Ch. 1

We are all lined up at one end of the court in the Ambeveldt High School gymnasium. The situation feels very much like we are people in the military having our posture and beds checked for neatness. I'm not really sure what that feels like, but I have seen movies and it seems fitting enough. Coach Williams paces back and forth in front of us slowly, studying us like that of a lion in a cage just waiting for the right moment. He would be the drill sergeant that would never stop.

"Alright," he spurts out suddenly making a few kids jump, his booming voice carrying throughout the gym. "Today, I've been instructed to give you guys a workout." He pauses in his pacing and straightens up his muscular body. "To an extent. As much as it would entertain me, I can't keep you guys here all night running suicides." He makes his way to the side of the court, stops, and turns back around to face us. "That reminds me: suicides…"

All of us groan.

"Okay," Coach continues. "You guys know the drill. It's whistle to whistle. You start at the first whistle and don't stop until you hear it again. Down and back, go." He blows the whistle that hangs around his neck.

We react to the sound, running to the free throw line, touching the line, running back, heading to half court, back, and so on, making our way down the court. As I am going back to start my second set, I notice several other kids already halfway on their third. I have to laugh inside. Jocks. They always seem to want to show off and push their limit. Why not pace yourself? We are going to be doing this for almost an hour so why waste energy? They of all people should know that, right?

I finish my second set, touching my fingers to the baseline, and start on my third. My best friend, Lucy, jogs up beside me and we run together. "Hi," she greets.

"Hey," I respond.

We touch the line.

"This sure enough blows, doesn't it?" she breathes.

I glance over at her. Her curly, blond hair pulled back into a ponytail bounces around the back of her head. Her bright, blue eyes are focused on the path she is aimed for. I focus back on my own path. "Yeah, I guess it does, but hey, it could be worse."

"Oh?" she questions in that honeydew tone of hers and we both touch the line.

"Yeah, would you want your stomach to burn like fire when you wake up tomorrow morning from doing an endless supply of crunches?"

She cringes. "Ouch. No, I guess not…"

"I didn't think so."

"Oh, hey, have you heard?"

We touch the line again.

"What?" I ask.

"There's a new kid coming."

As we jog in silence for a minute, I take the time to wager with myself that I probably know what's going on in her head right now. "I wonder what he looks like…" she says almost to herself.

Bingo! I just won a large amount of imaginary money. "I knew it! You hope he's cute so you can get your paws on him, don't you?"

"Well…" she drifts off blushing.

I let a smug smile creep onto my face as again we touch our fingers to the scuffed wooden floor.

"Just because my world revolves around boys and beauty doesn't mean I'm a bad person, Angie," she states.

There's another moment of silence as we run and touch the lines, our heavy breathing and the footfalls of the other students the only sound. Coach Williams watches us intently, arms crossed over his broad chest. I'm sure he's giddy somewhere deep inside.

"Does it?" she asks finally.

"No. It's just that many people don't obsess about those things, but you're not the only one. Everyone's world has to revolve around something I guess."

She smiles her cute, little smile.

As I am at my locker getting my books for my next class, Science, a familiar person makes their way up to me. It's Tom, another one of my closest friends.

"So," he starts, leaning coolly against the set of lockers watching me gather my books. "How's thinking about it working out?"

I sigh internally knowing he means the matter of me going out with him. I shut my locker door and start heading to class with him right at my side. "Tom, I don't think I can do it."

"Well, why not? Here, let me get those for you," he says grabbing my books.

"Thank you."

"Mm-hmm…"

"Tom, I've told you why, over and over…"

"I know, but Angel baby-"

"Look, maybe one day, but not anytime soon, okay?" I find myself straining to keep my irritation from showing. This subject is not one I really want to discuss right now or for quite some time. I just think it's something that's been beaten to a bloody pulp. He keeps asking me and I keep giving him the same answer. It's just not something I can deal with right now even though I'm pretty much being forced to. Once Tom's set on a notion, he never lets it go.

