Best Player: A Romantic Comedy Series (Dreaming of Book 1) Read online

  Maybe not.

  But anyway - I'm getting ahead of myself. He wasn't like that, not straight away. He was just a bit...weird, at first, I suppose, but that's not quite the right word.

  Back in the classroom, on that September morning, Miss Moore began to talk again, having had just introduced Glyn to the class. "I'll give out your timetables and planners now," she continued, "And then I'll do the register. After that, you can glue your timetables into your planners, and I'll just go over the school rules with you all."

  Everyone groaned, of course. We all knew the school rules. They were fairly basic, but Miss Moore always read them out at the start of the year. By Year 9, you could tell she was doing it to annoy us. By Year 10, there just seemed to be no point.

  "So, Glyn, take a seat on the front row. Louis, move up one. Don't argue, just do it! There's plenty of room, stop complaining." Louis – a boy who went to my primary school, moved onto the chair next to him. The front row was dominated by the...I don't know. Those kinds of boys that everyone knows, and most of the girls fancy, and play football, and know that everyone thinks they're brilliant. Louis is no exception, except he's a bit nicer and holds the doors open for people sometimes. He looks like Cristiano Ronaldo, the fact that he plays up to and most girls like. Anyway. Even though he's really good friends with the other boys on the front row, he always sits apart from them because he doesn't want to be associated with their immature ways. He's usually very quiet. But he doesn't like giving up his seat on that row, which is directly in front of mine.

  As soon as he moved, Glyn took the seat. He twisted around in his chair to grin at Beth and me. "Hello!" he said brightly, and very loudly. Beth glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.

  "Um...hello?" I responded tentatively.

  "I'm Glyn," he chirped. "What's your name?"

  Beth covered her hand with her mouth as she began to giggle, and looked away, staring directly out of the window. I kicked her, hard, under the chair.

  "I'm Nerys."

  "Nerys. That's a nice name."

  "Um. Thanks, Glyn." Miss Moore handing me my timetable momentarily distracted me, and I accepted the chance to cease talking to our new class member gratefully. Unfortunately, Glyn didn't see this as a reason to stop talking and instead turned his chair fully around, so he was facing me.

  "Can you talk me through my timetable, Nerys?" he asked, staring at me with wide eyes.

  "Um. Sure." I shot Beth a look out of the corner of my eyes, a look that I dearly hoped said: Help me out here! "Well, there's not much to talk about. It's just...a timetable...there are six lessons in a day, each fifty minutes long. There's a break after the first two lessons, which lasts about twenty minutes, and dinner is after the next two, and dinner lasts about forty-five. That's all you need to know."

  "And what about the teachers?" he waved his timetable at me, and I reeled back. "What are they like?"

  "Glyn, I've not even had a chance to look at my timetable. Give me a chance, yeah?"

  "Oh. Okay." He let his arm, plus timetable, drop onto the desk in front of him.

  The day – a Thursday – was quite good, for me. I'd miss Drama, because of form time, but after that, I had Science with Dr. Goodwin, English with Mr. Rixon, IT with Miss Moore, PSHE with Miss Treharne and, finally, Maths with Mrs. Austin. All in all, not a bad day, although I suppose Maths let it down a bit.

  "Let's see your timetable," I said to Beth. She pushed her slip of paper towards me, and I glanced down at it quickly. All the same subjects at the same times as me, except Spanish, which was instead French.

  "I'm annoyed that we miss Drama," I complained. Beth grinned.

  "I'm not, Mr. O'Connor scares me," she replied. "He's so...over the top."

  "He's a drama teacher, Beth; you can't really..."

  "Nerys?" It was Glyn again. "Can you tell me about the teachers now?" I glanced at him, and then flinched as one of his legs bumped mine under the table. I swung my legs out of the way, so I was sat with my legs under Beth's chair, and took his timetable.

  My first thought, when I saw it, was 'Great.' When placed next to mine, it was soon very clear that we had the same timetable, more or less. He didn't have the same options as me, but all the mandatory subjects took place at the same time with the same teachers as me.

