{Chapter 2}
It was a typical Wednesday, I woke up at 8 and took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to get my backpack. I pulled out of the driveway at about 8:40 to make it to Starbucks before it got busy. After ordering some food and a Carmel Frap, I sat down at a table to finish a writing narrative for English. It was just another day in my boring life. At around 9 I left the little cafe to get to school on time. It was only a few blocks away from my dump of a school.
Pulling up to the school always sucked. Being a junior with a crappy car that looked like it came out of a hippie commune, it was an utter embarrassment. I parked and tried to get as much distance between the car and me as possible. As I walked through the door the first bell rang and I hurried to get to my class before I was late. Classes were completely unbearable. In the classes my grades were actually good I didn't think twice about napping, sitting in the back of the room pretty much means immunity from being called on. Lunch time was my savior from having to do a huge math sheet my teacher left for our sub.
As I walked into the room, several different scents wafted up my nose, trying to fight for dominance. Food, perfume, crap, cafeteria food. The cafeteria was a huge auditorium with white walls and an ugly barf colored linoleum floor. Tables were set up in uniform rows like soldiers set up in squadrons. The back wall held the glass cage of the lunch lady, doomed to scoop disgusting crap onto grumpy teenagers plates. The windows were open, a rare thing to occur, and the doors to the outside lunch area were open. I payed for my lunch (that actually wasn't so bad today) and headed for the outdoor area. I sat down at an empty table and stared down at my food.
I usually ate alone because my only friend, Amy Wrightsbury, was some what of a popular socialite at school. We only really hung out after school or on weekends. Her spunk and style made me feel bright and sunny whenever I was with her. She was always wearing something unexpected, novelty, thrift shop looking. Her hair was almost always dyed a vibrant color and short. No matter what she was wearing she always had her dark purple pilot goggles perched on her head above her straight bangs. Anytime she didn't have them on, she either had some other pair of shades or something was wrong.
I sat and looked over the table ahead of me. The jock over there had just recovered from an injury in the past..week maybe? His ankle defiantly. Well, that girl that seems to be his girlfriend. I catch her shooting flirtatious glances at that other jock who seems to be her boyfriend's close friend. That kid is..depressed? Why? Hmm...he looks slightly nerdish and has a large geometry book in his lap..failed math test? Yeah, that's right. I can see the fat F hanging out of the book now.
After doing my "people assessing" I finished my lunch and had a half an hour left to just kick it. I did more homework and checked my work schedule. I do the inventory counts at a thrift store on Main Street called Marsha's. The owner, Marsha McAlester was a really sweet woman, but her college coworker Whittney was always on her case. Though my job is mostly boring, I love watching the lights slowly switch on at night and illuminate the loving couples on dates. For some strange reason when I see them I feel loved.
I skimmed through the crowd of teenagers, bored of the familiar faces. Suddenly, I spotted a fresh face, one that was new and different than what I'd ever seen before.
He was more interesting than anyone I had ever met in this town.
He had long, jet black hair, one bright blue highlight running down the length of his face. he wore a black long sleeved dress shirt with a blue and black striped tie. He had blue spikes coming out of his ears. Black and white checkered suspenders hung at the sides of a black pair of skinny jeans, which had large black combat boots sprouting for underneath. He wore long, open netted black gloves and heavily spiked leather bracelets. Around his eyes was a dark rim of black eyeliner. And the part I especially noticed were the startlingly blue eyes, which were even more stunning with the eyeliner surrounding them. His eyes were like the ocean, big and crisp and beautiful. But they were also cold and hard, void of any emotion, blocking out the world, Not only blocking out the world, but blocking out me. My gift.
No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't read him, couldn't see what he was feeling. I just couldn't do it as hard as I tried. It bothered me. It beyond bothered me, it frustrated me. It sent a cold shiver up my spine that pulsed through my body, from my head down to my toes. Why won't it work? Does he know I'm trying? Does he have a gift too? How is this possible? It really bugged me. And I loved it. I needed to know why I couldn't read him. I needed to figure out why.
It was if he came from a dream. He was so intriguing, so strangely beautiful. And all I wanted to do from that moment on was understand. But my wistful, teenage thoughts were interrupted when I realized that he was walking right toward me. I felt panicky, my heart was beating fast. I was taking rapid, worried breaths. Nobody ever really talked to me, I mean I only have one friend, who would WANT to talk to me?
I didn't know what to do. I couldn't run away, he was almost there. I couldn't pretend to be interesting if he came and made conversation. I can't be something I'm not. I decided to stay put and hope for the best.
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Quick Note: at soccer practice ^_^
Decided to post real quick. 3 next week! Love u guys!!
