Chapter 4

 

        "Why,” Sophie said as she was walking with Bridget to school bus stop, “is it this cold on an August day? It’s barely fifty degrees out here.” Sophie picked up her pace while trying not to step off the sidewalk.

          Bridget smiled inwardly at Sophie’s almost constant complaining. For the past two days, it had been raining almost nonstop, and there was water everywhere she stepped.  Bridget decided to remark, even if it made Sophie whine more.

          “Well, it is your first day of seventh grade. And you’re not used to waking up so early, are you?” Bridget said as she dodged a mud puddle.

          “Yeah, you’ve got a point. But I still wish the bus didn’t come at six-forty-five a.m.” Sophie sighed heavily. “Why do the middle schoolers have to get up earlier? We’re the ones who need more sleep. Not the elementary kids. If anything, they should be the ones to get up and walk in the rain. It’s not fair.” Sophie harrumphed.  

        Bridget ignored Sophie’s immature thoughts. Though, she had to say, she didn’t enjoy walking in mud and rain either to a bus stop either.

          “Well, at least the bus will be warm, right?” Bridget said in a positive tone. 

          “Yes,” Sophie said. After a short pause, she spoke again. “You are so optimistic. How do you stay so happy and calm all of the time?” She sounded genuinely curious.

          Bridget smiled modestly, knowing that if she answered that question, Sophie would have many other responses and questions to counter her explanation.

          “You also have really cool clothes,” Sophie commented. “I wish I were more like you,” Sophie sighed, being actually serious about her statement.

          “Thank you, but I’m not perfect either. I still have problems.” Bridget and Sophie finally came to a halt at the bus stop on the corner of the street.

          “Please,” Sophie snickered. “What problems could you have?”  

          “Well, I’m really awful at sports, except for soccer, but I still kind of stink at that too.”  Bridget laughed.

          “That’s one thing. I mean, do you ever have problems with friends? Grades? Anything?” Sophie stared at Bridget, expecting an explanation.

“Well,” Bridget silently contemplated what Sophie was saying. She really never had problems with friends; she was never the type to instigate drama. Not too many issues with grades, either, but didn’t want to say that to Sophie. Instead, she said,

“I really try to be friends with everyone at school, so, naturally, everyone tries to be friends with me. But if you only try to be nice to the people you like, then you will only have a limited amount of friends. In my mind, that’s just how it works.” Bridget stated.

          Sophie stood there, her unruly blonde hair blowing in all directions, while trying to consider what Bridget had just said. Suddenly, they both saw the macaroni-and cheese-colored bus rolling down the street, splashing into the giant puddles in the dips of the road.

          “That makes sense,” Sophie said. “But how can you be nice even if other people aren’t nice to you?” She asked, her eyebrows crinkled.

          “Just think of it this way: If are kind to them, but not overly kind, it will show that you are secure about who you are. And that kind of person is seen as respectable, because they know who they are.” Bridget said.

          “Really?” Sophie asked, as if she were surprised that what Bridget just said really worked.

          Bridget nodded.

          “Are you like that?” Sophie asked.

          “Not all of the time,” Bridget said, as the bus approached the stop. “Sometimes I just don’t talk to those I don’t like, and that doesn’t get me anywhere.”

          “So you’re saying if I act like that, people will like me?” Sophie questioned.

          Bridget shrugged. “Well, just remember to be yourself…and don’t exclude people, and they will give you exactly what you give them, as far as treating people goes.” Bridget said as the bus doors opened.

          Sophie nodded, thinking. “You’re too smart,” she said, as-a-matter-of-factly.

           And with that, they both boarded the bus and found their seats.

          Bridget tried to pick a seat where no one was in, so she could prepare herself for the school she would be entering in less than twenty minutes.

 

                                      ~

 

          The large, wet bus chugged to its destined parking space and came to a final stop.

          Everyone in it instantly started to talk. Bridget decided to get out of her seat, and look around at what she guessed to be tenth grade students.

