Hours

2- Monday, May 14th

8:57 AM

My feet crunch against the gravel as I make my way out of the parking lot and into the school. Every small shift, every movement has me jumping, I'm so totally on edge.

The pocket watch had stayed when she disappeared, and in a panic, I had shoved it into my school bag, scared of having it, even more terrified of leaving it alone.

As soon as the angel disappeared, I jumped out of my car, doing a full perimeter check on it but, nope, there wasn't even a scratch. I checked my phone, the internet, even a random calendar I had sitting in my car.

It's not Friday. It's Monday. Five days before the crash.

I'm not going crazy, am I?

I walk into the side of the school, clutching my school bag close to my side as I swerve through kids, trying to get to my locker. Snippets of conversations float past my ears. Freshmen laughing, girls gossiping, nerds... nerding. I shoulder my way through, regretting not taking the two minutes of walking outside it would have taken to get to my locker instead of floating my way through this mess. I unsuccessfully try to block out conversations from other students, but alas, I suppose jokes and guys and she-did-what's are more important than a little quiet.

"So, I figured out how to get Excel to work..." I hear a guy mutter only to hear his buddy egg him on, saying,

"Wow, that took long enough, genius."

"Well? What do you think?" A girl exclaims to her friend, who is standing there with an arm looped around a boy, whom she kisses on the cheek after she says,

"I mean, he's cute, but I already have a boyfriend."

"Oh, my God, I hate him!" One girl says dramatically to her group of friends, all of which nod adamantly at this statement. "Like, why bother being a teacher?"

I roll my eyes, still trudging through the long hallways when I hear this,

"Well? We're waiting." I stop in my tracks, turning at the sound of her voice. Alisa Marshal. I turn the corner, staying close to the wall, and glimpse her head of dull mauve hair. She died it fuchsia sometime last year and hasn't bothered to recolour it since. Then again, given that half of her head is shaved down to half an inch of hair, and the other half hangs in uncared-for waves, I doubt she cares. As I make my way past, I see her maybe-boyfriend/accomplice, Andy Jones, lurking beside her, and I feel bad for the poor kid they've cornered. Fun Fact: Don't mess with Alisa. 

"I told you." A boy growls, presumably the one they've entrapped. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You so sure of that, Micheal?" Andy leans in, looking super cool because he wears his sunglasses inside, obviously, and lets his dark hair fall over his eyes. But that isn't what stops me. It's the name. The boy's name.

Micheal.

I slink down to my locker, mere meters away, and hear a crunch as a body collides with the metal of the locker. I stiffen but don't turn. Like I said, don't mess with Alisa. Or Andy, for that matter. They're above it all. They don't do well in school; don't bother trying, yet they haven't been held back at all. The teachers may just be afraid of them.

I struggle with my school bag for a moment before pulling out my binders for my morning classes; English and Accounting. As I do so, I check to see if my report, which had in my school bag on the day of the crash, is still in my bag. My heart rate quickens.

It's not in there. Which means... It's all real. All of this. The angel, the time travel. I handed that report in on the 11th, got it back on the 18th and was bringing it home when the crash happened. On Monday I wouldn't have gotten it back yet, meaning...

It's real.

I close my locker silently, blood pounding in my ears.

I keep my eyes in front of me as I walk out, but I can't help but notice Micheal sitting on the ground in front of his locker, wincing. I pass him and freeze.

If all this is real, that means that Micheal really did die. Meaning that the angel did visit me, meaning that... I need to help him. I take a deep breath, steel myself, and turn around.

"Hey..." I blurt lamely, fists closed at my sides. Slowly, I unclench them, allowing my shoulders to relax. Micheal looks up at me from the ground, a surprised expression on his face, as if he had been expecting me to walk right past him. "Are you-?"

"Fine. Thanks." He deadpans dryly, glaring at me. He rises slowly, and I stand there awkwardly, not sure what to say.

"Are you sure?" I ask finally, "Because that looked pretty-"

"Oh, you saw, did you?" He growls. "Because it looked like you were doing everything in your power to ignore that." He turns away, but I hear him mutter under his breath, "Just like everyone else."

"Um, well..." I say, wanting desperately to leave but knowing that I can't. I hover behind him silently, swaying slowly from side to side. I clear my throat before speaking, and I notice how his shoulders stiffen, squaring. "I'm-" I begin, but he cuts me off again.

"Look, cut the crap, Kayla." He snaps, turning. I wince as he says my name, knowing it means that he has known about me for a while, whereas I had never heard his name before in my life. His blue eyes burn with anger, and I involuntarily take a step back. I notice how ruffled his mid-length black hair is, and, unbelievably, I find myself with the urge to brush it out of his face. "Whatever you heard is wrong, I don't have any." He says, voice near a growl.

I blink at him, confused. "Any...?"

"Jesus, are you stoned already?" He groans, exasperated. "Drugs, you idiot, drugs."

I make a face, taken aback by his insult. "I am not a stoner!" I protest, suddenly angered. I see something flick across his face before I can catch it, but I plot on, fuelled by the insult. "I don't want any drugs, I'm not 'chasing my next high', or whatever, I-"

"What do you want then?" He stares me in the eye, face expressionless, and for the first time, I could believe that this boy could press his foot to the gas pedal without hesitation. He can't believe that anyone would just want to talk to him, I realize in grief.

My mouth opens but no sound comes out. He nods, glaring at me one final time before stalking off down the near-empty hallway, heading to class. Within moments he's gone, absorbed by the silent walls of metal lockers, unnoticed like he was never there in the first place.