"Sylvie is not a magician. " S. P. Whitman tells me as we are walking to our houses.
"Okay then, what is she? An alien? A superhero? "
"Well she does look like Opal Silica."
"Did you know that the opal stone is mixed with something and silica?"
"You're a nerd."
"Yeah I know." I hung my head down in shame. "How have you been? We haven't been talking lately."
"I've been going through a lot of things and it just has been affecting me badly."
"What's wrong?"
"Can I trust you?"
"Yes. Hold on let's go somewhere more... secure." We walked to my backyard and I showed her my *treehouse that my dad built Dominic when we were 8. Dominic was always nice enough to let me use it. Dominic always brought Abbie up here.
S. P. Whitman climbed up first and then I did. I pinky promise S. P. that I was never going tell anyone about this. She told me everything. She told me about how a girl betrayed her, two guys played her and how she misses her best friend, Arden. She spoke, I listened.
When she was done I told her about my life. I told her about my narcissistic mother. I told her about my depression issues. I told her about the letters and she wanted to see them. I brought them to her.
She read one out loud, "I wonder do you think I am creepy? Do you think I am stalkerish? If you do I might get a little weepy. I don't know if I should tell you, I wish I knew how you would react, so I know for a fact. That you definitely don't like me. I'm sorry I put you through my bad poems. Maybe if you knew how I truly felt about you, you'd feel the same way." She paused. "These poems are really good."
"I know right. I wanna meet whoever is doing this. Aren't poems supposed to rhyme though?"
"Hmmm. Poems like these aren't supposed to have a rhyme, they are supposed to have feeling."
We talked more, we did homework and when it got dark she went home. I was left there alone, in the dark, smiling like an idiot. I missed her after she was gone. I wanted her back with me. I want to call her mine. I want to treat her like gold and show her off like she's all I have.
*view picture. Picture is of the treehouse.
YOU ARE READING
The Leftovers
Teen FictionI had become a leftover. I am nothing more than a plate of food he forgets about, And soon he will dispose of me. He comes to me when he is hungry for love, I feed him hoping he'll stay, But he leaves. Because that's all I am to him, Just a leftover.
