the long way home [ h.s. ]

Four | 4

four | 4

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One of my friends told me that Green Eyes moved here from England freshman year.

That's why his voice is so rounded and slow.

I personally didn't know that he came from Europe until about three months before the end of our junior year. I had gone to the girls restroom after I'd eaten lunch, and some of my friends were huddled by the mirror.

Now that I think back, I really didn't like them all that much. But they talked to me often and thought I was pretty funny, so of course I was obligated to be there. It also didn't hurt to have our simple group; we were all similar in a way, because we all wanted to make it, and graduate alive-- though we each handled that aspect in a different way.

One of them, Leanne, turned to me after she'd reapplied some lipstick.

Her brown eyes looked like they were twinkling with excitement under the overhead lights.

"Have you seen him today, Mary?"

I awkwardly shuffled my feet.

"Who?"

"The foreign guy. The really hot one."

I was almost positive that I knew who she was talking about since almost everyone here thinks that Green Eyes is the hottest thing that's ever graced the Northwestern area.

He's nice and tall, and clean cut, despite his hair. I think people are drawn to his face in particular, though.

Smooth angles and whatnot.

His clothing isn't all that spectacular compared to other boys, but I like the way he dresses. He wears tee-shirts when it's sunny, and long sleeves when it rains, like me.

Personally, I would call him handsome. The word "handsome" is respectable and strong, whereas "hot" just kind of removes a layer.

It takes away something important.

And the answer to Leanne's question was yes, by the way; I had seen him that day.

He came to school around noon, very very late. I've never had him in any of my classes so I didn't notice then, of course-- but I saw him in the hallway; and on the sidewalk sometimes, where we would wait for the bus in silence.

His eyes were red and swollen up.

Either he had been crying, or he hadn't slept in days.

I can remember the way he looked altogether; like he'd been tarnished by something, or someone. The way his shoulders bent like bridges do, when they start to give out from underneath.

He looked like that.

Like he was giving out from underneath.

"So, have you?" Leanne asked, with her shiny teeth and straight hair and nails that were painted yellow.

"No," I said, looking down at the ugly tile floor, wishing that I could dive down into it.

Away from the others who were looking at me from their place by the mirror, and into a whole different world where people walk upside down, or talk backwards, and they don't gossip in the girls bathroom about boys who come to school with red, puffy eyes.

"No, I haven't seen him today."

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a/n

Hi everyone! If you've been reading Whisper, I want to thank you for 1,000 votes! It's truly remarkable to me that you've been so faithful and stick with me through it all. :)

And also, it means a lot to me that you're reading The Long Way Home. It's always hard beginning a story because you have to build from the ground up. Whereas, if you're already halfway, you just keep adding layers. So, many hugs for that. x

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please remember to vote and comment, and if you haven't already, add to your library!

Have a wonderful day, and enjoy the beginning of summer.

xo