Disclaimer: I own nothing. I claim nothing. I make no money from writing this. But… I still writing!
Not Alex's Point of View
I never believed the rumors. Alex isn't a druggie, that just wouldn't be Alex. He mightleave randomly and come back hurt, but that didn't mean he was in a gang.
I moved here from New York City 3 years ago. I was teased for it.
Alex and I were instant friends. He defended me. He stopped me from getting into so many fights.
The first time he left, I knew something was wrong. His uncle died, and he just disappeared, it wasn't right.
Every time he left I felt pushed away more and more. This time, he came back with this dead look in his eyes. I felt like if I looked into them, I would find everything wrong in the world, every hurt and pain. He used to be my best friend. No, he is my best friend. No matter how much he pushed me away. Or how afraid I was that if I looked into his eyes I would see that gun again. I would see the reason my parents had us cross the Atlantic.
I knew the only thing I could do was talk to him. To try as hard as I could to help him. To get him to talk to someone besides Tom.
I saw him at his locker. I walked up to him and I raised my hand to tap his shoulders.
I drew bake when I saw how tense his shoulders were. Instead I said a very small, I am sad to say almost scared voice, "Alex?"
Yeah so… review please! I know it's short put I just wanted to write this story. Besides, ain't it fun writing cliffies?