"Fine," he grumbles, but just as quickly as his good mood dims, it brightens again. A new idea has formed in his head. For a second I think I can actually see the light bulb go off above his messy ducktail styled hairdo. I suddenly realize that this is probably one of the reasons why some people say that he reminds them of Kenickie from the movie Grease: his hair. I can see it too sometimes. Tom does resemble the guy somewhat; he's just not as rough around the edges. "Hey, do you want to go grab something for dinner tonight?"

"Hmm, I'll think on it."

"Why do you always have to think on things?" he complains.

"It's me, Tom. If you want me, you're going to have to deal with it."

We stop at the door of my class and he hands me back my books. "Alright," he sighs, obviously frustrated. "But back to you and me-"

I roll my eyes.

"You do know what they say about angels, don't you?" he asks without acknowledging my gesture.

"What?"

"They can't break a person's heart."

"Tom, that's your saying," I say smiling. "Not everyone believes that. Now go to class."

"Okay," he says kissing my cheek and I do my best not to cringe away. "See you later."

I turn and walk into the classroom and am immediately greeted by my little group of friends. "Look who the angels flew in! It's Angel!"

I smile and shake my head at the cheesy introduction as I head over to them. They do it almost every time I walk into Science class. Why? I've been asking myself this for quite a while. I take a seat in a desk that has my friends Jimmy in front of me, Lucy to Jimmy's right, Sean to my left, and Greg behind me. They all turn to face me. "Wow, I'm the center of attention now, aren't I?" I say.

"You and Lucy both," Sean quips, running a hand through his golden, spiked hair.

Jimmy sits there in his desk observing us quietly as he always does. Being talkative just isn't one of his outstanding personality traits.

"Have you seen the new guy yet?" Lucy questions impatiently looking into her favorite powder-blue compact.

"Sorry," I say.

"I'm wondering if he's just not going to show up."

I merely shrug. I'm not as into boys as Lucy is so I don't care one way or another about this new guy, but I do understand her frustration. It's her personality so she has room to snip when it comes to "dire" matters such as these.

"Did Tom ask you again?" Sean interrogates me.

I cast him a knowing look.

"Hey, all I'm saying is I just think he needs to give that dream up."

The sound of Lucy's compact smashing on the linoleum floor makes us jump. We look and find that it is in pieces. All of us shift our gazes to her, but she does not return any of ours. She's staring at a guy we've never seen before. Her eyes follow his lean figure as he silently walks over to her and takes the seat next to hers. She slowly turns to me with a look that is pained with shyness. The strange thing is: Lucy is never shy.

The guy is definitely hot. He looks similar to that of a statue. In other words: he seems perfect. His light skin is flawless and his short-sleeved t-shirt hints at a chiseled body…

Mr. Hannigan, our teacher, clears his throat and instantly has everyone's attention. He's the type of teacher where if he doesn't have your undivided attention, it can turn out to be a very bad day. He gives everyone exactly one warning and that is at the beginning of each school year. After that, that's it, no more. If you break the rules, like I said, it can turn out to be a very bad day. It's been said he assigns five page essays on a topic he chooses and expects it done the next day along with some form of presentation such as a Power Point or poster.

I sit there with the rest of the class and pretend to be caught up in his lecture as he writes on the whiteboard. The class is only a short period out of the entire day so we students decide to take the lesser of two evils and just bear with it as boring as it is. Who wants to stay up all night writing about the unification of gravitation with quantum chromodynamics?

I haven't noticed that I have been daydreaming until my attention is caught by the words: "Mr. Miller? We all know Miss Bennington is a lovely young woman…"

My eyes jerk from Mr. Hannigan to the new kid. Mr. Hannigan had announced him as Duane Miller. He stares at our teacher with dark eyes. "But please," Mr. Hannigan continues. "…pay attention to the lesson."

Duane gives a small nod, his face expressionless.

"This is your first and last warning, Mr. Miller. Be glad you get a warning. You're new so…"

Again, Duane nods and Mr. Hannigan turns back to the board and continues his lecture.

I glance around to try and figure out what has just happened. Sean catches my eye and I look at him for an explanation. He catches onto my confusion and starts scribbling on a piece of paper. He passes it to me. It reads:

That new kid has been staring at you from the moment class started. He never looked away. Weird if you ask me.