          A lot of people were dressed in plain earthy colors- whereas Bridget was wearing a vibrant pink top and a sparkling silver necklace. As if my British accent won’t stick out enough. Bridget thought. Even though it was good to “be you” and such, like she told Sophie, she wasn’t exactly sure if she wanted to just yet.

          At last, the long, double doors on the bus opened to release the students. Bridget was caught in the middle of everyone as they were shoving and pushing people just so they could get out. Bridget finally got out and walked on the slick, black pavement towards the sand colored school building. It was very small, and had a sign on the front lawn that said, “Concord Senior High School”. There were three very long concrete steps that led up to the school entrance that Bridget walked up. After getting whacked by a backpack and pushed by someone’s arm, Bridget finally gave a last attempt to open the door. She pushed it open, and got into the building.

          At her first glance, Bridget knew it was very spacious. The beige lockers were straight ahead, and the classroom doors were a honey color, and the carpeting was blue and gray. Everything was open and there were barely any walls, just like the Hunt’s home. Bridget decided to go to the office, which was in plain sight to her left, and ask the secretary for her schedule, locker number, and locker combination. For some unknown reason, her schedule was not mailed to her, even though Sophie’s was. Bridget figured since she was a new student they may have not put her on the mailing list.

          Bridget turned left and opened the office’s door. A bell chimed as she entered.

Behind the desk was a woman with dark red hair, and reading glasses on a blue and yellow beaded string. A nameplate read: “Joanne Alverston” and Bridget assumed this was Concord High’s secretary.

          “Mrs. Alverston?” Bridget said as she approached the office desk.

          She looked up from the computer she was typing at, and put on her reading glasses.

          She smiled kindly at Bridget.

          “How can I help you?” She said.   

          “Oh, I’m a new student here and I never got my schedule, so I was wondering if you had it.” Bridget explained.

          “Oh! Yes, we were expecting you. I was actually just about to call you down to the office.” She stepped away from the desk and stepped towards a green file cabinet. She opened it and took out a brown file folder, and handed Bridget the schedule.

          “This is your homeroom,” She pointed to a name in a small box that said, “Mr. Kiniski…Room seven…Social Studies.” Then Mrs. Alverston pointed to the top of the paper. “And here is your locker number and it’s combination.” Bridget then took the perfectly square piece of paper, thanked Mrs. Alverston, and left the office to go find her locker.

          Bridget looked over her schedule while turning down the labeled eighth grade hallway. She wondered why her locker was number ninety-two, considering her last name; “Cadwell” would come as one of the first locker numbers.

          As she passed many classrooms, Bridget began scanning the locker numbers.

          “Fourteen,” she passed a segment. “Thirty-two,” she passed another segment. “Fifty-nine,” she finally found locker 92, which was the last locker in the whole tenth grade hallway. She had to squeeze through a clique of girls to get through it.

          At last, she pulled out her combination, opened her locker, and began to put her things inside it.

Suddenly, as Bridget was taking off her jacket, a tall, slender guy her age with fluffy black hair, blue-gray eyes, and thick frame glasses approached the locker next to him. He started to spin around the dial on his locker, as if he’d done it many times before. Bridget continued taking off her jacket until she finally decided to make conversation. She turned to talk to him, but just as she did, she realized something.

         

It was the boy from the airport.

         

She couldn’t find words for several moments. “Uh…oh, my gosh!” Bridget stood there in awe as he snapped his head up to look at her.

“I saw you at the airport!” Bridget exclaimed. “Uh, I-I, sat next to you, and you were reading a magazine!” Bridget said excitedly. She tried to calm down a bit, even though this freaky coincidence was really unusual.

          He finally stopped looking surprised and smiled at Bridget. “Whoa!” he said. “I mean, I knew we both started on the same day but I never figured that you’d actually come to Concord.” He laughed at the strange happenstance. “Henry Vongaurt,” he said, extending his hand out for a shake.

