Charlotte O'Brian
My phone slipped between my fingers and my heart collapsed within itself as I imagined the noise it would make as it collided with the hard linoleum floor of Winston Churchill High School. Would it crash? Or was it too small for that? Maybe a thump, a thump that could mean certain destruction or absolute tranquility, how could I possibly know unless fragmented glass caught on my finger? My hands scrambled uselessly, clawing through the empty air. "No," I whimpered, far too low for the hearing of any normal human being.
"Whoops! Can't be too careful there, Char Char Minks!" The voice was jovial, haughty, and fake as a bowl of plastic fruit. My grandma had had one of those on her coffee table when I was around four. She got rid of it after I got too excited at recognizing the feel and shape of the fruits and took a giant bite out of a Styrofoam apple. My blood boiled at the way he chopped and sliced up my name to make a Comet Wars reference.
I immediately shied away from the voice, bumping into a desk and barely managing to keep myself upright by reaching behind me to grip its edge. It was cool to the touch, like a glass of water before condensation develops. I heard his foot touch the ground as he took a step forward, and the noxious odor of his cologne enveloped me, filling my nose and making my useless eyes begin to water behind my sunglasses that shielded the world from having to look at my endlessly searching pupils. I could imagine his hand reaching out to me and my whole body became as chilled as the desk top. I did not want Oliver Rayne-infamous womanizer and boyfriend of girls all across the state of Maryland-touching me in any way, shape, or form. But I couldn't tell him that; past occurrences proved that he loved to hunt the ones who played hard-to-get.
I felt my lips lift in a smile, one so tight that it might just shatter with the effort I made to keep it in place. "You're telling me, Duke Moonwalker!" I choked out a laugh that sounded like a police siren, to my ears at least. "Tell me, do you happen to see my phone, cause I'm having a little trouble." I knew he would laugh at that, at the self-deprecating way I said it, toning down my disability and the fact that I had never seen anything beyond the mixture of black and grey.
His laugh was easy-going and too loud, obviously happy with the fact that he didn't have to be the one to pull the punch line. Our classmates around us were talking animatedly, not even bothering to give us any attention in the last five minutes of class. I could hear everything though; I heard that Lucy Fail was getting a belly ring without her parents' permission this Saturday, that Michael Dever was scared to tell his parents that his current grade in math was a thirteen, and that Terra Collins was looking forward to having sex with her boyfriend for the first time. The smells of orange blossoms, sandalwood, peppermint, and vanilla mixed together in a cloud of scent that cloaked me and momentarily distracted me from the man standing in front of me.
A hand reached out and slid my phone into my right hand-my left hand was preoccupied with holding my collapsed sight cane. The fingers stretched to cover mine and trap my hand in an iron grip. "I caught it before it hit the ground. It was definitely an action hero moment." Oliver said, his voice conveying how much he thought of himself and his act of heroics. He was still holding my hand.
"You truly are my hero, Oliver," I replied, my gratitude genuine-not many people would do that- but a small amount of annoyance colored my tone nonetheless. He was too conceited to notice.
"I ducked, you panicked, my hand slid out just as the phone was about to reach the floor, saving the fair maiden's phone! You should have seen it, Charlotte!" His other hand cupped mine, so that my right hand was trapped in both of his; his fingers were rough an callused, like the sandpaper on my Grandpa's workbench; I knew that mine weren't much better after working with clay for hours on end and drying out with every session in my local art studio, but I wasn't expecting it from supposedly pretty boy Oliver Rayne. My stomach clenched when he called me fair, and my heart started beating faster with anxiety over the time. If I didn't leave class early enough, I would get stuck in the hallway crowded with hundreds of crushing, stinking, and rude adolescents.
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Romance"Is this how it feels, Charlotte? To talk to someone when you're blind? You can't see their face or expression or their hands; you just focus on their voice and let their words wash over you?" ... Everyone is judged by their book cover, how they...
