Phoneplay (translation)

Chapter 2: Eyes

Last night was a disaster. When my mom unfortunately found out this old cigarette in a flowerpot on my balcony, that was a disaster. I mean, really. She was that close to a heart attack. She must have thought it wasn't possible. That there was an error somewhere. That her sweet little girl couldn't be smoking.

I knew this day will come, I've always been prepared. That's why, when she showed me the cigarette - that she was holding with disgust between her thumb and her middle finger, by the way- and when she asked me to give an explanation, I didn't try to make up a lie. I just told her the truth. Because crap, error confessed, half forgiven, right? Yeah, it's a totally false saying. Or at least, it doesn't work this way in my family. My mother was horrified, and chocked. Her blue eyes were so open that they were more red than white. But even if she was wearing this completly astonished look, I know she already knew, in her deepest part of her mind. I mean, it has been almost two years since I started smoking and that same amount of time since I've been hiding cigarette's rest in my flowerpots. And during those two years, neither my mom, nor my dad ever saw them. So, I admit that I'm wondering what my mother did to realise that, knowing that she never goes into my room. And even less on my balcony. And EVEN less to go and look around in my flowerpots. So, one, she had a vision, or two, she had suspicions.

Anyway, I don't mind. The result is the same. My parents know now and I don't think I have ever seen that much disappointment in their eyes. I must have gone down in their esteem. Well, I don't think the term "gone down" is appropriate. Fell, sounds better. I fell, and I am as down as possible in their respect's gauge.

So, they shouted on me. For several longues minutes. And I just took everything. I think that this, just made my case worse. It drove my dad completly crazy, the fact that I stayed totally silencious. But what could I say? I couldn't deny the evidence. I didn't want to deny the evidence. So I just listened, and took in their reflections until my mom talk about rehab. Rehab for cigarettes? It took me some time to realise what bullshit she was saying, but then I left. I took my phone and my jacket, and left. I wish I could have taken my cigarettes but my parents already looked in my bag and took away my Marlboro pack and my lighter. So I went out only with my IPhone. I wandered around in the street, chatting with my Outsider until he left to do some "last-minute shopping", leaving me alone.

We are Tuesday morning, and I am in need of tobacco. . I haven't smoked since yesterday, same hour, and I feel like my brain isn't really here. At the ten o'clock break, it's my ritual: quickly go to my locker, and go into the yard to smoke. Today, that plan is over. I could easily ask one to Holly, but her strawberry-flavoured cigarettes, she can keep them for herself. I never tasted something with more chemicals than these things.

I then walked to my locker, like a zombie. I haven't slept of the whole night, I went home at eleven o'clock because I was freezing cold. I got into my house discreetly by the window of my balcony, that my mom left open -thanks Mom- and I slipped into my bed all dressed up. I stayed for numerous long seconds shaking, but even after getting back a normal temperature, I didn't sleep. I was thinking about him. I truly believe that he thinks I don't care if I find or not his identity, and that I do that, just to pass the time. Well, he's commpletly wrong. I don't want him to take me for one of those girls, completly addicted to him, one of those girls who spend her time looking for him. I prefer making him believe that I don't give a damn about his insane game rather than being the girl totally impatient and boring. So I fake that I don't care about his game. But that's not the case, let's just say I want to take my time. I like talking with him, ignoring his identity. I find it more exciting. If I kknew who he was, it wouldn't be interesting anymore. I have all my time to find. And I will find, I am not worried about it.

I finally arrive to my locker. I let my bag down and then unlock the padlock that keeps my locker closed. 12-20-7, I'm so used to that code that I am now to a point where I don't even have to look to do it. The metallic door finally unlocks. I open it and it creaks in a familiar way. I was about to pick up my English book, when I discover, on my bad-shaped book pile, two packs of Marlboro and a silver Zippo. What is that?  I catch the Zippo and make it turn between my fingers, suspicious. I look at it from every possible angle, completly amazed. I then remark a note, sticked in the inside of my locker with tape. I take it, and start reading the few words written in black, a masculine writing.