The angle, the demon, and the night walker

The Broken Dove and Her New Wing

   Lilly's POV:
   Me and Emme are friends, I met her when my friend Faith showed me to a small group of her friends. There, I met Emme, who I had an advanced English class with. We are both in seventh grade, and in the afore mentioned class, we had turned in a poetry project.

   That day, about a month later, I was called out of class. I was scared, what I had I done, what if she knew that I had pick-poceted one of the students. I was put to ease when, a minute later, half of the class was called to go outside.
   Fear riddled the anxiety ridden nerds. We were in an ADVANCED ENGLISH CLASS, of corse we weren't  the most self confident. Well, exept me, of course. I was only scared for a minute, because she called me to go out first, in the middle of class, anger on her face, I was afraid. I had to sit there, stressed about what I did, or what she was going to ask. After calling out half the class, only 7-9 students were left in their desks. I tried to think of what they all had in common. Nothing. I asked Emme, my friend who sat next to me in class, what she thought was going on. It wasn't known for half of a class to be called out into the hall like that.
   "I donno." Was all she said, looking anxiously between the door, and the group of kids outside.
   "Hold on." I said, as I moved over to ask a few other students. I knew them a little, but it was mostly from when I was doing presentations in class, and they laughed the hardest, or I would be put in their group, and we would work together.
   The results came up negitive. Noone knew why they were there. Noone had done anything to recive punishment. Noone knew anything.
   We were out there for about five minutes, quietly wispering, trying to figure out what was happening. I just stood silently, talking to Emme a little, but mostly staying in my head, thinking if I had heard anything from eaves dropping randomly.
   The teacher finished giving instructions to the last few students in the class before excusing herself to go talk to us. She came out and explained that it was just a joke, she wanted to scare us, when really, she was giving us all a slip to go to a "Poetry Reception" for the project.
   After explaining what was happening, she asked if anyone had any questions. A few questions, if there was a casual-to-formal ratio. What time and day(which was on the slip) and if there would be snacks. I asked a question that I had for a while.
   "Why did you call on me first?"
   "Because I wanted to scare you, I knew you wouldn't have a full blown panic attack in the hallway like everyone else, haha!" She explained then laughed. I was one of her favorite sdudents, not because I  was good, not even close, but because I treated her more as a friend then a teacher. I treated her with respect, but I talked like a friend.
   "Haha." I laughed a little, keeping my cool, making sure people didn't know that I actually was about to have a panic attack.
   Once handed the invention, she told us to act like we were in trouble, hide the slip, go in there, and play along. We all agreed, a harmless prank that would worry the students who didn't get called out, because they didn't turn in their projects, plus, they were the bad students, usually talking and annoying people who were ACTUALLY working.
   We moped in there, heads down, avoiding eye contact. We were good actors. We took our seats silently. The teacher walked to the front of the class, yelling.
   "NOW, I DON'T WANT TO SEE THIS BEHAVIOR AGAIN. AT LEAST SOME PEOPLE KNOW HOW TO BEHAVE." She was good. Probably because she was part of the drama club, but they didn't know that. She seemed to scare the other students more than she did us. As the teacher continued the lesson, some kids passed notes, asking what happened, but we all just declined to answer, just to scare them more.
   I passed a note to Emme.
   "A poetry Reception? I don't think I've been to one, you?"
   "No, it's wierd, I got really scared. I almost had a panic attack. Hehe."
   I notice that the hand writing was dirty chicken scratch, almost as bad as mine, Emme had neat hand writing. I looked over at her hand, and figured out what was going on, her hands were shaking, bad. She fiddled and squeezed her hands, I knew she wanted the shaking to stop.
   I could help, she had really bad anxiety, she probably wanted someone to hold her, to make her know it was alright. Plus, she looked so helpless... defenseless.
. scared.
   I train my eyes on the teacher, making sure she couldn't see our hands, as I moved mine to grab hers, holding it in an attempt to calm her. I felt like a mom calming her child, I felt so proud that I was helping. Little did I know, I was feeling butterflues, not proud. I kept watching the teacher, fake listening.
   I kept my eyes on the teacher, but use my perephreal vision to watch the shaky mess next to me. I felt her taking my hand, unwrapping her hands and re-wrapping them around mine, keeping her head down, focused on my large hand. Her hand is small compared to mine.
   I was content as her warm, rough hands around mine, her shaking lessened, and she squeezed my hand to calm herself before lacing her fingers with mine, and I was full of joy, knowing that she was happy. I saw her smile slightly.
   My broken dove...I will be your wing, and help you fly again.
   I didn't know where in my mind that came from, but I could no longer block it out, and it was perfect.
   I now know, I shouldn't have fed that voice, I should have blocked it out, but it would be much too late before I realize.

   Hey, it's ya boy, uh, skinny penis. I don't think many people will read this, but if you do, please comment if you want more, or I'll put out more without you telling me, your not my dad.
   Maybe I want some encouragement,  maybe not. Anyway, I'm gonna go sleep, because it's 2:00 in the morning. Night peeps.