the long way home [ h.s. ]

Twenty Seven | 27

twenty seven | 27

☓

As I sit in my English class Friday morning, everything in my body is buzzing.

All I can think about is the meeting today with Mrs. Shelby-- That, and the possibility that I won't be able to convince her. I feel like I've been rehearsing lines in my head for hours on end, wondering about the outcomes of each and every remark, every question, every plea.

At this point, all I want is to be certain that Thomas is safe and sound.

Every day I'm afraid of coming home and finding him in the same lonely place; lying on the couch, his eyes glistening, lips trembling as they try to hold back the storm.

I feel like Harry notices this about me.

He can tell that I'm afraid.

I see it sometimes, in the seriousness of his expression; like the reality troubles him, but he just doesn't know what to do.

And frankly, neither do I.

Of all the conversations I've ever had, I don't think any of them have made me so nervous. Last night was spent tossing and turning in bed, with hundreds of thoughts racing in my mind.

Naturally, when I got ready this morning it was a giant rush. I threw on some baggy jeans and a black rain-jacket, and the short brown boots that I use when Dad needs help in the garden. My hair is still wet from a shower. It hangs in a thick bun at the base of my neck, a cold and tangly mess. My eyes are heavy from the lack of sleep, not a trace of makeup to be found.

In short, I don't look like I'm ready to talk to Samantha Shelby.

And I don't feel ready, either.

The surrounding room feels unnaturally quiet. It's a work day, so instead of a steady lecture to carry me through class, all I have is the silence. From outside, I can hear the gentle rumbling of the sky-- The clay turtle was right about there being rain soon.

"Mary?"

At first I think I just imagined the voice. And then, as I turn my head to the left, I notice Jenny Carson-- Tall, blonde, with a lean figure and gentle personality. She occupies the neighboring desk with an inquisitive look on her face. I shrink back into my seat from the surprise, noticing her deep brown eyes set on my person. Her long legs are also splayed out in my direction.

"Hi Jenny," I greet, my words slightly quieter than I thought they'd be. "How are you?"

"Fine," she smiles. I return it, trying my best to appear as if I'm feeling completely normal. "Just a little tired, but then again, who isn't? Anyways, I um... I was meaning to ask you a question. Sorry if that sounds strange-- I know we don't really talk much."

It's true.

Jenny and I don't talk at all, really.

Nevertheless, I've always considered her to be nice. I know that she's on the girls basketball team, and has quite the knack for writing. When we got seated next to one another I was secretly happy. Although I don't know her too well, she's the kind of person I wouldn't mind talking to.