          “Bridget Cadwell,” she shook his hand and returned to finding her supplies for Social Studies. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a massive amount of Discovery and National Geographic magazines coming out of his book bag. He picked them up, attempted to put them in a neat pile, and pretty much shoved them all in his locker. Bridget was curious about what these were for.

          “What are all of those for?” Bridget said, eyeing all of the assorted periodicals.

          “Oh, those,” he said, half laughing. “Those are for my International Cultural and Geographical Studies club, as known as ICGS. It’s really fun.” He said.

Bridget was interested. “What kinds of things do you do in your club?”

          Henry’s face lit up, very happy that Bridget was actually interested. “Well, each year, we select a country and research it’s climate, native animals and plants, geography, people, history, buildings, and other miscellaneous things like it’s flag, main religion, languages, and stuff like that. It’s actually really fun. We’re starting in a week, but as vice president of the club, I need to think of projects, essays, and other papers we are doing on the country. Oh, and make up meeting times and dates.” Henry took a stack of various books, all different shapes and sizes, out of his backpack and placed them in his locker.

          This ICGS club suddenly fascinated Bridget. She didn’t have anything like it at Birchwood.

          “What country did you choose this year?” She asked.

          “Well, the state officials for ICGS choose the country. This year’s is Greece.” Henry started to straighten up the books he had.

          “How do you join?” Bridget asked.

Henry stood up from his kneeling position for a moment. “Well, if you had a grade point average of 3.7 or above two years before, you are eligible to join. Mrs. Streisand announces your name over the P.A. after she looks at your school records. Then, you come to the informational meeting the next week if you want to be apart of it. But there’s a ‘catch’.” He paused to make finger quotations. “If you get below a 3.7 in a grading period, you go on probation and you have one grading period to bring your grade point average up to a 3.7. But if you don’t, you are dismissed from the club.” Henry paused. “At least that’s how Mrs. Streisand puts it. In a nutshell, it means if you get below a 3-7 and don’t get a 3-7 or higher the next grading period.”

Bridget nodded. “Is it just for senior high?” Bridget asked.

Henry nodded. “Yeah, just for the high school, grades 10 through 12, for competition purposes you have to be at least fifteen.”

“Oh, there’s a competition?” Bridget asked.

“Yeah.” Henry said. “It’s usually in January, but Mrs. Streisand, our club advisor, hasn’t told us when it is yet. Beforehand, though, ICGS pulls together all of the information for the country we’re studying, makes essays, backboards, and other stuff and then we go to Manchester for the state competition to present it. The winner of first place gets to go to the country they’re studying with some funding from the state, but the school has to pay for a little bit of it.”

Bridget lit up at the thought of going to Greece. “Has this school ever won?”

Henry shook his head. “No, well at least not when I’ve been in it. Last time Concord won first place was in 1999, I think.”

“Oh,” Bridget was a tad disappointed.

“But, we might have a chance this year, because Dover lost a lot of club members.” Henry said hopefully.
          “Who is Dover?” Bridget asked.

“A school,” Henry emphasized it with a half sigh. “That is really good at presenting. They’ve won three consecutive times in a row.” Henry said.

“Blimey,” Bridget said. “That’s insane .”

“Yeah, but Mrs. Streisand’s hoping that we can get a couple new people this year, so we can have fresh ideas of how to present.” Henry said.

“So, if I qualify, I can join the club?” Bridget asked.

          “Of course,” Henry answered.

“Brilliant!” Bridget smiled at this fantastic idea of a club. How do they know if I have maintained a 3.7 grade point average in year ni"I mean ninth grade?”

“It all depends if you have your records here, which, most likely you do, right?” Henry smiled at Bridget as he continued straightening up what Bridget assumed to be books about Greece.

“I think they were faxed over, but I’m not sure.” Bridget hoped they were.

“Did you have a 3-7 or above eighth and ninth grade? I mean, I don’t mean to be nosy, but it’d be really cool if you could be involved in it because, you know, you’re from Europe and all,” Henry looked at Bridget directly in the eye.

