hand fell on his shoulder. He turned around, coming face to face with none other than the infamous Amy St. Christopher.





I'm not sure what Cada was thinking, touching Evan Jaron. Or, rather, forcing me to touch Evan Jaron. We- Cada, Renata, and I- stood silently behind him, waiting for him to open the door to the Shakespeare club meeting room, when all of a sudden Cada grabbed my hand and placed it on his shoulder, whipping her own arm back before he realized what had happened. I wanted to kill her. Instead, I blinked, realizing how close Evan was to my face when he turned around. About a foot and a half away. Too close. Much too close.          
         
"Erm...hey." I said. Very smooth. It was no wonder I was the epitome of cool, and the most popular girl in IA. I could tell he wanted to grin. He had a funny little smile on his face, kind of like a cat who was meeting a mouse right around dinner time. But behind the sly, triumphant smirk was a look of pure glee- yay! Food! I pretended to ignore it, and looked upward. "Do you always wear a bandana?" He readjusted the flame-pattern fabric. "....Yeah."
         
Renata rolled her eyes. "Will you two 'urry up? I can feel my blood 'ardening in my veins waiting for you. Sheesh." Cada snickered. "You tell 'em, Renata." I rolled my eyes and followed Renata, Cada, and Evan into the room. It was...well, I wouldn't say packed. It was a small room with two alcoves, just big enough for fridges and shelves, a few tables and a couple bean bag chairs. About ten other people were gathered in there, munching on potato chips and French onion dip and sipping small cups of Coke and Ginger Ale and orange and grape soda. Most people were older. There were no other sophomores, and one fresh man. Red head was there, but her two friends from lunch were not. The boy from the Shakespeare table was there, and, I observed instinctively and unconsciously, Marc was not. Evan hovered in the door way uncomfortably. I knew he wasn't the club type. And neither was I. I had no idea where to start first. So I followed Cada, who followed Renata, while Evan followed me.
         
"Amy! Evan! Cada! Renata! Welcome, young'n's! Now that the gang's all here, we can get this thing started!" Red Head called to us from the snack table, simultaneously waving and walking to the bean bags (which, I now realized, were set up in a circle in the center of the room) and taking a seat. She patted the spot next to her, and everyone in the room shuffled to the bean bags and took a seat. I sat between Evan (of course, since Fate and Luck disliked me immensely- so much so that I wouldn't be surprised if they convened in weekly meetings at the I Dislike Amy St. Christopher meetings hosted in Allegory Town and thought of new ways to make my life miserable) and Cada.
         
"So, let's get started. What we're going to do is go around counter clockwise, and introduce ourselves. The person speaking gets to hold the peacock feather of wonder. I know. Amazing! Say your name, your favorite piece of writing, your favorite piece of Shakespeare's writing, and anything else you feel we should know. I'll go first." Redhead cleared her throat, fingering the peacock feather. "I'm Sam, my favorite piece of writing is Paradise Lost by John Milton, my favorite piece of Shakespeare's writing is A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I am Vice President and thus Activities Organizer of the Shakespeare club. And now to Joey!"
         
She passed the feather to the boy from the Activities Fair festival table and beamed. He shook his head with a smile. "I'm Joey, my favorite piece of writing is 1984 by Orson Wells, my favorite piece of Shakespeare's writing is A Merchant of Venice, and I am President of the Shakespeare club, though you wouldn't know it."
         
Sam laughed. "No, you wouldn't."
         
He passed the feather to Renata. "Bonjour, I'm Renata, my favorite piece of writing is the Song of Roland-,"
         
"Sweet!" Sam nodded in approval.
         
Renata smiled. "And my favorite piece of Shakespeare's writing is the opening sonnet of Romeo and Juliet."
         
She passed to Cada. "I'm Cada, my favorite piece of writing is the Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan, and my favorite piece of Shakespeare's writing is also A Midsummer Night's Dream.”
         
"Huzzah!" Sam looked very pleased. "Lysander or Demetrius?"
         
Cada scoffed. "Demetrius, definitely. I hate Hermia."
         
"I like this girl!"
         
A girl across the circle of Shakespeare nodded; she was thin and had cropped copper hair. "I like Demetrius more than Lysander, too."
         
One of the two other boys (besides Joey and Evan) spoke up. "I hate Demetrius."
         
"Only because of Helena."
         
"Can you blame me?"
         
"Halt!" Sam clapped, laughing. "I love the enthusiasm, but let's keep that feather moving!"
         
My stomach twisted in knots as Cada slipped the feather into my hand. ".....Hi. I'm Amy. I'm...not an alcoholic."
         
A chorus of chuckles. I still didn't feel more confident. "My favorite piece of writing also happens to be my favorite Shakespeare writing-,"
         
"Always one every year," Joey mused.
         
"...It's The Taming of the Shrew."
         
Evan gave me an odd look. I had no idea why I glanced at him after I had admitted how much I loved that play- but it had nothing to do with the fact that in a way, I likened myself to Katherine...and Evan to someone else. A laugh shook the room. Sam was laying on her side, her fiery hair a tangled mess around her face. Her whole body heaved with her laughter, but she waved haphazardly as if to signal us to go on. I tentatively handed Evan the feather, snapping my hand back when his fingers brushed against mine.
         
He cleared his throat. "I'm ...Evan, and my favorite Shakespeare play is The Taming of the Shrew, too."
         
Sam was all but purple with laughter. Evan went on.
         
"But my favorite piece of writing is The Conqueror Worm, by Edgar Allen Poe."
         
And the circle went on. Tons of people loved Romeo and Juliet, closely followed by Hamlet and Macbeth, a few other people liked Poe, everyone wanted to know why Sam couldn't breathe for her laughter, and one boy asked me why I liked the Taming of the Shrew, though I'm not sure why it was important.
         
I thought. "...I like the scene where Katherine is grilling her sister about who she likes."
         
The boy- Tom- nodded.
         
And the night went on. Though I could hardly say I was comfortable, with Evan next to me, I had to admit the first meeting of the Shakespeare club was one of the most interesting of my time at Ivy Academy.