The end of the year is finally drawing close. Math is winding down to an end for the summer. I still sit in front of Clarissa and that pig boyfriend of hers. They are always whispering and undoubtedly holding hands and basking in each other’s presence. It’s disgusting.
But it’s what I want.
One day, I saw her before class, crying in the stairwell. I walked past her, ignoring her. Angry. I knew it had something to do with her boyfriend, I just knew. She did it to herself. Then I felt guilty. Mason had gone out of his way to make me feel good. I guess now it was my turn.
“What’s wrong?” I asked when I returned. The stairwell was empty for there was only a minute until the tardy bell rang.
“Oh, nothing,” she replied, shakily. She wiped her tears away with her hand. When she tried to stand up, I held out my hand and she took it. Something like a bird sore through me.
“You know, you are the first person to ask me that,” she said on our way to class.
I just smiled at her and said, “Hi, I’m Thomas Hickory.”
“I’m Clarissa Davenport,” she said, smiling back.
I know.
Thomas Hickory
YOU ARE READING
The Chronicles of Thomas Hickory
Teen FictionThomas Hickory is an average high school student dealing with lack of sleep, hard classes, crushes, and the hardships of Driver's Ed. Join him as he journalizes his life for the world to see.