“Oh, I don’t mind. But, yes, I know that last year I had an over all grade point average of 3.8, and the year before I had a 3 point…. a 3.9, I recall.” Bridget said.

“That’s great!” Henry’s blue-gray eyes lit up like an illuminated house. “Maybe you could see Mrs. Streisand after school about your records to see if you are eligible or not. But from what you tell me, you seem like you could join.” Henry said, as he got his notebook and pencil.

Bridget grinned. “Yeah, I’m really interested in joining, so I’ll talk to her about it. By the way, does she teach any classes?” Bridget asked.

“For eleventh grade, she teaches government and AP Gov. As for sophomores, we learn more about modern things, you know, U.S. and World Studies II.” Henry said, closing his locker.

Bridget nodded. “Thank you so much for telling me all of that, I really appreciate it,” Bridget said.

“No problem. I’ll see you after first class then?” Henry said.

“Sure, see you later, Henry,” Bridget said, as she looked pulled out her red biology binder.

“Bye, Bridget!” Henry said. He went the opposite direction of the lockers.

And with that, Bridget started towards her first class.

 

Bridget entered upon the science room, which was right around the corner from her locker. It was hard to miss, considering the long, black tables, and tall, white walls that were inside of it. It reminded Bridget of a university’s science lab. Instead, it was a tenth grade Biology room.

Bridget saw many other students sitting at their tables and whispering to others. She saw that there were nametags, two on each table, made out of cardstock. She guessed that the name card indicated where a student was supposed to sit, so she quickly found hers in the front row, in the second table, first seat. There was no one else in the first row, so Bridget felt a little lonely.

As an attempt to cure her temporary boredom, Bridget pulled out her schedule, trying to see how the curriculum was set out at Concord. Her schedule looked like this:

H. Jefferson      Biology I

Rm 19

M. Cohen         Algebra II

Rm 34

G. Hale             English 10

Rm 18

F. Rodriguez     Spanish II

Rm 18

D. McCarthy     Study Hall

Rm 21

R. Kiniski         U.S. & World Studies II

Rm 20

S. Galloway               Art I

Rm 24

 

After she had looked at her schedule, the bell (which sounded more like a horn) went off, and very thin and tall woman entered the room. She had her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun and had small spectacles on. From first sight, Bridget knew she was a no-nonsense kind of teacher.

 

“Good morning,” Mrs. Jefferson said briskly as she paced to the center of the room.

Bridget’s attention was shifted to Mrs. Jefferson now.

“I trust you have found your seats?” she looked expectantly towards the class. Everyone just stared back at her, too afraid to speak. “Good.” Mrs. Jefferson said, without even a response to answer her question.

 She then pulled out the attendance cards and started making little checks on a golden envelope. She walked to the door and placed it on a magnetic clip that was on the black metal part of the doorframe.

A couple of students looked around nervously, trying to figure out what they would be doing on a first day of school with such as strict looking teacher. They knew they certainly wouldn’t be talking.

Suddenly, Mrs. Jefferson spoke and all of the students straightened up from their already stiff positions.

“I will hand you all a syllabus for the year,” She quickly stepped towards her desk and started to pass out a syllabus to every student in the classroom. Then she returned to the front of the room where the board was.

“I have been teaching here for over forty years, and I have used the same exact teaching method every year for all of my students. I believe in having a productive learning system,” she looked around. “And I know from observing that putting students into groups for ‘interactive learning’ is not fruitful to them. In fact, I know that nothing is accomplished in groups unless there is a rather initiative student in it, and then something may get done. So in my eyes, working in groups is simply unrewarding to many people in this classroom.” She sternly looked around at every intimidated face.

“You will be doing a lot of individual work in my classroom. But I assure you, if you try, listen, and seek to learn something in my classroom everyday, you will succeed.” Mrs. Jefferson slowly walked back to her desk and straightened up a pile of papers. She then took one off of the pile, and began to read.

