Lauren handed the permission slip to the school secretary, along with a brilliant smile. The secretary grimaced at her sourly. Lauren didn't notice. Ms Clark had asked her to join the staff of the school newspaper. "You're a good writer," she had told her. "You have a lot of talent." Lauren glowed at the memory of her words. She left the office, headed for her locker.
Leonard was in the hallway outside the gym. Caught up in her excitement, she didn't even notice the other boys with him. They didn't usually see much of one another in school; different schedules. "Hey, Leonard ! Guess what ? I'm gonna be writing for the Clarion. Isn't that cool ?" she smiled brightly at him.
"Uh, yeah. Great," he said, noncommittally, not meeting her eyes.
"Hello ? It's fantastic, what's up with you ?" she asked. Why's he in such a bad mood ? "Well, anyway, I won't be riding home on the regular bus today," she went on, refusing to let his attitude spoil her day. "I've got a staff meeting. I'll catch the activity bus and see you later." A staff meeting, she crowed to herself, loving the sound of it.
"Whatever," he replied dismissively.
"Hey Leonard, who's that ? Your girlfriend ?" asked one of the boys, smirking.
"No, uh...no. She's just my neighbor." He turned and rummaged in his locker, ignoring her.
Lauren felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment. She glared at the back of Leonard's head, then started to stalk away. One of the boys stood in her path.
"What are you looking at ?" she demanded, angry.
"Your tits," he laughed, insolently.
"Ugh, you're disgusting !" she snapped, pushing past him. Tears prickled at the backs of her eyelids. She blinked them away furiously. Stupid people. Why did they always have to ruin a perfectly good day ? Stupid Leonard. I thought he was my friend.
Later, walking home, her mood had improved somewhat. Writing for the paper was going to be cool. Leonard's attitude still hurt, though. He was waiting for her, she saw as she neared the house, jumping his skateboard over the curb at the edge of the parking lot over and over again. He saw her and rolled over. "Hey, whassup ?" he asked softly as she approached. Lauren ignored him.
"Aw, come on, Lauren." he stepped off the skateboard, tried to take her hand in his.
"You humiliated me," she blurted, jerking her hand away.
"I'm sorry. How was the newspaper thing ?"
"Fine." she snapped. "Not that you care."
"I do care," he replied. She looked away. "Look, I said I was sorry. Those guys, you know, they can be jerks sometimes."
"Why should I care, I'm just your neighbor," she spat.
"What, did you want me to tell them you're my girlfriend ?" he demanded, getting annoyed in return.
"Well, yeah, why not ? I mean, you act like I am when we're alone."
He blushed, threw his hands up. "Look, I like you. A lot. But...I dunno. You don't know some of those guys, I mean, the way they talk," he stopped, looked at her.
"So, basically you're saying you're ashamed of me ?" she asked, angrily. "Fine, whatever. I do have a little self-respect, you know." She turned away from him, fumbled with her house key. Tears flooded her eyes.
"Lauren, wait...that's not what I - Fine, then !" he shouted, his voice cracking, as she slammed the door. Grabbing his skateboard, he rode away from her house furiously, his fists clenched. Lauren watched him go from behind the curtain, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Later, she sat in front of her keyboard, typing a new chapter, trying not to think about Leonard. Her mother knocked softly at the door. "Lauren ? You all right, honey ?" The knob turned, rattled back and forth briefly. The door was locked.
"I'm fine, mom. I'm not dressed,"
she called, blinking back tears for what seemed like the hundredth
time that day.
"Oh..." her mother sounded as
though she wanted to say more, but didn't insist Lauren open the
door. "I love you, don't stay up too late," she called.
"Ok, love you too," Lauren replied, struggling to keep her voice even. She waited for what seemed like a long time before her mother's footsteps retreated down the hall. Then she turned back to the keyboard.
Flicker.
Captain Jack Sparrow sprawled in his chair, walking a gold coin across his knuckles. His body was unnaturally still. The shifting of his fingers as the coin rolled over the back of his hand was the only movement he made for long minutes at a time. Back and forth the coin flickered, over and over, the dull glint of the gold reflecting in the pirate's brown eyes. Nearby sat a bottle of rum, still half full, part of a growing collection of empty bottles. Flicker. Flicker. Flicker.
Jack palmed the coin, grabbed the bottle and drank directly from it. He had sat this way for the past three nights. The pirate was starting to look a bit worse for wear. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot. His jaw, sprinkled with stubble, was set, teeth clenched. During the long days, he held himself together for the sake of his crew. By night, he kept his vigil, waiting with snake-like patience, willing the girl to appear.
The coin sprang back to his fingers as he slammed the bottle back onto the table. Flicker. Flicker. Flicker. Jack wrapped the tattered remnants of his sanity around his will, bending it to the task at hand. He returned his mind to the words he had been silently chanting for hours, filling them with renewed purpose. Return. Appear, he ordered the girl. Return. Now, damn you. Now. Appear. The girl had not obeyed for the past three nights. She did not appear now. She would, though. He knew she would. Now.
