Chapter 1
I'm sitting alone at lunch, there are some other people at the table but they're mostly talking amongst themselves. There are two girls talking about a book series I used to like. I want to join their conversation but that would just be weird, I guess. I eat my sandwich quietly and observe the other people at the cafeteria. I sometimes bring a book to lunch, but I didn't feel like doing that today. And anyway, I like observing people. I always marvel at how they can just say whatever they want, without even thinking twice about it. It seems so easy for other people, but for some reason I have a hard time at conversations.
The bell rings so I quickly stuff what's left of my sandwich into my mouth and grab my bag. I quickly walk out of the cafeteria while trying to remember what class I have next. Right, Literature. In my opinion, Literature would have been a fascinating subject if the pieces we learned talked about interesting topics.
Personally, I thought poems, for example, where amazing and complicated things. But the pieces that we're taught at school are just plain boring. As I'm walking to my locker, I notice Clay.
He's standing by his locker, which is open, but he's staring blankly ahead.
Ever since Hannah's death he hasn't exactly been himself. He's become a bit introverted. I don't know how well he was a friend with Hannah, but I know they talked and I'm pretty sure he liked her. I open my locker and take out my notebook and literature book. My notebook is completely covered in scribbles and doodles. I guess you can say I like drawing. My dad has never stopped telling me stories about my mom. He particularly likes telling me about her love for art. She worked as a social worker, but he's shown me millions of her paintings that I'm sure could have been presented it an art museum. Ever since then drawing has become my passion. It's helped me so much these past few years. I feel connected to my mom that way. I mostly like sketching, whereas my mom used to experiment with all the colors on the palette. I walk up the stairs to the third floor and enter the classroom. I'm quite early, there are only a few other students sitting around and talking quietly. I take a seat at the far right of the classroom, away from where all the noisy jocks usually sit. I open my literature book and reread the piece we learned last lesson. Something about love, despair, misery, the usual. As kids start filling in the classroom, I take out a pencil from my bag and open to a very scribbled page in my notebook.
I'm not drawing anything particular, I just let the pencil graze the paper, enjoying the sound the paper makes. The teacher, a middle aged woman with short curly hair and glasses, walks in and the hum of students talking quiets down. "Good afternoon students, please take a minute to review your notes from last lesson and then we shall get started." As I've already reviewed the notes, I take a minute to check my phone. I scroll through Instagram. I must say I use Instagram a lot, but not to post pictures. I used to post a lot, but my last post is from last march, a sketch I drew of a wolf. Now I mostly use it to follow artists and photographers. "Alright, today we are going to focus on the Literary techniques of the piece..."
I'm walking home home from school because I live pretty close by, and I like the walk. I've lived here all my life, well, at least as long as I can remember. My dad told me he and my mom moved here when I was still a baby, they wanted me to grow in a nice quiet neighborhood. I went to the public elementary school here with most of the kids from my present grade. I'm passing by it now, it's playground is filled with little kids laughing and shouting as they run around. "Hey Skye," I hear someone say behind me. I turn around and see Allie Clarkson. She used to be a good friend of mine back in elementary school, and we're still friendly at school, but we don't talk much anymore. "Hey Allie," I say, and we begin to walk together in the direction I was heading. "Did you have that Biology exam yet? I had it today," She says. "No, mines on Friday," I say. "How was it?" "Well, it wasn't too hard," she answers. "There were a lot of questions on cell cycle and structure though." "That seems to be Mrs. Niles favorite topic," I say jokingly. Allie laughs. "So, are you coming to the school dance next Friday?" she asks. "What dance?" I ask, cause I'm not exactly up to date on the latest school news. "Some fundraiser for the football team or something, who cares? Should be fun though." "Oh, I don't know, school dances aren't exactly my scene," I say. "You should come anyway, lot's of single cute guys will be there," she jokes. I smile. "Well, this is me," she says, stopping in front of a fairly large house with a small kiddie pool settled under a big tree in the front yard. I have many memories from that pool, summer days spent playing mermaids and eating watermelon under the big oak. "Bye," I say and watch her open the door and disappear behind it. I continue on walking, trying to remember the last time I visited that house.