“Beginning tomorrow, you will start learning the various animal kingdoms.” Mrs. Jefferson looked around at all of the students. “Your required materials for each day are a pencil and a notebook for science only. That means I do not want to see your English notes and Science notes all inside the same book. That will not be tolerated. And as for homework goes, you will have a homework assignment each night, except for Friday. If you do

not turn an assignment, I will ask you to finish it during a detention in my room after school. If you forget to or simply don’t do two or more assignments within the same month, you will be issued four detentions per week until you finish them.” She then put her syllabus back into the neat pile, and picked up a pile of note cards.

“I would like each of you to write down your first name, last name, both of your parents’ names, your address, and your phone number. I will need to call your parents if you are not maintaining a seventy-five or above.” Mrs. Jefferson began passing out the cards.

Bridget looked around the room after wondering if she was even allowed to move or not. Mrs. Jefferson tremendously intimidated her, and she was not looking forward to having this class first period, everyday, for ten months. Suddenly, a white note card appeared in front of her, on her portion of the long, two-person desk. Bridget began writing out the information, starting with her name. But then she thought, should she write down her actual parents’ names, or Mr. and Mrs. Hunt’s names? Unfortunately, she had no clue.

Bridget was hesitant to raise her hand. She was afraid that Mrs. Jefferson would be unpleasant about answering the question. Even though she was tentative, she decided to ask anyway.

As soon as she raised her hand, Mrs. Jefferson stopped from pacing around the room and started towards Bridget. Finally she stopped.

“Mrs. Jefferson?” She asked.

Mrs. Jefferson’s eyes seemed to elate out of her face as she spoke. “Yes?”

“Well, um,” Bridget paused on account of being nervous. “I am an exchange student from, uh, England, and, um, I was wondering I should write down my parents’ names from Oxford or the names of the adults I’m staying with?” Bridget asked, looking timidly at Mrs. Jefferson.

“You may write down both,” Mrs. Jefferson answered.

After a couple more minutes, Mrs. Jefferson instructed that all of the students place their note cards on her desk after they were completed.

A few minutes after that, all of the students were looking expectantly at their teacher. Just then, Bridget looked up at the clock and saw that there was twenty minutes left of class.

“I suppose you all can gather your things before you go, and look over the syllabus.” She said, as she walked back to her desk. After several completely silent minutes, the bell rang and all of the students filed out of the classroom. Bridget was the last one out. She considered asking Mrs. Jefferson a question about why she thought it was interesting that she lived in Oxford, but decided against it. Maybe tomorrow she would.

Bridget quietly made her way to her beige locker. She was hoping Henry would arrive soon, so she could have someone to talk to. But to her disappointment, he didn’t show, so she had to walk to Algebra II, alone, without another word.

The Algebra II room ended up being basically on the other side of the building. To Bridget’s surprise, the room was rather small, and, there was a long, rectangular table in the middle of it, and no desks. Only five students were in there, not including the teacher, who was shuffling through papers in her over-sized snakeskin purse. Bridget decided to take another look at the room number. It did in fact say, in large, bold letters “Rm. 34”, but Bridget had never seen an actual, modern-day classroom like this before. Therefore, she was hesitant.

“You’re at the right place, don’t worry,” A male voice said from behind her.

Bridget whipped around to see Henry standing behind her. He was smiling.

“Oh,” Bridget laughed in relief that someone she knew actually was in this peculiar-roomed class. “Thanks. I wasn’t really sure if I had come to the right room, because, you know, it’s so small.” She then finally walked inside it.

Henry rubbed his nose, laughing. “Yeah, it is pretty easy to miss, considering it’s sort of isolated, and in a small corner at a dead end.” Henry took a seat at the table right next to Bridget.

The teacher that was shuffling through papers earlier finally was facing the little class. Henry looked as though he were going to say something more, but quickly shut his mouth after seeing her facing them.

“Hi everyone! I’m Miss Cohen,” She said. “This is my first year teaching here, and, well, as everyone can see, this is a really small class. Only seven people.” She gave a perky smile to everyone. “Well, I guess I’ll take attendance.” She picked her large snakeskin purse again and looked for her class list.

