To Faraway {A collection of short stories}

Returning Borrowed Things

My story starts in sixth grade and it starts with a boy in my class who sits on the row in front of me, two seats to the left. He was always wearing the same blue jeans with holes in it. His name is Parker Reed and I always thought he was annoying.

His brown hair was always in a big mess, sticking out at odd angles. And you can tell that he hates school, too. He never brings his books and he only has one worn-out notebook that he rolls up and places in his back pocket.

Our teachers hated him because he doesn't pay attention. I hated him because he kissed Laurie Lynch. And not because I liked him. I found him annoying, in fact. I hated him because he kissed her in the hall in recess with first graders around.

Who does that? In fact, he was just twelve. And only people who're twenty and above are allowed to kiss. That's what my mom would always say.

He never talked to anyone, though. That's why I was always fairly curious about him. He only sits in his seat like he always does. With his left ankle resting on his right knee and his hands behind his head.

Maybe he thinks he looks cool this way, but he doesn't. He just looks annoying, to me.

"Oh, he's the best kisser ever." That's Laurie Lynch, she sits behind me and I hate it. She's always gossiping with Sue Chan, and I keep getting distracted. Especially now, while she's talking about how "magical" it was to kiss Parker Reed. I want to turn around in my seat and tell her that she can't know if he really is the "best kisser ever" because he is the first boy she ever kissed. How does she even know that he's a good kisser if she doesn't have "experience", like my older sister, West, says. I also want to tell her to shut up because she's messing up my notes.

But I don't.

So I just bear with her babbling and grit my teeth until, finally, the bell rang signalling dismissal for today.

I stand up and hurriedly shove my notebooks in my bag when Laurie Lynch knocked her shoulder into mine. Hard. Causing me to drop my open, yellow backpack on the floor and making my notebooks spill on the floor.

"Oops." She says in a way that tells me that she meant for that to happen. I glare at her as she walks past me. I never thought it was possible but, I hate Laurie Lynch even more.

I bend down and pick up my notebooks, but by the time I'm done picking my things up, giving my bag one nice zip, and throw it on my shoulders, everyone was gone.

I turn to leave, but something caught my eye.

There, on the seat that was a row in front of me, two seats to the left, a blue worn-out notebook sat. It's two sides was curving upwards so it gives the impression of being constantly rolled up.

I walk up to it and pick it up. I had all the intention of returning it at first, seeing as it's his only notebook and he probably needs it to study for quizzes.

But when I flipped through it out of curiosity, I didn't see math notes or English notes or history notes or science notes. What I saw, were drawings. Lots of drawings. And occasionally, a poem.

So I changed my mind. Because I wanted to know what Parker Reed had in his notebook.

That night, after dinner, I went into my room and opened up Parker Reed's notebook.

The moment I opened it, I knew that I would be disrespecting his privacy. But I didn't really care. When you're twelve, feeding your curiosity is more important than respecting other people's privacy.

So, I opened the notebook to the first page where there was a drawing of a little boy who was sitting in a corner, hugging his knees to his chest and keeping his head down.