This is what a best friend looks like

As I said not long ago - exactly one hour and thirty-six minutes ago - Saturday morning should be a sacred moment, to be dedicated in all respects to the rest of the psyche that had to face the grueling week of study, yet it is never like this.

Yes, because my mother's heart-rending screams were nothing more than her attempt to get us perfectly punctual to the meeting with one of the Saint Jeremy teachers, the female institution where, for the past four years, I have been forced to spend the days. It is a place of disturbing architectural charm, ruined by the crumbling works of art of some students who are all too convinced to be artists - including myself.

On a regular basis, Mrs. Raven and I end up here. In most cases because of my listless attitude that irritates teachers, or because of a cigarette smoked almost secretly in the bathrooms or, ultimately, because of a response a little too much above the lines; sometimes instead, it is due to some recognition or possible extra activity that they would like me to attend to.

Catherine lifts the sleeve of her sweater, checking the dial of her gold watch for the third time. With the heel she beats on the floor, keeping time and putting her nervousness more and more inexorably, infecting all those present. I hear her just snorting and, at this point, I allow myself to put a hand on her thigh in an attempt to calm her.

«Mom, do you want to stop it? There are meetings for the admissions of next year this morning, you see it too, don't you?»

She stares at me in anger, then glances around to scan the faces of other people, finally realizing the situation we are in. She snorts, but at least stops producing that annoying sound with the shoes.

"Thank goodness!"

The bad thing about attending private schools is also this: the mothers, because mostly it is the feminine side of the couple, compete to be able to grab an appointment with the teachers, then a place for their angelic little children - so, who first arrive, better stay.

��If it's for another head wash, that we're losing all this time, forget about seeing Charlie and Seth again, understand?» Her threats reach the ears in a whisper form, so that none of the ladies in the hallway with us can hear how absurd her daughter is. In the tone, the anger she is trying to hold is palpable, since she still doesn't know whether should get mad or not; I didn't mention anything about the meeting, but maybe I should have, saving both of them all this excitement.

Surely it must not be easy for her; after a son like Jace - handsome, smart, clever and ambitious - having to deal with Liz and me must be some kind of torture. Neither excels in diligence, let alone seems to have a plan for the future. We are not trophies to boast at dinners with friends, we have only a few passions that we carry on with a certain mediocrity.

«Do you want to calm down?» I ask, annoyed more by the thoughts that are in my mind, than by her feeble trust in me.

But before Catherine can formulate an answer, the lady sitting behind me leans forward, interrupting us. Her red and swollen face has something disquieting, especially now that I find it so close to me: «Can I disturb you?»

"No, you cannot."

Since when, does the IT balloon have the gift of the verb?

«Of course, tell me» my mother brings out a smile that has nothing to do with the expressions of a little earlier, sadness, I square her while she undertakes a conversation with a stranger.

«Your daughter is already registered here, right?» The woman speaks as if I were a statue, she turns to Catherine for granted that I cannot answer her questions alone. «How did you find yourself in these years? Do you say it's a good school?» And here is the rant of the one who gave birth to me, praising Saint Jeremy as an advertising spot. List the multitude of qualities that the institute can boast, remembering every now and then to insert some negative note here and there, just to not completely figure it out as a paradise on earth. She lies shamelessly about the experience of both her daughter over the past four years, sometimes confusing voluntarily between me and Elizabeth - so as to fill the defects of the other with one.

I hardly listen to her and I stare a lot, trying to understand with what courage she tells all those innocent lies; but mothers are good at this, they are too credible. In order not to disfigure in front of their friends and their similar they change reality with a certain mastery - when it is our turn, however, it becomes much less simple, they discover our lies with an incredible ability.

I roll my eyes and, at the exact moment I try to formulate a thought, the cell phone starts to vibrate insistently. Who will be my savior? Who is the genius capable of having such timing?

Without even apologizing, I sketch away from the chair on which I have been perched all this time and, regardless of Catherine's brief complaints that reminds me that "we are the next", I begin to walk the long corridor at a brisk pace, as far away as possible from her.

I take off the phone just in time to answer and, in a hurry not to drop the line, I don't even look at who is calling me. I respond with a faint voice, casting suspicious glances at my mother who, surely, will be trying to hear some of my words despite her chatter - after all, you know, making someone else's business is a vice that you can't easily take off.

On the other side of the receiver, a hoarse laugh, typical of those who smoke a little too much, makes his way to the eardrums. The sound slides straight to the heart and a kind of joyful warmth fills me, forcing the lips to smile.

«Where, the heck, you are?» Charlie asks, clearing his throat a little, so as to appear less asleep than he really is; yes, because he, unlike me, was able to sleep like a log this morning, recovering from the evening just passed.

Making a swift move I hide myself behind some lockers: «In prison!» I sigh playfully, looking for something in the floral jacket that I already know I will have to put back in my pocket. As much as I instinctively would put the yellow filter of a Lucky Strike between my lips, I stop. Smoking is absolutely forbidden at Saint Jeremy - to be honest, the regulation prohibits both the use and the possession of any combustible object inside the walls of the school; the risk that some female students set another's hair on fire is real, as is the danger that rudimentary joints will be put together between one desk and another.

"And the drug hurts, you know."

My best friend starts coughing convulsively, perhaps because the saliva, or the coffee, has gone sideways: «What?»

«I have a meeting with Miss Douglas» precise, so as to make him understand that the prison in which I find myself is only imaginary. Even he, with that comment, does not seem to place too much trust in me.

The boy is still a little strange, then he resumes: «For the show you were telling me? And when are you free?»

I nod, though obviously he can't see me: «Why, do you have programs?»

«Uhm...» says Charles Benton on the other side of the receiver: «I had a couple of errands to do, then I wanted to propose you a romantic trip to the skate park. I have to train a couple of kids». I laugh softly to make myself heard by him alone.

There is a kind of sweetness in these joking ways of addressing me, sometimes it seems to me that I'm talking to Jace - and maybe that's why I always feel at home with Charlie.

«It is romantic only if you'll offer me dinner» I try in my own way to stand up to him and, proud of the comment, I widen the smile on my face.

«If you settle for a kebap, I could make you the happiest woman in the world» he counterattacks, much better than me in this joke game. He quitly waits for my answer, but as I evaluate the offer of the Spartan dinner, I begin to hear Catherine's voice in the distance, then her steps get closer and closer. She makes her way towards me like a rocket, perhaps suspecting the imminent arrival of our meeting. Thus, the less road comes between us, the more anxiety grows in my chest. If I do not agree, now I'll risk to lose the opportunity to spend the Saturday night bingeing.

I bite my lip, trying not to be overwhelmed by another smile. She is near, very close! I can smell it in the air.

«Deal! I'll join you in a couple of hours» and the call ends just when Mom makes her appearance in my field of vision.