Lost Half

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A/N: This is actually based on a true story, so I'll try my best to account the events best as I can.

We were in art class together. I thought I was all big and important, having just turned thirteen; technically a teen. But that's not where it started.... No, it all started in third grade. I was the new kid, with no friends or talents like the other kids. I was normal and always wore my favorite blue jacket for whatever reason my child mind conjured up. I met her in English class then, and instantly we became the best of friends. We spent our days pissing off the teacher by creating hundreds of miniature paper turtles and paper houses, and making an origami turtle village on our desks, which were right next to each other. She made the turtles, and I made the houses. She always did like turtles for some reason.

Now skip back to art class. I still remember I was wearing blue jeans and red converse with a black hoodie, as usual. She had on a yellow and white jacket with blue jeans and brown moccasins, I remember. I drew a flower with oil pastels, and she drew an elephant. Oh the jokes we would make in art class.... We could hear the band practicing next door through the walls, and sometimes the chorus group across the hall. We would laugh and joke and bond over this, and it seemed that we could never be together with out being total goofs. We were the loners of the middle school, and I remember that she was always seeming to wear white, and I always wore black. My short choppy black hair, my intense black eyes, and even my skin that was tanned. She had blonde hair with skin as white as a snowman, and baby blue eyes you could get lost in. She was the typical American,and I was the typical European. When we got to high school, it was an exciting thing. She was nervous as Hell, whereas I didn't want to be there. She always cared too much, and I always cared too little. That's why we worked so well. I remember sitting next to her in algebra and never getting my work done, finding more enjoyment in passing notes with her. She would tell me something in the note, and I would most often make a cartoon to go with it, using what she called my 'talent' for drawing. She was an intent and diligent worker, and I was a slacker to the extreme. Yet, I was the intelligent one. I loved books, and she loved music. I wore glasses, and she didn't. I was tall, and she wasn't. It seemed we were the most perfect opposites created. We were like the North and South Poles.... But she was something else. If she was the North Pole, her soul wa the Aurora Borealis; striking, beautiful, magnificent. We spent high school together in our little clique, sharing excited whispers and giggles of gossip while I sat in silence, the brooding leader of our squad. Her name was Sydney Angell, and boy was she really an Angel.