Silence.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She’s nervous.

I can always tell, by the way she puts everything in neat piles on her desk; the way she stares at me with blank eyes. Eyes that make her look dead and gone. Well, I know she knows that she’s looking at me.

She always does.

I can always tell if she got a good grade because she stares back at me with gleaming eyes. I always smile back. I don’t have a sign for when she gets a bad grade; but if she does, I can tell. I guess it would be the opposite, sad eyes. I’ve actually seen those eyes before, about one year ago in algebra class. I remember her wearing a lot of makeup like she was hiding something.

It breaks my heart, though. We were best friends all throughout kindergarten and to the 5th grade. But popularity came into play– well that and some other hurtful things.

Her name is Ryan Monday, and she really hurt me. It was the beginning of 6th grade, and Ryan was trying to get into the popular crowd. As for me, I couldn’t care less. This meant I wasn’t on board, so she got in without me. She went to little parties, and she had a boyfriend. Then she humiliated me in front of the whole school. For so long, her face never showed a sign of regret, never.

“Mr. Sanchez, I do not think it is really necessary to give you tests. You always get a hundred percent.” My teacher says while giving me my graded test. That’s another thing; in the eyes of the “popular group” I’m a nerd, a geek, and a nobody.

“Thanks,”

He walks away with a smile. My teacher never smiles; he’s a very gloomy man. He reminds me of a vampire mixed with vicious snakes. Like a vicious vamp snake, if that makes sense.

It’s the end of class, and in between every period the, “poplars” always have tiny meetings. Ryan is standing next to on – yes one – of her on and off boyfriends, Chad. They are on right now. Across from me is Richie –the other one. They are off right now –They are leaning on a locker, my locker evidently. Yes, sadly my locker is surrounded by many of the preps and the jocks.

They leave. Finally!

I whisper to myself, “Now I can get my books then get to cl–”

Paint! Purple and white paint (our school colors, our mascot is purple lightning) splash my whole body. How did Richie even do that? I was watching him the whole time. Then it comes to me; it wasn’t just him; the whole group was around my locker. The whole group are laughing at me now. Even Ryan, she turned so much (I consider her group the dark side) that she doesn’t care if I get hurt. She doesn’t care.

****

Funerals are sad, especially if it’s someone who was close to you, and looking at all the faces in front of me feels ludicrous. I can’t move. All I do is watch these ludicrous faces. When Ryan’s large family – her parents are still good friends of my dad.– pass by: I still stare.

Ryan stops and walks up to me. She takes both of my hands. “Calvin, I’m sorry” she says reassuringly. I still stand still, but I also admire her bronze hair and bright turquoise eyes looking even brighter matched with her black dress. She hugs me and puts my hands on her hips. “I know how you feel.” she whispers.

She walks me to my car. I hold her hand tight; I hope not too tight. All I know is that I can’t let go. She rides with my family and me to the cemetery. And yes, she does know how I feel. In 4th grade, her grandfather died. To cry and to talk about it, she came to me. She could have gone to her siblings; but with five of them, she wouldn’t be able to get one word in. Her parents would have been good; but her mom was grieving her own way, and she’s scared of her dad. So she came to me; I was her rock. Now she’s my rock.

When we got to the grave site, I couldn’t get myself to leave the car. “I can’t do this. I can’t look at her grave again,” I say still in the car. Ryan my dad and the rest of my family are already out.

“Calvin, it’s hard for all of us,” my uncle says.

I still can’t get myself out.

“Calvin,” Ryan’s sweet voice, “just to see her one more time will make you feel better.” She offers her hand and I take it. “Trust me.”

We all walk to where her grave will be. I feel lost, like I’m the one who’s dead. I should be the one; it was my fault anyway. She was speeding because of me. We were going down that road because of me.

It still hurts. Why did I have to wake up?

I break away from my thoughts. “Now, would her son like to say something?” someone asks. I’m not sure who; I’m still a little dazed. But no, I don’t want to say anything, so they lower her grave.

I have to go home, so I let go of Ryan’s hand. She starts to walk away, but then she comes back and kisses me on the cheek and whispers, “I’m very sorry.” Then she leaves.

****

It’s three in the morning, and I wake up crying. I roll myself in my blankets, and I think. I think about everything – like my mom and her life. And everything she used to say: smile, stay true to yourself and “Troubles.” The troubles are what my mom called the popular kids. Then Ryan comes to mind – the way she held my hands, and how she kissed me on the cheek. But she did hurt me, in a bad way. I start to cry even more. It’s a loud but stifled cry.

I know that I never cried this much in my life before, and I never regretted not crying at a funeral. But now I do. I should’ve cried. There’s nothing wrong with showing a little pain.

A/N- I updated kinda quickly, so yeah. Hope you guys liked it.