Shattered Glass

Chapter Four

Since the day of the bus incident, Nevan and I had been talking almost on a daily basis. Even if only a few words were exchanged, my feelings towards him were challenged every time. Every time they evolved just a little more. But still. There was no way, right?

"Hey, Kay."

I looked up from the window to these two words for possibly the third day in a row. Nevan was sitting in the seat across the aisle at me, looking at me intently.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"You okay?" he asked.

I examined his face for a long moment, trying to determine if he was being serious or not. If I had learned anything about Nevan in the short amount of time that I had known him, it was that he had an atrociously large sense of humor.

Finally deciding he was being legit, I answered, "Yeah I'm all right. Just thinking."

"About what?" he asked. Again, I took a moment to decipher his intentions. It seemed as though he was genuinely concerned.

I shrugged. "Just stupid stuff."

He gazed at me, his deep brown eyes digging into my hazel ones. Finally, he must have decided that he wouldn't get anything else out of me, so he turned back to the Ja(i)mi/ey's. I returned to looking out my window.

For all of my VC class, I had one thing on my mind.

What in the heck would I do about this cute football player?

Suddenly, an elbow dug into my side. I looked up to see my instructor staring down at me from the front of the room.

"Thank you for joing us, Wolfe," he said.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"As I was saying, could you please tell us all what the phonetic alphabet word for the letter F is?"

"Um, Frank," I answered.

Marshall stared at me for a couple moments more, then returned to talking about the phonetic alphabet. I glanced over at the boy who sat next to me. He looked at me, and I mouthed thanks. He nodded.

After the dragging class finally came to a close, I headed back to the bus. Climbing on, I noticed that the second year health care class was already on. Nevan sat in the seat behind my turtle seat. I sat down and looked out the window. My heart pounded, and I mentally chastised myself. He was just some boy, after all. And there was no way I would ever get him.

By the time all of the Penn Hills students got on the bus, my eyelids were drooping. I pulled my feet up onto my seat and turned so my back was against the window. I leaned my head against the seat and closed my eyes.

Suddenly, I felt five fingers scratching the top of my head. I jolted awake with a start and looked up. Nevan was looking down at me, leaning over the back of my seat.

"We're back at the school," he said.

I turned to look out the window myself. When I looked back up, Nevan had disappeared behind the seat. I smiled to myself.

As we pulled up in front of the school, I stood up with the rest of the students and squeezed into the aisle in front of Nevan. Again, my heart rate picked up. I willed it to slow down, certain that he would hear. As we all filed into the school, students chatted about their days. I walked alone to my locker, determined to clear my head.

I heard a familiar voice from behind me and felt my stomach do a flip flop. I rolled my eyes at myself, grabbed my soccer bag, and headed to the bathroom without looking back.

At practice, I pushed myself harder than I ever had before. Whether it was shooting from the 18 yard line or sprinting through drills, I focused all of my energy on what I was doing - anything to keep from looking towards the practice football field located right next to our field. Every time I slipped up and glanced over, I got angrier and angrier. I had told myself that I wouldn't get involved. I had to get better first before I could even think about trying love again. What in the world was wrong with me?

After practice, I stalked back up to the school with the rest of my team. The football players were still practicing, and I made a point not to look at them. By then, I was already royally ticked with myself. I wouldn't allow myself the small pleasure of glancing over at them.

On the drive home, thoughts roiled around in my head. I was already a broken teenager. I had already been through so much. My heart had suffered enough grief.

How could I possibly be so willing to hand it over for even more?