  Which was when Miss Moore swooped down on us. "Ah, Nerys, I'm glad to see you and Glyn have already made friends." Glyn beamed at her; I tried my best not to pull a face. "Oh, and look! You have the same timetable. Maybe, Nerys, it would be best if you showed Glyn around for today and tomorrow? I'd normally ask one of the boys to do it, but I trust you."

  Beside me, Beth snorted, disguising it as a cough or sneeze of some kind when Miss Moore glanced in her direction. I kicked her leg again.

  "Can Beth help me too, miss?" I asked. "She has the same timetable as well."

  "Is that so? Well, I don't see why not. Glyn, if you ever need help during the day, Nerys and Beth are the girls to talk to." She smiled down at us.

  "Is she a nice teacher?" Glyn asked immediately as she walked out of earshot. I twisted in my seat slightly to look at Miss Moore's retreating, and I nodded.

  "She is if you've had her as a teacher for as long as we have. She's cool." I shrugged.

  "She seems strict to me," Glyn frowned. "I don't know why, but she does."

  "Well, that's because she is," Beth said with a roll of her eyes, "But she's still cool. You get used to her."

  Glyn ignored her, gaze fixed firmly upon me. I glanced at Beth, now feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Um, what Beth said. You get used to her. She's really nice."

  "What about my other teachers?" Glyn pressed. "Come on; you said you'd –"

  "Oi, Nerys," another male voice cut into the conversation. It was Louis, in all his Ronaldo glory, one eyebrow raised. "Is it true?"

  "Is what true?"

  "Well, Cassie..." he gestured in Cassie's direction. Cassie went to France if you remember, and she's in my form. "She told me that you hit Billie Winters. Is it true?"

  I gritted my teeth, and he flashed a smile. "If it is, that's pretty cool. He seems like a bit of a prick to me." He looked at Glyn; then his eyes slid back to me. "Taking the new kid under your wing, Nerys?"

  Opposite me, Glyn bristled, but for what reason I don't know – or care. "Miss Moore asked me to show him round," I replied. "We have a very similar timetable, you see."

  Louis' gaze turned sympathetic, and he nodded once and turned around.

  "Who's he?" Glyn asked, frowning.

  "His name's Louis, Louis Jenson," I replied.

  "Do you know him well?" inquired Glyn, his frown deepening. "He seems very...chatty."

  Chatty? I glanced at Beth, who shrugged. "Um, I don't know him that well," I explained. "He went to my primary school, and we were partners in Spanish last year, but we're not really friends..."

  "Good," Glyn said, sounding relieved. "I didn't like him."

  Louis turned, looking at Glyn, one eyebrow raised. Glyn seemed oblivious that Louis had heard him.

  "That was a bit loud, Glyn," Beth pointed out, wincing. Louis was still staring, but then that stare turned into a scowl, his good-looking features turning ugly.

  And then he uttered one word, probably sealing Glyn's fate as being the most unpopular boy in school: "Prick."

  Then Louis turned away to continue talking to his mates. Glyn's face was shocked and angry, but I shook my head as he opened his mouth to argue. "Don't," was all I said. "It'll only make things worse."

  Glyn's mouth closed, and he turned around, taking his timetable with him, sitting properly at his desk. Beth ran a hand through her hair, mouth twitching as she fought back a nervous laugh. "Well," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "That was interesting."

  "Mmm. I suppose."

  In a lower voice, Beth continued; "I hope he doesn't follow us around all day. He's already annoying me, and he's not even done anything too bad yet."

  I nodded in agreement. It
was, after all, true. I'm not exactly a people person: or, more appropriately, a new people person. I'll be polite to someone, but people I don't know make me nervous. And people who I don't know who are immediately friendly to me – such as sitting in a position where our legs are touching, or where they're kind of staring at me, they make me extra nervous. The thought of spending all day with Glyn Newell made me want to cry.

  But unfortunately, my fate was sealed; just as Glyn's was when it came to Louis and his friends. So, here I go again: I've found something else to blame. Not Glyn, necessarily, but the situation my form tutor thrust me into by making me look after Glyn. If I hadn't had to look after him, he never would have...Well. You'll find that out later.

  God, I'm such a hypocrite.

