I sat in front of my laptop that afternoon, wondering why he hadn't sent me a friend request yet. Call me weird, but I expected him to send me one after all that staring. I mean, who stares at someone practically all day, and then doesn't send them a friend request. Not someone like me.
I sighed and scrolled down his page. He hadn't posted in six months, and his last post was "Going to take a break for a while."
The next day at school, I told my friend Darcy about how the 'famous' Michael Clifford had stared at me all Chemistry class.
"Maybe it's because you're ugly", she had joked. At least, I thought she was joking. It's hard to tell when Darcy is being serious or not, she has one of those voices that sound sarcastic when they're not, and not sarcastic when they are.
"It was weird. He also reacted to my accent".
Darcy rolled her eyes. "Sweetie, I'm pretty sure everyone reacts to your accent. It's not every day in Minnesota you find an Irish person". Darcy also likes to call everyone Sweetie, even when they aren't sweet at all. Take Arnold Johnson for example, a total douchebag senior who smells like moth balls. Darcy and Arnold had to work on a school History project together last semester, and out of habit Darcy called him 'Sweetie' almost ten times a class. Arnold thought she liked him, so he asked her for nudes. She changed partners and now they hate each other.
My brother walked past us in the hallway. "Morning, Alex", I waved. "Morning", he answered, hardly paying attention. Alex spent the majority of his time with his girlfriend, Steph, and his other friend Calum. We didn't talk very often. He was still recovering from Luke's death.
"He looks like he hasn't slept in a year" Darcy whispered from beside me. I nodded. Luke was a tall, blonde and quite attractive guy who used to go to our school. He committed suicide around a month ago, after his sister was reportedly murdered. His girlfriend Natalie moved overstates. They published his drawings in a museum. It was all really depressing, really. Death is depressing.
At that particular moment, in which I was thinking about death, I clashed right into the shoulder of the Michael Clifford. It was quite ironic. My nose started bleeding, dripping all over the corridor floor, as I fell on my butt. Pages of paper went flying everywhere.
"Fuck." Michael, the god of swearing, said and threw his hand down to pull me up. I grasped his hand with one, and my other onto my nose. Darcy picked up my books from the floor, as other students started swarming around us. I noticed something different about Michael. His hair, it was red.
"Fight! Fight Fight!" The voice of Arnold Johnson bounced out of the crowd. He stopped at the corner of the crowd and sighed. "Darn it, I thought there was a fight".
"Piss off, Arnold." Darcy had hissed at him. I told you they hate each other.
The three of use left the crowd of students and headed to the nurse, when on the way I thought, the one thing more depressing than death would have to be the life of Arnold Johnson.
Note:
If you want to read Luke's story, its called Vanished and it's in my profile :)
