Worn Out Lives

Chapter IV

The next day at school, I had figured that Ingrid was going to be late, due to us pulling an all nighter together. But that wasn't the case.

"Have you guys seen Ingrid anywhere?" I asked Jack.
"Nope, wasn't she with you last night?" Jack replied.
"How'd you know?" I whispered to him.
"Who doesn't know? The news is all around school, bro. People think you got what everyone wants."
"What's that?"
"Ingrid's lips."
"Unfortunately, no. But we did pull an all nighter."

I grabbed my English Language Arts books, and headed off to class after the bell had rung. Mrs. Carmella, my ELA teacher, was talking about poetry.

"Shakespeare, classic. The thing about poetry isn't poetry itself. It's the meaning behind poetry. If you can figure out those sophisticated words in a small period of time, I'd be damned. If you can figure them out at all, I'd be damned. It's amazing how the mind can create such inevitable things, and put them together to call them 'art'. Whether it be visual or spoken, form doesn't matter. Only what becomes of it." She finished speaking, but continued after a minute.

"Poetry can be surrealistic, fantasized, or realistic. It can be such a larger variety of genres rather than the ones I named. Poetry isn't just writing. It isn't "the shit", as kids would say. Poetry is poetry just like you are you. There's nothing you can do to change poetry. There's nothing you can do to change yourself, personality wise. Poetry is an image of hope, peace, violence, anything really, and so are you."

An hour, and thirty minutes had passed. The bell rung, and Mrs. Carmella beckoned me over to her desk.

"Yes, Mrs. Carmella?" I asked.
"Where's Ingrid today?" She asked.
"Honestly, who knows. That girl is so badass, that she could be on the other side of the world right now. She's too much of an asshole to live, but she's too unique to die."
"Was that intended to be poetry? Sure sounded like it, and that was pretty good."
"Um no, not really, but nah I don't know where she is right now. Sorry."

I walked out of the classroom, and jogged down the hall. I made my way to my locker where I could find Jack and/or Dud.

"Hey, Dud, where's Ingrid?" I asked.
"Well, apparently she's gone, at least at school she's gone." He replied.
"Ugh, thanks."

That day was okay. It wasn't the best since Ingrid wasn't around.

I got home, and plopped my backpack on to the table. My mom, along with Mr. and Mrs. Burrow, were sitting down at the kitchen table having a chat.

"Oh, hello Preston!" My mother said.
"Hey mom, what's the occasion?" I said jokingly, and glanced at the Burrow's.
"Preston..." She slapped my arm gently.
"When was the last time you saw Ingrid?" Mr. Burrow asked.

I shrugged, and quickly walked upstairs, but my mom stopped me. She went, and grabbed my wrist, and pulled me back downstairs.

"I haven't seen her recently, she wasn't at school either today. Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Burrow." I said quickly.

I ran upstairs, and sat down at my desk. I called Jack.

"Jack, we need to find Ingrid."
"Hold your horses, kid."
"Don't call me a kid, I'm 18, you asshat."
"So am I."
"When's the last time you saw Ingrid, dude?"
"I saw Ingrid, like, a day ago at school."
"Ugh."
"I'm not good at this whole, 'OH, WE BETTER FIND INGRID SO QUICKLY OR ELSE PRESTON DEAN CULLEN IS GOING TO BURST INTO A RAMPAGE, BECAUSE HE'LL NEVER GET TO HAVE SEX WITH THE GORGEOUS INGRID EMBER BURROW, AND SHE'S THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE OHMYGOD' thing, sorry."

I laughed a bit under my breath, and sighed.

"If you find anything, just tell me."
"Okay."
"Bye, shithead."
"Bye, kid-that-is-obsessed-with-Ingrid-Ember-Burrow."

I tried calling Dud. Of course he didn't answer. I sighed in frustration, and decided to read some poetry.

In between two poetry books, was a mini envelope with "PRESTON" written on it in blood red pen.

I sat at my desk, and slowly opened it. My heart ached with anxiety. Inside it was a crumpled up piece of paper. I unfolded it carefully, and written on it was, "COME FIND ME BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE. YOU HAVE TEN DAYS."

I turned it to the back, and there was a number written on it: Kayla Freeman's number. I called her.

"Hello? This is Kayla Freeman, how may I help you?""
"It's Preston."
"Oh. Hey, Preston."
"You're the only person in our school who knows Ingrid better than she does herself. Do you have any ideas where she disappeared to?"
"Well, she did say something about going to Sacramento, California. Oh, and Olympia, Washington. And Orlando which is in Florida. Also, somewhere in Arizona, too."
"Okay, thanks, bye."

That was all the information I needed from her. I quickly called Jack again, in hopes of him being able to tell me some things about these landmarks.

"Hey, Jack, I just called Kayla Freeman, she told me some things about Ingrid. Such as where she could be."
"That's great, man. What'd she say?"
"That she could be located in, Sacramento, California. Or, possibly somewhere in Arizona. Or, Olympia in Washington. Oh, and maybe Orlando, Florida."
"Wow, those are all pretty far away from Boston, Massachusetts."
"Yeah, but once we find her it'll be worth it. Also, she left me a little envelope in between some of my poetry books. It says, "Come find me before it's too late. You have ten days." So, that seems totally un-sinister/strict."
"Dude, we can't visit all those places in just ten days. It's impossible."
"There could be a way."

I sat back in my chair by my desk, and scooted toward it. I looked up how many days it'd take to travel to all those places from here, and back, and all around just in case we didn't find her in one of those towns or cities or states.

I called up Dud one more time. Two more times. Eleven more times. He finally picked up.

"Dude, you need to answer your phone more often."
"Yeah, but I'm busy."
"Oh, really? With what?"
"Um... I'm busy with food, okay? Now what'd you need?"
"I think Ingrid left me clues..."