  Chapter 3: Kiss, Antal

  Our school had a special unit where non-English speaking students were taught. What that means is, there was a special unit where they would be taught English (I assume, I'm not an expert). They would then gradually be introduced into the normal school timetable. It had been that way since the end of my Year 8. We had a variety of pupils of other nationalities – Polish, Brazilian, Portuguese, Chinese, Russian, and Hungarian. It was halfway through Year 9 that most of these students began to be introduced into the normal timetable. It wasn't, however, till the end of Year 9 that people in my year began to show a real interest in them. The reasons, I think, were quite simple: they were different, they were interesting, and to top it off, most of the girls were quite pretty and most of the boys were quite good-looking.

  Naturally, there were students that stuck out more than others. Tomasz Borkowski, for instance, was known because most of the girls fancied him, and he'd been at our school the longest. Although he was in the same year as me, he always looked as if he could be in college – he stood about a foot taller than nearly everyone else, taller even than some of the teachers, and was just generally bigger and broader than most boys our age. He was also a really good football player, so the boys would often invite him to play football with them at breaks and dinner.

  Then there was Kasia. She was Polish, but ignored any other Polish students apart from Tomasz and his friends; she was incredibly popular amongst the rest of the school, and everyone knew who she was because she was so pretty – to most people, at least. I never saw it myself. Well, I saw the obvious – she had a nice face, I suppose, with lovely, glossy black hair and a permanent golden tan. She was slender and had a nice figure. Personally, I thought she looked a bit plain sometimes, but you know. The rest of the population of our school disagreed, so I stopped voicing that opinion after a bit.

  And then there was Antal. Antal Kiss. He was one of only four Hungarian students, and he had a sister, Bianka. To be quite frank, he was the male version of Kasia: gorgeous, the sort that girls followed with their eyes as he walked down the corridor. Now, this one I saw. I didn't fancy him, but I knew where they were coming from. He was quite tall – not Tomasz tall, but tall enough – and quite slim. He had a handsome face. Remember me saying that Billie Winters should have chiselled features? Well, I suppose Antal had the sort of face Billie ought to have. His hair was a toffee brown and quite shaggy, hanging in his eyes. I guess you can tell I certainly looked at Antal quite a bit.

  Nearly all the girls I hung around with swooned over Antal. Some even went as far as befriending Bianka (that was Siân, if you're wondering. It didn't really help her). But, even though I admitted it – he was pretty cute, or hot, or fit, or whatever word you want to use, I just didn't go that far...

  Until my first Spanish lesson of Year 10.

  Before I go into that, I'll tell you, briefly, what happened for the rest of the day after meeting Glyn in form time. Glyn followed me around school, all day. He even ate with us, despite John and Siân making it quite clear he wasn't welcome by talking quite loudly in Welsh. He'd rubbed them up the wrong way, you see, as he seemed to have a habit of doing. Within minutes of meeting John he demanded to know if John was gay before proceeding to rant about homosexuality (a definite homophobe), and within minutes of meeting Siân he'd denounced her as a slut. Which, you know, for Siân, may not have been too far from the truth if you're going to get all horrible about it – but we won't go into that right now, it's not important – but she was still a friend. Siân never takes too kindly to people calling her a slut or any variation on the word, and John absolutely loathes people asking him if he's gay.

  But Glyn didn't get the message, and continued to follow us. At the end of the day, Siân really lost her temper and told him to go forth and multiply. What she actually said, of course, was much more rude, but he took the hint, threw a mini strop, and the next day, he began to follow Gordon around. There's no accounting for some people's taste. Anyway, I mentioned a while ago that that particular pairing didn't last too long – honestly, it never really began. Not long after, Glyn returned to clinging on to me. But Glyn's not really relevant to this part of the story.

  So back to Antal, or Spanish class.

  I loved Spanish. I'd taken it since the start of Year 9, fell in love with the language, and had proceeded to take it as one of my three options along with History and Drama. Also in my GCSE Spanish class was John, and then there was Gwen, and two other girls she was quite friendly with, Evelyn Awbrey and Linda Folland.

