For a few minutes, all I do is follow Camilla. I have no idea why she's freaking about this "Strikey" thing, or what we're even doing. I'm just going along with it.
She halts all of a sudden and stares up at the top of the lockers, scowling. I follow her gaze, frustrated because I don't see anything. 'What is she even looking at?'
"Strikey!" She hisses through clenched teeth. She looks just as frustrated as I feel. Whatever this Strikey thing is, it's definitely getting on her nerves.
'Seriously. What the hell is a Strikey?' I ask myself. I must've said it out loud, though, because she answers me.
"He's my cat," she says, blushing heavily as she speaks.
"Oh," is all I can say. I glance back up at the top of the lockers. Still nothing up there. She doesn't look away from that spot, though. 'I guess she really can see him.'
After a few seconds, I ask a question. "What's he look like?"
She still doesn't look away. "He's got golden fur," she mumbles, both sounding and looking distracted.
Nodding, I glance down at my watch. 11:23. We've missed almost all of algebra. "We missed third period."
"Crap," she mutters under her breath, finally looking away from the lockers. "What's the next class on our schedule?"
Feeling around for a moment, I pull out the balled up paper that is my class schedule from my jacket's pocket. I stare down at it for a moment and then announce, "Lunch."
"Well we can't miss that," she says. Her stomach rumbles as she speaks, as if agreeing with her. I chuckle slightly.
"But what about Strikey?" I ask her.
"It's easy enough to get him," she says, shrugging her backpack off her shoulder. I watch silently as she pokes around in the disorganized clutter that is her backpack. A few moments later, she pulls out a small package. It's cat treats.
Settling myself on the cold hallway floor, I lean against the locker. My backpack, a dark blue backpack with just one strap, sits on my lap.
She turns back to the lockers and holds up the treats, grinning. Watching something intently, her eyes trail across the floor.
"Yeah. That's what I thought," she says. Then she bends down and wraps her arms around the air, as if picking up a cat. I just stare, not wanting to offend her by saying anything.
Momentarily hesitating, she unzips her backpack again and puts what I'm guessing she thinks is Strikey into the bag. "Like you even need them," she mumbles, throwing the bag of treats in, too.
"Ready to go now?" I ask, staring up at her expectantly. She turns and looks at me, still grinning happily.
"Sure," she says, offering to help me up. Gratefully, I accept the offer after grabbing a hold of my backpack. She pulls me up off the ground with ease and releases my hand.
We head off in the direction of the cafeteria. She stays by my side this time, rather than walking ahead of me like she did before.