Heartbreakers (To Be Published)

Prologue

Jami

March 2005

University of Montevallo, Alabama

There are a few things in the world I hate. Well, more than a few, but a couple that makes me want to randomly throat punch strangers as they walk by. I hate school, men, and life! In no particular order of importance.

School makes my skin crawl, and I'm glad this is my last semester before summer. Then I can break out of this hell hole. The mundane feeling I get walking from class to class seeing the smiling faces of the basketball players and their bleach blond girl toys wrapped around their egos makes me want to vomit. Hiding in the art room is the only peace I get all day. Painting my pain away. I strolled in looking around to make sure no one will be around. I'm not in the mood to chat it up with anyone today. I pop my headphones in and let the brush do the talking. The music engulfs me as it takes me away.

I glance at my watch as I hear the door to the art room open and in walks my instructor Mr. French. He strides over to me and stands behind me. I stop my brush in mid-air. I turn down my music and wait for his words of artistic wisdom or whatever "helpful tools of wisdom" he feels like forcing on me today.

"You know Jami if you keep painting like this I might just enter one of your masterpieces into the state art competition," Mr. French says matter of factly. "You have a God-given talent. It's going to take you far."

I doubt it. "Thanks, Professor French. I'm almost done here, and I will have everything cleaned up and prepped for your next class."

"No hurry. Keep at it. I have papers to grade anyway for this freshman. They drive me nuts," He laughed with a snort.

Mr. French is the only teacher who doesn't give me shit for staying to myself. He lets me paint my heart out no matter how disturbing or wrecked the canvas might end up looking.

I look up at the clock and see that it's 4:30 pm. Classes let out an hour ago. I can't be late for work again. I head out of the art room and down the hall leading to the back parking lot of the school.

Before I can get through the gate leading to the bus stop, I feel sharp objects being projected at the back of my neck. I turn around to find a shirtless guy riding the school lawn mower. He has no clue that I'm on his warpath because his earbuds seem to be cutting off his hearing. I start yelling for him to turn it off, but the sound of my distressed voice goes unnoticed.

He is about to come back in my direction, so I jump up and down waving my arms until he finally notices me. When he sees me, he stops the mower and removes the headphones.