Chapter two: The Great High Place of a Hopeless Grief

"I hold for my own possessing,

A mount that is lone and still—

The great high place of a hopeless grief,

And I call it my 'Heart-break Hill.'"

I left early from school that day. Usually we'd hang around the commons, having fun. I assume that Sam was with Jared. Who knows where Tucker was. I walked slowly home, as my attitude was down. I told myself that I didn't know why it was such a big deal to me; Sam just wanted to talk to the guy. But, somewhere inside, I really did know. I had like-liked Sam for weeks now, and I had thought the feeling was mutual.

"I guess not," I mumbled to myself, kicking a rock. I gripped the straps of my backpack tighter as I watched it skip along the sidewalk. The temperature was dropping, even though I couldn't feel it. A light dusting of snow was around Amity Park, and now tiny fragments fell slowly down from the clouds. I felt the snow melt on my cheeks, and I pulled out my coat from my bag.

I got to my house ten minutes later, even though it would've only taken half that. But my feet were as down as I was, and couldn't be persuaded to go any faster even if I wanted them to.

I solemnly climbed the stairs, opened the door to my room, and dropped my bag. I collapsed face-down on the bed. It was a good thing my parents didn't pay much attention to me that day, as they were busy with a new invention; I wouldn't know what to say in my defense. "Sorry, Dad, I fell for my best friend and she broke my heart, so I won't be taking out the trash tonight." My luck, they'd think I was possessed by an evil ghost.

I lay there on the bed, my face buried in my pillow, for I don't know how long. I woke up, probably hours later; my pillow had a damp ring around my face, and my eyes felt dry. I'd been crying. I cried? I don't remember crying. I don't even remember the last time I'd cried.

But then again, I'd fallen from pretty high up.

Now my only friend was my pillow. Sure, there was Tucker, but he wouldn't understand. And guys don't cry on other guys' shoulders. Unless a loved one died. Or your team lost. And neither one had happened to me.

My slump was pretty bad. Jazz, being the fink of the family, was the first to be worried about me when I didn't come down for dinner.

"Ghost problems got you down?" She sat on the bed next to me.

I rolled to my side, facing her. I could tell she saw the tear-spots on my pillow, because her expression changed for the worse. "No," I sighed, glad my crying was over. "Girl problems."

Her countenance softened, and she patted my hand. "Ah, still chasing Paulina. How'd she ditch you this time?"

If I had been sitting, I would've shifted uncomfortably. But it just looked like wiggling. "It's not Paulina…" I said, just above a whisper. I let that sink in. "It's Sam."

Once more, her face changed, this time from sisterly understanding to shocked anger. "Did Sam hurt you? You didn't hurt her back, right?" Not quite the reaction I was expecting. Nonetheless, I'd gotten this far. I might as well have continued, right? Wrong.

"No, Jazz, it's…complicated. Just don't worry about it, okay? I'll deal with it."

Next—Chapter 3: Weeping, We Sat Us Down

Yay! People like this story (so far) as much as I like writing it! I, too, enjoy angsty stuff; it's just harder for me to write it. If you wanna find out about what he does, you'll have to wait and read to see what's next! READANDREVIEW!