fractures

the old me

Layne

It is burdensome to know that I have just failed two tests in a row. My mum will freak when she finds out. It's odd, really, considering that her grades were never very good.

Nevertheless, I ignore the countless questions fired at me about whether the tests were easy or not and whether I could beat Mark Daniels. I want to tell my classmates to let me punch them in the faces so that they would mind their own business. Don't be mistaken, I'm not a violent person by nature but hey, I'm getting pretty irritated.

I keep my head down and let my curtain of wavy black hair envelope me as I walk to my History class. As usual, I take the corner back seat. Too bad our history teacher insists on keeping the curtains drawn or I'll already be immersed in the scenery outside.

Class begins promptly with the introduction of a new student that I miss entirely and as our history teacher starts her droning about some historical figure, the loud 'thump' of books being dropped on the place beside mine snaps me out of my daze. I look up sharply. It's the new girl, I suppose. She meets my gaze with brown eyes as she sits down beside me.

I want to ask her who ever allowed her to sit here, but I hold it in.

My mother's voice sounds in my head, We should always make good first impressions.

"Hi," she says casually.

I can tell she's expecting an introduction from me but I just nod in greeting. I turn back to my daydreaming. Or at least I tried to.

"What's your name?" she asks.

I wonder whether she knows about Marlene's death, whether she knows that I'm the poor grieving best friend left behind.

"Layne."

I wait for the sympathy, the 'I'm so sorry', the questions. But they don't come. And I guess that the news probably hasn't reached her yet.

Good, I think. Not everyone needs to know about Marlene.

I expect her to say her own name, but instead she says, "That's a nice name."

I ignore her completely. "What's your name?"

"Woah, not even a 'thank you'?" she asks in fake bewilderment. "Don't they teach you manners here?"

I really, really want to punch something or someone now.

"I'm asking you what your name is," I grit out.

"Okay, chill, I was just kidding," the new girl says. "I'm Abbey. I'm new here. And I know that you didn't even pay an ounce of attention to my self introduction before class. That's rude, you know."

"Yes. I get it. I don't have manners," I snap. "Now can you just keep your comments to yourself?"

Abbey puts up her hands like she's surrendering. "Seriously, chill. I was just joking. If you don't like jokes, say so next time."

We don't speak for the rest of the lesson. Guilt festers inside me and eats away at the frayed edges of my mind. I shouldn't have snapped. Why am I so easily irritated these days? I used to be able to laugh at myself.

The bell rings and signals the end of class. A voice in my head demands me to stay for a moment and apologise to Abbey. It asks why I've changed.

"Why can't you go back to being the old Layne?"

I pack my things hurriedly, determinedly avoiding Abbey's gaze, and walk - no, run out of class.

I run from Abbey's puzzled stare.

From the voice of the old me.