Charles

“Still taking Latin and Spanish?” Charles asked. He was taller than last year, and his voice was deeper too, but the slithering, creepy way he came up to you and started conversations remained. I turned to him triumphantly.

“German, too.” I grinned, placing the new Komm Mit book on the table beside Ven Conmigo and The Cambridge Latin Course. They all had matching green covers I had decorated myself. 100% Sharpie. With anyone else, I’d be more subtle. This was Charles. This was war. He wasn’t impressed.

“You’re just jealous of me for being in Spanish 4.”

“Yeah right. I’m in Latin 4, and unlike you, I had to do both year’s work.” I retorted instantly, starting a bit of a debate on who had it harder. I was just glad he took the bait… despite my words, it did hurt that he had skipped a year, and he probably knew it. Or maybe not – despite his brains, he was incredibly inept at social mechanics.

But no… I still surpassed him in Language, but he shouldn’t have been shining at all. Language was my area… mine. We used to compete over everything; Who could make the best maze, who could eat the most Old Country, who could beat the Pokemon game the fastest, who scored highest on the vocab test. When we went into middle school, we split, to a degree. He took math, and I took language. It was the only way we could keep from ripping each other apart – and half the school in the process. For a while things had been calm, but here he was again.

Here he was again. They say opposites attract, but I don’t see idiots sticking to me like flies. Only Charles – in my life, again and again. Even our due dates were the same, March 9^th. There’s a bond in such things that years and rivalry can’t even touch.