I look back at Sean and he gives me a nod. I peek over at Duane. His steely gaze is locked on me and it makes my skin prickle. I turn back to Sean and he merely shrugs. When I look back in Duane's direction, I find him concentrating on the whiteboard. This is definitely weird.

Something else catches my attention. It's Lucy. She is gawking at me. I know what is going through her mind and I shake my head to try and disprove her thoughts.

She simply flips her blond curls, faces back toward the board, and continues to pretend to listen to the lecture. She crosses her legs and continues to pretend to scribble notes down with her pink feather pen as well. I get the message that this silent discussion is over. I sigh and continue to pretend to pay attention with the rest of the class.

Not nearly soon enough, the bell rings. I need to talk to Lucy. I start to try and get her attention, but just as I look up from gathering my papers together, I see her hurry out the door. Duane is already gone. Grumbling to myself, I gather my books and head out of the room also.

At the end of the day, I finally catch up to Lucy. She's made an effort to avoid me ever since Science. Things get so carried away with her and so easily, too. It's okay, though. It's just another part of who she is, a little princess drama queen, but the good thing is that she's usually open to explanations so at least I have a good chance of fixing things. "We need to talk," I state.

"I'll say," she shoots back.

"I wasn't flirting with him!"

"Sure, sure," she mutters and keeps walking.

"I swear, Lu-Lu! Angel's oath," I say holding up my right hand.

She stops and stands there for a minute or two, turning this over in her mind. I can understand her reason for being defensive so I can't help but forgive her. Finally, she complies. "Fine."

I let my hand drop. "Sean said that he'd been staring at me since class had started."

"Everyone couldn't help but notice," she spits, anger still venom on her tongue.

"Well I didn't notice! I don't pay attention to things like that. I just don't care…unless it's a really creepy situation. Then, I may need to care."

We've stopped in the lobby and are waiting for the guys. Lucy is slowly calming down. It just takes a few of minutes. When I think she is finally close to being calm, I decide to ask, "You want him bad, don't you?"

She jerks her head up to look me. "Did you not see how beautiful he was?!"

"I'm not as set on that as you are."

She gives me an understanding look and we start heading to the main doors when we spot the guys walking towards us. When they do catch up to us, Sean blurts, "Angel's got a crush!"

"What?" Tom all but shouts.

"I do not!" I argue glaring at Sean.

Sean and his mouth. What a destructive combination. You'd figure we'd be used to it by now since we've all been together since kindergarten, but he is always coming up with new ways to surprise us fluttering about the way he does and causing chaos. I do believe stating the obvious and saying things that no one else will is his favorite pastime; that and annoying Lucy to death. I remember in second grade he told our teacher that everyone thought she wore a wig but he didn't think so and thought that if it really was her normal hair that it was pretty wicked. If it were any other kid, they would have been scolded big time, but Sean has learned that he can charm his way out of just about anything with his goofy smile and persuasive blue eyes.

"Sorry," Sean says. "It's more like a crusher or is it a crushee…which one?"

"I think it might be crushee," Greg states. "We'll ask Mr. Johnson tomorrow in English."

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Jimmy trying to fight a smile. He always gets a kick out of the messes Sean stirs up.

Tom is at my side now and is determined to get to the bottom of this even though there's nothing to get to the bottom of. So, he's pretty much acting ridiculous for nothing, just like usual. "What's this all about, Angel baby?"

"Shh, guys," I command as we near the doors.

There, leaning against the wall, is Duane. We are silent and stare at him as we pass him on our way out. He does the same.

Once outside, Tom starts into it. "Was that him? I should go back and knock some sense into him for looking at you that way!"

"Oh, no you don't," I say. "Overprotective much? Tom, we aren't even together, remember?"

He mumbles under his breath.

There is a moment of silence as we stand there on the sidewalk, but leave it to Sean to fix that problem. "You know, it was kind of like he was undressing you with his eyes, Angel."

We all groan and head to Tom's car.

"What?" Sean questions innocently lagging behind us.

As we reach Tom's red '63 Ford convertible, Tom suddenly blurts out, "Why not?!"

