Tammi Lyn [DISCONTINUED]

vii

Time passed and before I knew it, I was already almost sixteen years old.

I've grown taller and my voice was deeper, as expected during puberty. My hair was styled into one of the popular hairstyles for boys these days, as I begged my mom to let me do whatever with it.

Tammi? Don't worry puberty was nice to her too.

Her height was just right for girls her age, and her hair was shorter, unlike before which was super long. Nowadays her hair reached just a few inches past her shoulders. Oh, her glasses changed too. The frames narrow and a classic black. Not that you'd be interested.

Lately, my concern for Tammi grew. She always looked so tired and worn out, like she hadn't been sleeping for the past two years.

Her hair lost its vibrancy and it was starting to worry me. It was usually in a neat hairdo, be it in a headband or a messy ponytail. But nowadays? It just hung limply, like all the color and life was drained from it. Call me a stalker or what but it didn't seem normal at all.

I'll take myself as a concrete example so you'll have a basis of comparison.

I have eyebags, but mine were due to staying up late doing homework and watching videos to pass the time. I was tired yeah, but I still caught some sleep during the weekend.

Tammi? Dark circles were under her eyes. Yeah, they're normal eyebags but it didn't look like just that any more. Sometimes she sported a bruise on her arm. Other times I'd catch her limping. Most days she was absent.

And I noticed she never hung with her classmate back when we were thirteen, as if they fell apart, just like us.

We shared the same Geometry class and she was seated at the back, invisible as ever. People didn't pay attention to her anymore, and sometimes it brought a pain in my chest to see her looking so alone.

I chanced a glance her way, and was a little surprised to see her sleeping. Our teacher didn't care much, but if she gets caught, or worse - if she's caught by one of the jocks, then it'll be bad.

Acting impulsively, I raised my hand and the whole class turned to me.

"Yes Mr. Ross?" the teacher asked with a raised brow.

"Tammi doesn't feel well so I'll take her to the clinic."

With that, I stood and walked to her, grabbing ahold of her wrist - which was unbearably thin - and hauled her to her feet, bidding a hasty goodbye to the teacher.

Snickers sounded all around us, most probably our classmates making fun of us, but I didn't care.

I started to drag her away from prying eyes, passing classrooms and closed doors alike, keeping my gaze steady and my stance purposeful.

I felt her trying to tug and pull away, but by instinct I held tighter, which made her yelp in pain.

Then I stopped, whirling on her, only to receive a smack on the face.

My mouth opened in a surprised gasp, and I let go to hold my throbbing cheek.

I felt a little disoriented, but Tammi was just standing there holding her wrist, a guarded look in her eye.

I gave myself some time to recover from the whiplash, noticing just now that we reached a deserted hallway.

The lights on this hallway were dim, and the floor-to-celing windows overlooked the large garden our school maintained. Birds chirped outside, and a calm washed over us to ease our tension.