Breaking The Mirror [Edited And Complete]

Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.

"Hey, Norse," someone called on my way to school that Monday. Well okay, I was locking the apartment door so that I could start walking to school when I turned I saw Danny. He was coming out of the elevator using that cane again, just kind of dragging it with him when he walks. Every once and awhile he'd step with it and all, but you can tell it isn't real.

"Hey, Gregory," I greet. That's his last name. Daniel Gregory.

"Damn, what happened to your face this time kid?" He says, grimacing. "Another fight?"

"Yeah, some guys decided to mess around with me," I shrug, lying easily, "I didn't have any money to give them, so, yeah."

"One day you'll end up like me, kiddo," He taps the leg he pretends he's limping on. "I got in a fight with a 400 pound man over a woman twenty years ago and this is what it got me!"

"Yeah, I'll try to keep out of them," I nod.

He's sort of crazy, I think. He's always making up a bunch of different reasons for having that cane. Once, when I told him I broke two of my ribs falling down the stairs, he told me that's how he got that fake bum leg. When that old lady in apartment 333 died, the movers were talking about how heavy her ancient, wooden (probably Victorian or something) table was and Danny said he knew all about that since he'd dropped one on his leg and that's how it'd happened. Mental but he's pretty friendly I guess.

"I've got to go to school," I tell him, trying to cut the conversation short.

"Yeah, yeah, I only came here to remind you about your rent," He raised his eyebrows at my solemn expression, "Due last week, it was. Just thought I'd tell you before you get the letter warning ya about it."

"Yeah, right, sorry," I nod, "I'll get to it."

He narrows his eyes, "Ain't your job."

"Right, yeah. I know. I'll tell Al- er, my dad," I correct myself. Gosh, I'm talking a lot lately. I need to stop that. The more you talk, the higher chance you have of saying something wrong.

After leaving Danny, I go down the steps in my quick, hyper pace. A lot of people say I'm ADHD, but I really don't think so. When I'm alone, I can relax, but around other people I'm... well, I suppose I'm on my guard. Whatever, it's not like it matters anyway. I'm just –Oh crap!

"Move it, kid!" It's a gruff voice, and I look up and see it's a mover carrying a box. It must be for the new person moving into 333. Some other old lady who'll die of cancer too, no doubt. I look at the ground as I pass him.

"Sorry," I mutter and continue down the stairs.

Why are they working this early in the morning, anyway? It's like, 6:00 a.m. or something, and I've got to walk to my school, which is two miles away, but they're movers. Maybe for some rich, snobby condo they'd come out this early, but our neighborhood isn't exactly paradise.

It's not a big, dirty place with abandoned where houses and criminals on every corner either, but it's not exactly a vacation spot. I shrug. I don't really care anyway. It isn't my business, and I need to get to school.

-

"Where'd you get the shiner, Norse?" A jock named Michael Cogan asks me, not really caring about the answer. He's smirking and looking back at his coterie of football buddies. "You and your boyfriend into S&M?"

"No," I say shortly. I want to say, Yes, we're looking for a threesome and since you were so good last time, we thought you'd like to come with. But I don't.

I never do.

I continue to carry my lunch out of the cafeteria and out to the courtyard. I haven't been in that cafeteria for longer then it takes me to get my food and leave since I started this high school. I usually just go to the library during lunch but Alfred seems to be having a bad day –week –month –year –life – and so I don't know if he'll let me. Well, I might be too busy with chores and stuff to eat tonight. Hopefully not. I love food.