I see the rest of the gang roll their eyes and hear groans muttered. I close my own eyes and try to respond steadily. "Tom, you know why."

"Look, Angie-"

"Because of Doyle!" I exclaim.

There is a temporary standstill while the others process what has just happened. For a moment it's as if everyone is afraid to breathe even. Tom runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair and exhales like he's been punched in the gut.

Ever since a drunk driver killed my boyfriend, Doyle, while he and some friends were heading home from a football game, things have been pretty tense. Everyone's kind of afraid to talk about him or even bring up his name because they're afraid of how it will affect me. I haven't really gotten over it. I haven't really worked to. I don't visit his grave mostly because of the nightmares I've had and I'm simply just afraid; afraid that unbearable pain will come back if I do. I think I've managed pretty well, though; just doing what I'm doing a.k.a. hiding.

Sean rushes over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay? Are you okay? Man, I can't believe- He shouldn't have- Are you okay?"

I nod. "I'm fine."

He steps back. The gang is staring at Tom. His brown eyes look up from the asphalt and at me. "Angie, I'm sorry. I- I wasn't thinking-"

"Just take me home, please," I request quietly just wanting to be out of here.

He responds by giving me a silent nod and climbing into the driver's seat of his car.

"Bye, Angie," Lucy says.

"See you, Angel," Sean, Greg, and Jimmy say in unison.

"Bye, guys," I reply getting into the passenger seat of Tom's car.

The drive home is quiet. It's awkward. There's tension in the air and it's almost suffocating it's so thick. It's nearly paralyzing, but finally, finally, we arrive at my house. Tom pulls up into my driveway and turns the car off. We sit there for a minute, a very awkward minute that feels more like a horrible, tedious hour. Eventually, he turns his body to face me, but stares at the radio dials. "Angel, I am so sorry about earlier. I never intended to bring that up. It was stupid of me and I should've thought about your feelings first. I'm sorry."

I remain silent, picking at a hole in the knee of my jeans. I just really want to go and hide out in my room and be just alone.

"So, uh, I guess you don't want to go on that date later."

"I don't think so. Sorry."

"No, I understand," he sighs. "Well, I guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah," I respond reaching for the door handle. I get out and walk to the front porch of my bungalow after closing the car door. I pause as I unlock the front door, looking back and watching as Tom pulls out of the driveway and drives off.

I open the door and am met by Max, my two-and-a-half year old Golden Retriever. "Hey, boy," I say as he greets me by licking my hands and wagging his tail. I step inside the house, closing and locking the door behind me. Max follows me through the dining room, to the den, and into the kitchen.

I walk to the back door in the laundry room set just off to the side of the kitchen, unlock the door, and let Max out. While he does his business, I wash my hands in the kitchen sink, fetch a bag of Fritos from the pantry and a can of Mountain Dew from the fridge. I go to Max's cabinet next to the stove, grab a rawhide bone, and let Max back inside. "Good boy," I praise and hand him his bone, which he takes eagerly.

I close the back door and lock it back. Since both my parents work, the rules are as follows: let Max out when I get home and keep the doors locked.

I tread upstairs with my snacks and Max follows me with his bone in his mouth. We walk down the hall passing the guest room and the bathroom, and enter my room on the right. I step across my hardwood floor, take a seat on the small shag rug that lay at the side of my four-poster bed and rest my back against the bed frame. Max lays down beside me and chews on his bone. I sit the chips on one side of me and pop open my Mountain Dew. I take a long sip before I sit it beside the chips.

I sigh. I don't have any homework tonight. I don't have anything I have to do at all. Maybe I should release some of this pent up tension and sadness that's been nagging at me and simply have a good cry, but then my feelings would be running rampant. That's just not something I usually let happen. I haven't cried since the day that I had gotten the news of Doyle's death. That was a little bit over a year ago…

I look up in front of me at my dresser mirror where I have placed several pictures of the gang. There is a picture of Lucy looking into her powder-blue compact, not paying any attention, and trying to avoid the tension that floats around in our little group.

There's a picture of Tom trying to act cool like always.