It was clear that this was Miss Cohen’s first year here, because she only looked a little older than Bridget’s sister. She had shoulder-length golden-brown hair and a white blouse with silver pinstripes on it. And below her black pants, she had shiny black peep toe shoes on. All in all, she was very young, cute, and peppy-looking.

“Ah-ha! There it is!’ Miss Cohen pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. She then smoothed it out and began reading names off.

“Justin Henna?” Miss Cohen looked around, her large, brown eyes sparkling.

Justin had quite a bit of sandy blonde hair, and was wearing a Nike sports jacket. He was sitting next to Miss Cohen at the long rectangular table.

“Here,” he put his tanned arm halfway up into the air.

Miss Cohen nodded with a smile. “Jamal Murray?”

A boy in a white tee shirt and glasses announced, “Present.”

“Ellen Castleberry?”

Bridget looked at the girl next to her. She was wearing a lime green shirtdress that had glossy silver buttons, and she also had long, white blonde hair.

“Here,” She squeaked.

“Lilly Montgomery?” Miss Cohen looked at the girl right of her.

          “I’m here!” She smiled brightly.

          In between attendance, Bridget knew that so far this Algebra class was very keyed up to be here.

          “Gary Maldano?”

          “Here!” Gary was sitting at the opposite end of the table.

          “Henry Vongaurt?” Miss Cohen looked directly at Henry.

“Here,” Henry said.

“Aaaaaaaand, Bridget Cadwell?” Miss Cohen looked around the room and finally spotted Bridget.

“Here,” Bridget said. She received a couple of surprised faces as she spoke. She knew that people were a little taken aback by her foreign accent. Back in Oxford, things were much more diverse. If you saw a person from America, it wouldn’t be as surprising.

          But, Miss Cohen continued despite the flabbergasted faces.

          “As you all know,” She said, as she caught everyone’s attention again. “This is an advanced class, and that is why there are so few of you. Most of the tenth grade went to regular Geometry, or even Geometry Advanced, which is what you studied last year, because you teachers noticed that you were able to… what’s the word…process the information a little more quickly and easily than the others.”

          Bridget looked around and saw that many of the people in the class were beaming with pride.

          “So, anyways, I think this is actually a good thing that we have a small class, so we can have more fun, also I can get to know each of you more than I would if we had a twenty- person class.” Miss Cohen giggled. 

          “Now, we’re going to play a little game called ‘Reporter’. Each of you will have one other partner.  I will give each of you a sheet of paper each of them having different questions on them. You will ask the person these questions… and trust me; they aren’t your average ‘inquiries’,” Miss Cohen smiled before continuing. “Then, when time is up, you, along with your partner, will get up in front of the class by the dry-erase board, and give the answers to the question. Then your partner will do the same thing with your answers. I just thought this would be a fun way to get to know each other.” She then paused. “Do you all get it?” She smiled hopefully at the class.

          Everyone nodded with eagerly.

          “Alrighty, then, let’s find our partners!” Miss Cohen said enthusiastically.

          Bridget suddenly felt a skeptical feeling wash over her. No one would want to be her partner. She was new. No one knew her. Knowing that, Bridget acted fast.

          “Hey, Henry, do you want to be my partner?” Bridget asked in hopes he would agree.

          Much to her disappointment, Justin Henna was already walking over to Henry, and Bridget assumed that they had already agreed, through contact of eyes, to be partners.

          “Um,” Henry paused, as Justin came to stop by Henry. He whispered something to Justin. A downcast look appeared on his face. But before he had a chance to say anything back, Miss Cohen spoke up.

          “Oh,” she said, with a very concerned pouting expression on her face. “I just realized that we have an odd number of students. One of you can interview with me, if you’d like.”

          Justin’s dejected expression disappeared quickly.

          “No problem man, I’ll be with Miss Cohen,” Justin said, like he had just won a ten-day escape on the Caribbean Islands.

