Broken

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The sound of my alarm pulled me from an uneasy sleep, full of dreams where I was running in terror from some unseen horror. I couldn't decide whether I was happy to be free of them, or mad I had to get up.

My radio hadn't been in any of the boxes we'd unpacked last night, so I knew I'd have to get ready in silence. I forced myself out of bed regardless. Mom wouldn't be in to wake me up; she might not even be home.

It still wasn't light by the time I finished showering. The fact my body was at least partly still on Minnesota time should have helped, but the morning was just as unbearable as normal.

Fighting back a yawn, I flipped on my bedroom light and examined the half-dozen boxes that might contain my clothes. I debated searching through them all, but it would just mean another fight if I did find them.

With a sigh of resignation I walked over to the chair where I'd left my selections from the night before, and pulled the faded jeans up my frail-looking legs. I finished up with a tank top, covered by a light blue blouse. All Cindi's stuff. Thoughts of her were just as dangerous as they'd been last night, but maybe I was getting a little better. Feeling like a traitor, I headed my skittering thoughts off before they could start affecting me physically, and focused on the next step in getting ready.

There was a lot more at stake this morning than last night. If I fell apart now I might not make it to school, and then I'd have all kinds of trouble calming mom back down when she returned from wherever she'd gone. My hair hung as limp and straight as always. No amount of styling ever seemed to make it look any better, just more contrived. Makeup was the same way. A touch here or there made me look marginally better, but I sincerely envied the girls who were skilled enough to transform their faces into something breathtaking after a session in the bathroom. Mom wasn't any help. Most days she didn't even put on mascara.

With the most depressing part of my routine now done, my mind wandered forward. It seemed only a second later that I was on the bus. I ignored the thought that mom would be mad if she known I'd skipped breakfast and hadn't brought any lunch. I pulled out my old, unabridged copy of Les Misérables.

Every so often I'd try to make it through Victor Hugo's weighty classic, but so far I'd never made it past Marius' introduction. Having just finished up Pride and Prejudice for the third time, I was once again due to try and make it through the written inspiration to some of my favorite music.

I hardly noticed the slow journey into town, instead caught up in a different time and place as Valjean's story started to unfold.

All too soon, the bus pulled up to a medium-sized, two-story brick building, and five kids my age stood up to leave. I followed them, my heart beating a little faster with each step. Other kids were trickling over to the door, either from one of the other two buses, or from the smattering of cars in the parking lot.

Before we'd even made it inside I'd realized just how much I stuck out. Shorts seemed to be the order of the day, knee-length khakis for the boys, and everything from mid-thigh on up for the girls. The only people in jeans seemed to be the debate-club types.

Silently groaning at my fashion faux pas, I located a sign pointing towards the office, and slipped around a couple of jocks who paused in their manly mock boxing match just long enough to check out the new girl. I silently hoped they slipped and hit each other in the nose.

I wandered down the white-walled corridor until I found another sign and turned left. There was a tall brunette already waiting, so I took a seat in one of the hard-plastic chairs. The other girl had shorts on just like everyone else, but hers were the shortest I'd seen yet. In Minnesota you could always pick out the alpha females by the length of their shorts, and this one seemed to think she was at the top of the food chain. That or a complete slut, but with her tan skin and perfect wavy hair, I figured it was probably the former. She didn't look like she had to put out to get attention.