There's a picture of Sean and I sticking our tongues out at the camera. Sean has his eyes crossed and it makes me smile a little bit. He's such a character…

There's a picture of Jimmy and Tom wearing black sunglasses with punk looks on their faces. It's probably the most outgoing thing Jimmy's ever done and it did take some convincing to get him to do it because he's just so shy. In the end, it really did make a good picture.

There's a picture of Tom kissing my cheek. Why I have it, I don't know.

There's a picture of the whole gang minus one. Tom and I are in the middle. He has his arm around me. Lucy is behind Tom and me poking her head in between ours. Sean and Greg are on either side of her and Jimmy is sitting back on his heels down in front of Tom and me.

Then there are the pictures of Doyle and me…

There is one where Doyle has his arm around me and is smiling his charming smile at the camera. I have my head leaned against his shoulder and am smiling at the camera, too, completely content, no worries at all.

Then, there is the picture that is my favorite, but at the same time it tears me up inside: the picture of Doyle and me sharing a beautiful kiss. He has his arms wrapped firmly, lovingly around me. I cling to him, hoping it will never end.

I find a lump has begun to form in my throat. I find myself wishing that I could reverse time back to that time. I wish that I could feel his arms around me once more, making me feel safe and secure, keeping any pain away. All I felt with him was cared for and truly happy. I haven't felt that since the day he died and it's nearly been torture. I just wish I could take in the comforting scent of him again. I wish that I could feel his sweet, soft lips pressed against mine just one more time…

I feel a hot tear roll down my cheek, leaving a cool, wet track of where it has been and soon, I am bawling my eyes out not only from the pain of losing the one I ever truly loved, but from the frustration caused by the tension in the gang. Ever since Doyle passed away, things have simply gone downhill for us.

I remember back to near the end of that same school year that Doyle passed away. Tom and Lucy were together, but they started getting into arguments more and more often. Finally, they had enough of it and broke up. It was hard enough for Lucy, being in love with Tom and having it end. She didn't need her ex falling for her best friend added on. Now, there's constant tension among us. There's fear of saying the wrong thing. There's fear of doing the wrong thing. While it's an obvious problem, no one in the group really knows just how serious it is and no one dares to acknowledge it. Just trying to keep things from falling apart is so exhausting.

Pain and frustration rack my body as I sob, making me tremble. It's been so long since I've just let myself feel any unblocked emotion. I feel as if this is the end. It feels as if the blackness that seems to surround me will just keep coming for me and never recede. It feels as if there is nothing for me. I feel hopeless when I wonder if there will be any happiness here; if things will ever be fixed and like they used to be.

I end up crying for quite some time before I begin to calm down. I actually find myself really relieved that I have released some of the pent up emotion I've held onto for so long. Max has his head in my lap. I know he wonders why I've been crying and I know he doesn't like to see me sad. I stroke his head. "I'm fine now," I whisper and he just looks up at me with those adorable puppy eyes of his.

A familiar tune begins playing and Max's ears perk. I realize it is my cell phone and reach down in my pocket to fish it out. I flip it open and put it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Oh my goodness, Angie!" the voice on the other line squeals making me pull the phone away from my ear a bit. "Have you been crying?"

It is Lucy.

"No," I lie.

"Angie, don't lie to me."

Do I really sound that nasally? Maybe she just knows me that well. I'm not surprised. After all, we have spent nearly our whole lives together. "Sorry."

"Was it about…Doyle?"

"Yeah."

"Oh hon, I'm sorry."

I remain quiet. It just feels like it takes so much effort to talk right now, like it's physically exhausting.

"You know, I haven't seen you cry since the day-"

"I haven't," I interrupt quickly.

"Angie, it's not good to just block it off. Crying every once in while is healthy. It won't kill you or make you melt."

I'm silent once more. I don't really know what to say and don't have anything to say. I just want to be left alone for a while.

"Do I need to come over there?"

"No, you really don't have to."

"I think I should." she insists.

I really don't feel like arguing. The strain it seems to present feels like it might actually kill me, so I give up. "Okay, fine, whatever you think is best."

"Awesome! I'll be over in a jiff!"

I sigh and flip the phone closed.

