1: The Lost and the Old

The morning glow of an early Thursday shone through the curtains and onto a ruffled bed. The alarm clock sounded at ten minutes past seven, and Tim Pendle yawned.

    A hand rose, and switched off the clock, which then rotated so he could see the time. After a pause, and a groan, Tim eventually pulled back the covers and sloped towards the window.

    His room was your average 16-year old bedroom, posters of his favourite bands hung on the walls, clothes strewn all over the floor and the wardrobe doors wide open and messy inside. His television was covered in dust, and his controllers for his PlayStation 2 lay in a heap on the carpet. His CD rack and games pile were the only things that were organised; placed in alphabetical order.

    His pride and joy.

    His mirror was decorated with many photos of him and his best friend; one when they went to the park, another when they went bowling, and when he went on an Art trip with her to the Museum. They were stood in front of an abstract picture making silly faces and laughing.

    His favourite picture was when they went to the beach during the summer holidays; his friend is doing a superman pose whilst balancing on one foot, and he was trying to lick his toes standing up.

    It always made him feel better after he would have a bad day to just stare at the photo and let the memories come back to him.

    His drawers hung open and were overflowing with socks. His uniform hung on a chair at his desk, which held a laptop and a couple of study books.

    Pulling the curtains back, he could see the windows across the street with their curtains still drawn. The streets were always empty at around seven, not a single car would drive past until eight, when the school rush begins and use Travis Way as a shortcut to get to the local primary school.

    The gardens were unnaturally tidy for this time of the year; at October, it was normally too cold to bother doing any gardening. Each house looked identical, white windows, red brickwork and the same blue door. The numbers were painted gold.

    He wished he was older, at least 18 years old because he would still being able to sleep without a worry about things like school.

    Slowly, he began to change into his school uniform; sky-blue shirt, plain black pants, navy tie and his dusty grey jumper that scratched his skin when he moved. He sped down the stairs for a light breakfast.

    As usual, neither his mum or his dad were present, as both had hectic but well paid jobs with early hours; his mum working in the office and his dad being a doctor.

    Tim combed his jet-black hair with his fingers whilst making his toast.

    The kitchen was very modern, with the best quality cooker, smooth, black surface tops and stylish cupboards. All the metal parts were painted silver, and the floor had black tiles.

    It was considerably large compared to the other rooms, as the Pendle family used the kitchen the most. He sat down at the black shiny-looking breakfast bar and munched his toast, as he wiped the yellow-crusted sleep from his eyes.

    There was nothing on his mind, this was a normal day in his life, but still he hoped at times that the days would be a little less dull.

    His final piece of toast in his hand, he grabbed his bag from the hallway, which he packed the night before and silently walked to school alone.

 

 

Noise filtered the classroom, as the lesson began. The windows bleak and dull and the paint on the walls were beginning to crack.

    Books were placed in random order on the shelves and old graded work was fading on the posters.

    The chairs were prone to breaking, but the school funds could not buy any better ones, so loud creaks echoed around the room if you moved even an inch. The tables were covered in graffiti from past pupils writing love notes and things like;

    ‘Gazza is gay’, and, ‘R.E sucks’.

    A few religious ornaments decorated some of the shelves. An old television stood decaying in the corner, not having been used throughout the term because there were no videos to play. 

    The teenage-filled chaos has always been a handful for the R.E teacher, Mr Higgins.

    Instead of actually trying to teach the lesson, he merely wrote the instructions of work on the dirty whiteboard and hoped that some of the pupils would do some of it.

    Some hope.

    He sat down at his desk, making the chair sigh, and reached into his drawer for his favourite monthly issue of ‘Car-world’ magazine. 

   Tim was one of the few people who actually attempted the work; the only others were a bunch of geeky-looking pupils sat in the corner, ‘likely to be talking about dungeons and dragons’, he thought; and one of his closest friends who unfortunately sat on the opposite side of the room.

    Her name was Bridget Barnsley.

    She was not like the other girls. Practically all of them in the school wore make-up, got up at six o’clock in the morning to straighten their hair and remodelled their uniform, in the hopes that some person would drool over the flash of bare skin.

    Bridget did not care about how she looked; well only when she goes out for a special occasion at least.

    Tim remembered when they went on another trip to the cinema. They were going to see ‘Love Actually.  Bridget had put on a little make-up and tied her long blonde hair into a ponytail. She had worn a silver sparkly top and a pair of black jeans with some small boots.

    She had looked nice then, but he did not really get to see her much in the outfit seeing as they were in dark room watching the film. She didn’t say much to him, just kept her eyes on the large screen, captivated by the movie’s plot.

    The strange thing was that everybody liked her and respected her so in a way, she was one of the popular girls.

    Tim was merely your average person, not well known but not totally extinct either, sitting comfortably in the middle of the so-called ‘popularity chain’.

   She did not start with many friends though, Tim only has to know her through a humanities school trip they went on together in Year 9, and he had had to sit next to her because the rest of the seats were full.

    The first time he saw her, she was gazing out of the window in a dream-like state. Tim had to nudge her quite roughly so he could talk. He smiled as he remembered, gazing at her head.

    Like him, Bridget had bright blue eyes, though they had a tint of grey. Her hair was usually curly, but today she had straightened it for some strange reason.

    She was just sat there, staring at the whiteboard. “She’s usually like this,” he thought, wondering what she was daydreaming about this time.

    They had both finished the work on the board. He stared around the room for about a minute, and then quickly grew bored.

    He ripped some paper out of his notebook, and wrote,

    

    ‘What r u up 2 @ lunchtime? So bored atm. Wb Tim x’

 

    He folded the paper into a paper plane and threw it towards Bridget.

    He heard the teacher mumble something that sounded like, “Don’t throw please”. He was too interested in his cars to care.     

    The plane landed lightly in front of Bridget, which awoke her from her trance. She unravelled it with mild interest and read.

    Pausing for a moment, she scribbled something down and threw it back to Tim.

    She had replied,

  

 ‘Nothing much + so am I. Teacher is bothering me lol… Bridget x’.

    

    Tim looked up in her direction after reading it, and saw her looking back, he smiled and she smiled in return.

     He wondered why, out of all of the people in the school, she chose to hang around with him and nobody else.

     She put her hand up and asked Mr. Higgins;

    “Sir, I’m not feeling well, can I sit near the window?”

    He nodded without looking up from his magazine, so she collected her bag and placed herself in the spare seat next to Tim, which ironically is next to the window.

    “Hey, this lesson is the crappiest on our school timetable, I daydream the most here.”

    He laughed and flipped over the piece of paper and began to draw a grid, placing a circle in one of the boxes and passing it over to Bridget.

    “Ah, let the games begin,” she said with a smile.

The End

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