  So, anyway. On the Friday after we came back, I left my previous lesson of IT with John and went towards my most eagerly anticipated lesson of the new school year. The queue outside Mrs Brooke's classroom was quite small, only about nine of them minus us. Amongst them were Louis, Stuart and Rick, and then there was one of Louis' friends Jake East, Cassandra's friends Kerry Mully and Jessica Leigh, and two girls called Sarah Hill and Annette Walker. Completing the class was a boy named Damien Redwall, and a Portuguese boy called Tadeu Antunes. Tadeu had joined our school from London, and he was pretty much fluent in English. I knew all the people in my class – I'd had classes with all of them before.

  And we all filed into Mrs Brooke's familiar classroom with her Spanish posters and heaps of textbooks. Mrs Brooke did the register, and were given fresh new exercise books and then we revised Spanish basics, most of which we already knew, but it didn't really matter. The lesson was going quite well.

  Then Mrs Brookes asked me to go on an errand and deliver a note to Mr Rixon about a Year 8 trip she was organising or something like that. Shrugging on my blazer, I bade goodbye to John (who threw his pen lid at me for 'abandoning him with the ruffians of the Spanish class') and left the room –

  Slamming straight into Antal. I bet you didn't see that one coming (I certainly didn't).

  With an 'oof' sound I fell backwards, landing hard on my bottom, while he seemed barely jostled by our collision. Instead, he kind of leaned over me; dark eyes concerned, and I stared up at him and promptly blushed.

  "Um – um – I'm s-sorry," I stuttered, scrambling to my feet. "So sorry!"

  "It is okay," he smiled. There was a light accent on his words. "I do not mind."

  He rested a hand on my shoulder briefly before walking around me and putting his hand on the door handle to Mrs Brooke's room.

  "You take Spanish?" I blurted.

  He stared at me, and shook his head. "No. Yes. I do not know. I am meant to be following Jake's timetable, but I could not find Jake. Mrs. Oake told me to come here."

  Mrs. Oake worked in the unit where I presumed Antal had spent most of his lessons before starting a normal timetable.

  "Is Jake in this classroom?" he asked me, letting his hand fall from the door.

  "Uh – yes – yes, he is," I replied, nodding quite a lot. My face was still bright red. I guess I must have looked a bit too eager because he laughed. What he said next surprised me slightly.

  "You have a funny voice," he told me, and then he opened the door and went into the classroom, leaving me stood there developing a complex over my slightly high-pitched Welsh accent.

  I frowned and then realized that the note for Mr. Rixon was now a crumpled
mess in my hand. I unfolded it the best I could and then began to walk down the corridor.

  And that was when I began to develop the same kind of crush on Antal Kiss as nearly every single other girl in the school. Of course, me being me, that crush wasn't going to be simple, and it was probably going to cause me a lot of trouble to boot. But then – at that point, walking to Mr. Rixon's classroom in the English department, I was not because my crush on Antal Kiss was going to become an issue shortly. I just thought that he had nice eyes, and wondering just how much Siân would murder me if I vocalized my newly realized crush upon Mr. Kiss.

  I simply can't blame anything on Antal, though. Any problems that occurred that were connected to the Hungarian boy were, quite simply, my fault, so Antal isn't to blame, and I can't even try and pin it on him. Which, you know, is a shocker, as I've been doing a good job at blaming things, haven't I?

  Chapter 4: Distractions

  Now, it was not a serious crush. Let's get that straight. It wasn't like I sat at home daydreaming of Antal kissing me, or something (well, okay, I did do that, but that's besides the point). I never befriended Bianka, and I certainly didn't seek him out in school just to talk to him. I would speak to him in Spanish, and that was about it. Basically, it was not the sort of crush I thought was going anywhere. It wasn't the type of thing I was going to take any further.

  But, you know, it was a distraction. A distraction from none other than – you guessed it – Billie Winters.

  He was so annoying. I think you might have already gathered that, from my perspective at least, he was highly irritating and thoroughly dislikeable. But honestly, he was. Over the first days of Year 10, he was always there, constantly. He seemed to search me out at break and dinner to just pester me. It was like he didn't want me to forget my hitting him in France, or later, the fact I vomited on the coach home. What made things worse, was that his little gang would join in.