shattered smile

2

The crisp October air snaps around me as I make my way into the main building for homeroom. We're sorted by last names, so all the sophomores with "R-U" starting their last name are gathered into a classroom for roll call.
32 people.
22 boys.
10 girls.
I have to sit by James Taylor, who doesn't say much because he's always absorbed in his iPad games. A fellow antisocial sophomore.
I'm sliding into my seat just before the bell rings when the teacher, the ancient Mrs. Herb, clears her throat.
"Hem, hem," she coughs softly, "we have a new student today. Miles, please come forward."
I hadn't noticed Miles standing by Mrs. Herbs desk, but he smiles shyly and steps forward.
"Tell the class a little bit about yourself, dear," Mrs. Herb says with her signature shoulder pat.
"Uh, okay. I'm Miles Trent, sophomore obviously. I just moved to Pennsylvania from California," (at this point I hear some gasps, we hardly ever get anyone new who's not from the next town over) "we moved here because my grandfather's getting older, and my mom wanted to be close to him."
"Do you have any hobbies, dear?" Mrs. Herb inquires.
"I like surfing, but that's gonna be kinda hard here. I also like football, I was on my old schools team. I plan to tryout for this team too, I guess. "
I roll my eyes at this- almost every single boy at HillCrest likes football and wants to snag a position on the team, even if it's just a benchwarmer. Unluckily for Miles, the team is run by Blake Annister, resident player, asshole, and all around dick at HillCrest.
"Well, tryouts are next week!" Mrs. Herb claps her hands softly. "Now, why don't you go sit next to Reese, there, hmm?"
At this, everyone turns and looks at me. I duck my head and pull the hood of my jacket up, but I can already hear the whispers.
"Reese? Why would he want to sit by Reese? Why would anyone want to sit by Reese?"
"Ugh, isn't Reese that weird emo chick who sits alone and always listens to, like, rock music? She's practically committed social suicide."
(When I hear this I'm tempted to turn and inform the smart ass that depressed doesn't mean "emo", but I don't because I'd stutter and probably throw up on myself.)
Miles gives me a little wave and sits down on my right.
"Small school, huh? It should be pretty easy to learn my way around." Miles says. I nod and put my earbuds back in, but remember my iPod's dead.
Crap.
I take off my hood, take a deep breath, and say, "Yeah, it's tiny. I could give you a tour if you want." The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I instantly regret them. Why am I offering to give someone who I met less than an hour earlier a tour? We're not even friends, we're barley acquaintances, and I honestly would like to stay out of the hallways where people can see me.
But i already want to befriend him, even though I wouldn't know where to start. He's the first person this school year who's come up to me, made conversation, and been nice. Actually nice, not fake, bitchy nice like the populars are. Something about him makes me feel safe, like I can tell him everything.
(Which of course is completely crazy because no one, I mean no one, knows the full extent of my issues. My parents think anxiety and mild depression, but they have no ideas how deep my depression runs. The only person who knows the full story is me, and here I am, wanting to bare my soul to a stranger. That's insane. Right?)
But he nods and grins his huge grin. "Yeah, that'd be awesome."
~~~~~~~~~~
After giving him a tour of the school, we realize that we have first period English honors together. "You're gonna have to partner up with me, I don't think anyone's gonna partner with the new kid," Miles says as he sits down beside me.
"Oh, I think they will. Whether you want them to or not, the populars are going to be all over you soon enough. You're their new treat. You're cute and that's really all they care about." Too late I realize what I just said. I called him cute?! I just met him! I cannot be developing a crush one someone I a) just met and b) I can't afford to have a crush at all, because I'll get too attached and then he'll realize what a screwed up freak I am and leave me, and then I'll be broken and spiral back down into my depression black hole, just like last time.
Just like last time.
Miles's eyes light up when he realizes what I just said to him. "You think I'm cute?" he's asks, but not in a stuck up way, in a way that sounds like "wow, someone thinks I'm cute!"
"I just meant that the populars would think you were," I mumbled into my textbook. Still beaming, Miles said, "Well, you're pretty, too." Then his face turns a brilliant red. "Uh, I mean, that, uh, you're not bad to look at," he stutters, looking worried I'm going to slap him.
"It's okay. I know what you meant. And thanks," I say, and mean it. This is the first time anyone's called me pretty in years.
Miles's grin could light up the dark side of the moon. "You're welcome."