I lean my head back against the side of my bed. I know what Lucy's plan is. She doesn't want me to mope. I won't! Just give me a minute and I'll be fine! I groan. Knowing Lucy, she'll bring a cake, party favors, and streamers. Maybe she'll even bring a small car with nine clowns in it. I shudder. No, she won't do the clowns. She knows I hate clowns.

I tilt my head and look at the chips and soda I have barely touched. I start to get up. Max lifts his head from my lap and stands. I look in my mirror to see how bad the damage is. I get a tissue and blot my eyes dry and work to remove the stray mascara. My normally light green eyes have been taken over by redness and are puffy. Great. I jump up and down a few times to try and lighten myself up. I run a brush through my dark hair and let it drop down around my shoulders. Once I think I look decent enough, I grab the chips and soda. Max grabs his bone and follows me downstairs.

The doorbell rings. Max barks, dropping his bone, and goes to the door wagging his tail fiercely.

I set the chips and soda down on the coffee table in the den and walk to the front door where Max is. I look through the peephole and groan as I see Lucy with the whole gang. I guess I should have expected it. I unlock the door and open it letting them all file in and get doggy kisses from Max. Tom remains on the porch, hesitant. "Are you coming in or what?" I ask.

He silently steps inside obviously still disturbed from earlier. After I close the door and lock it back, I make my way into the den. Sean and Greg have taken a seat on the couch as well as helped themselves to my chips. Sean even takes it upon himself to take my soda. "Make yourselves at home," I say still feeling a little touchy.

Lucy sits in between Sean and Greg. "Thank you, Angie," she replies.

"Uh, Lucy," Sean says as he slowly pulls the soda can away from his lips.

She looks at him.

"That was sarcasm," Greg puts in for Sean.

She looks at Greg and then at me. "Oh, sorry, Angie."

"It's not a problem," I state guardedly. I take a seat on the large Colette rug placed on the hardwood floor and Tom and Jimmy join me. Max wiggles between Tom and me and lies down. Tom runs a hand over his fur. "Listen," he begins. "I'm sorry. Lucy told me… Man, if I wasn't such a jerk-"

"You're not a jerk," I intervene. "I'm fine now. I feel better now that I've let it out. It's no big deal."

He looks at me skeptically trying to make sure I'm telling the truth. It kind of makes me think he actually wants me to scold him, but that'd just make him feel better about himself.

"I promise," I say.

There is silence and stillness in the room with the exception of the grandfather clock and Jimmy twiddling his thumbs. "But I shouldn't have brought it up!" Tom suddenly exclaims.

"Tom, are you going to worry about this your whole life?" I ask getting annoyed. I'd really like nothing better than to just drop the subject already.

He sighs realizing he should just let it go. "No."

"Okay, then start not worrying about it now."

He just looks at me with those sincere brown eyes begging me to forgive him.

"She's right, you know," Jimmy chimes in.

Tom turns his head to look at him. "Huh?"

Jimmy looks back at him shyly. "I'm saying Angie has a point. Two years from now, what you said won't matter at all. So, why worry about it? I mean sure, you said something stupid, but it doesn't matter anymore. And plus, you'll always say something stupid in the future so don't worry about it."

Tom is silent and a puzzled look comes across his face as he tries to decide on whether he should be offended or thankful for the advice. I cast a smile Jimmy's way and give him a wink. He grins back at me.

"So, what are we going to do?" Sean asks getting bored.

"What do you mean?" Lucy asks back while looking into a new pale pink compact feeling the tension already.

"You know," Greg says deciding to take over for Sean. "What are we going to do to entertain ourselves?"

Lucy shuts her compact. "Excuse me? What do you mean 'what are we going to do to entertain ourselves?' We are over here to help Angie."

"But Angie's already been helped."

"Oh…"

I feel Tom carefully place his hand on mine. I look at him and smile even though inside I want to pull away. He smiles back sweetly. It makes my stomach turn into knots.

It is quiet for a long moment, so long that it almost starts to turn awkward.

"Hey, what if we went down to the old playground?" Tom suggests.

There are murmurs of agreement and Jimmy simply nods.

"Let's go!" Sean cheers jumping up off the couch.

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