          Henry finally looked back at Bridget. “Sure,” he said, grinning at Justin’s pleasured expression. Obviously Justin thought Miss Cohen was cute.

          “Alright,” Bridget said, laughing while others found partners. “Thanks, Henry.”

          “No problem,” he said simply.

          Miss Cohen got up out of her seat and started passing out papers to everyone.

          “And remember,” she said, while giving a paper to Henry, “You do not have to go in a specific order, if you don’t want to. Sometimes, the most interesting questions are the last ones.” She said, returning to her seat. She got her timer out of her bag and set it to one minute and twenty seconds.

          “Everybody ready?” she asked.

          An assortment of ‘yups’ and ‘yeahs’ came from the tiny class.

           “Alright,” Miss Cohen got in button-pressing position. “Aaaaaaaand…GO!” She pressed the red button on the timer, and it produced a tiny “beep”.

          Henry allowed Bridget to go first in asking the question.

          “Alright, it says, ‘if you had to choose one food group to eat out of for the rest of your life, which would it be…?’” Bridget laughed lightly at the very unusual question.

          Henry smiled, with a slightly puzzled look on his face. “Hmmm, I would choose…uh, the wheat group. You know, grains. ” He said.

          “Grain group,” Bridget said quietly to herself as she wrote it down.

          “Okay,” Henry said. “’Quickly, without thinking, blurt out the first animal that comes to mind.’” Henry said.

          “Dolphin!” Bridget said, rather excitedly.

          “Hmm, dolphin… that’s interesting,” Henry said, as he wrote her answer down.

          “What is your favorite month of the year?” Bridget read off of the paper.

          “August.” He answered almost immediately.

          Bridget was curious. “Why August?” She asked.

          “Well, because that’s when I get to plan for ICGS. And, that’s when I go to my aunt and uncle’s house in Costa Mesa.” He replied.

          “Ace,” she said, while recording his answer.  “That was where you were coming back from when I saw you at the airport, right?”

          “Yup,” he said. There was a small pause as he was looking at the paper to decide which question he should ask first.

          “Alright, if you had to turn into an inanimate object, what would you be?” Henry asked.

          “Hmmm…” Bridget thought for a moment. “I’d be…the ocean.”

          “I’m guessing you really like water?” Henry asked, amused.

          “Yes, actually. I think it’d be fun to be an ocean, or a sea of some sort.”  Bridget answered.

          “Just out of curiosity,” Henry said. “Which one would you be?”

           “The Ionian Sea, coincidentally…you know, since your club is studying Greece and all.” Bridget answered.

          “Wow,” Henry mused for a moment. “Why did you choose that one?”

          “From what I have heard, it is one of the most beautiful oceans in Europe.” Bridget answered, proud of her originality. Henry stared at her in complete approbation.

           Before anything else was said, Miss Cohen called ‘time!’ and everyone went back to his or her seats.

          “You are one unique person, Bridget,” Henry said, “I haven’t met another person who knows where the Ionian Sea even is. I’ll really have to make sure you’re in ICGS now. You’d be a nice addition.” Henry said in admiration.

          “Thanks, Henry,” Bridget said, a little surprised by his compliments.

          “You’re welcome.” Henry responded, still smiling at her as he went back to his seat.

          Bridget decided, right then and there, that Henry Vongaurt was her best friend. She legitimately liked him. He was intelligent, polite, and interesting. And they shared the same interests, like geography and world cultures. Sure, she had only known him for a whopping total of three hours. That didn’t make a difference. He was her first friend.

          At that was all that mattered.  

Reviews

[compositionc]

Henry and Bridge?! Nah...they're best friends! The whole ICGS things sounds really cool. I bet they win now that Bridge's here. I'm glad Sophie and Bridget bond. Bet Lizzy never did.

[Short.Nerd]

Henry seems really sweet :) lol. I like the whole ICGS thing (did I get the club right? lol). I'm really interested to see wehre this goes, and I like the bonding between Sophie and Bridget. Keep up the great work!