The Silver Heart

6

Lunch was always an interesting affair at my high school. I didn't exactly have a set group to sit with, because Alex was always at her chess club and I had no other real friends. Today was no different; in fact, it was worse than most days. The hallways were crowded; there weren't any abandoned corners for me.

Eventually, however, I managed to find a spot behind the greenhouses outside. It was a little cold, but better than sitting within the direct view of people who either didn't know I existed or- if they did know that I existed- preferred to forget.

Sometimes I wondered if I could sit with Brad. But he'd already made it abundantly clear to me that he wanted to use his free time at school for himself- and anyways, I was too shy to subject myself to Peter Goldman's teasing again. So I collapsed on the slightly damp grass and leaned against a tree to shield myself from most of the wind.

Truth to tell, I didn't really have much of my lunch left. I had an annoying habit of eating parts of it during class in the mornings; it gave me something to do with my hands while I was trying to focus on the lesson. Today the only thing left was my sandwich and a handful of pretzels.

That was alright. I didn't like lunch because of the opportunity to eat; I liked it because it gave me an opportunity to get away from everyone. Large groups of people had always scared me.

The sandwich and the pretzels were gone very quickly. Once they were, I pulled my latest project from my backpack. It was inside what was supposed to be my English notebook but which only had maybe three pages of actual notes.

The drawing I had started in biology was slightly smudged, but that was alright. A couple of quick, smooth lines with my pencil soon corrected the problem, and I continued to add tiny details to my version of Ginny Weasley's face until the bell rang.

I stood up from the grass with a sigh. There were dark green stains all over the back of my jeans - not, of course, that anyone at school cared or noticed, but I knew Mom would once I got home. She probably also wouldn't be too happy about the new doodles that had appeared on my wrists and ankles.

I had made it across the soccer field and was almost inside the theater lobby doors when I heard a familiar voice: Brad's. I risked a quick look to my right. Yeah, it was Brad alright - I'd recognize that tall frame and dark hair anywhere. He was standing underneath one of the young trees which the school had planted a couple of years ago and he was talking on the phone.

I knew that I should probably head inside, that Brad and I weren't supposed to talk when we were in school. But this seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask him about what'd happened in class earlier that day - it had really hurt me.

So, tentatively, I approached him. But I wished I hadn't when I heard what he was saying to the person on the other end of the line.

"Katie, you're hilarious. How does blonde hair make you ugly?" There was a pause, during which I assumed that the aforementioned Jess was explaining herself.

She clearly hadn't done it well enough, though, because Brad just laughed at her. "You're gorgeous and you know it. Stop fishing for compliments." Pause. "I'm kidding! I swear. I mean, I'm kidding about the fishing for compliments part. But you really are gorgeous. Anyways, I'll talk to you in chemistry in just a sec. I think that's our best subject, don't you?"

It felt like a sucker punch to the gut. I mean, I knew that Brad had other friends who were girls. But this girl- Katie- sounded like much more than a friend, and I couldn't help but wonder why it was that she got to talk to Brad while they were both at school - that she even got to talk to him on the phone when they weren't right next to each other.

Brad had called me almost every day when we first started hanging out. He didn't do that anymore, though.

And Katie had gotten to go on a date with him, too. Clearly he had been happy about it.

He'd called me beautiful. Was that better than being gorgeous or not? Did he even like me at all? Was I just getting played for a fool?

A part of me wanted to walk up to Brad and slap him across his smug two-timing face; the rest of me knew that I was nowhere near courageous enough to do anything like that. And so I turned and walked away, biting my lip hard and trying to keep the tears swimming in my eyes from falling. I didn't know if he heard when the door that led back inside slammed shut, and I didn't know if he saw that it was me who had slammed it. But the stupid, hopeful part of me hoped that he had.

Maybe he was sorry?