We watch the world pass us by as we drive to the places we always go. You realize this moment is all you have, but you don't do anything to stop the car and walk the rest of the way to see it.
--
I'm sitting in the back of a large history classroom; it has the laminated posters hanging on the wall that the school in the next district has in their room, and the school in the district after that has as well. The teacher's standing at the whiteboard with an uncapped marker; he's writing down words for everyone to look at and I wonder if he ever wonders what his handwriting tells the world about himself. Some kids are chatting among themselves whilst sitting upon the desktops; they have their own notebooks that I can only guess about what they have or haven't written about inside.
There are a couple desks around me that are vacant, and I can't help but glance up when someone walks by. I don't know if I'm hoping if they'll sit down next to me and start talking, or if I'm paranoid that they will stare down at the notebook in front of me; my notebook's green and college-ruled, I've already written on the first six pages, and absolutely none of the words have anything to do with any of my previous classes.
My pencil twirls around my fingers in a slow dance as I look up as the man who is the teacher when he clears his throat loudly and with purpose. He holds the marker in his right hand while it is still uncapped, his tie hangs from his neck with a pattern that shouldn't even be considered a pattern, and he stands with his shoulders slightly sagging. He looks completely tired of school; even though I would have thought that a teacher wouldn't be tired from the first day of school and be embracing the fact he is giving knowledge to people who don't know.
Then I remember the reason I wouldn't want to be a teacher; I wouldn't want to be the teacher that kids will remember when they're all grown up and question why they didn't learn more from you. I wouldn't want to be that teacher the kids will look back on and wish they had the teacher across the hall whom was teaching much more interesting things with her students laughing merrily.
With this thought fresh in my mind, I listen as the man starts his own pre-planned lesson with sympathy in my eyes as he glances to his left through the square window in the door at the woman who has a smile and is teaching across the hall.
--
"Hey, Miley!" I hear a voice shout, but I don't bother turning around to see if they're calling me. If they really wanted my attention, they'd catch up and stop me, right?
"Miley!" a hand reaches and touches the skin on my arm, and I stop my walking to turn and face the person.
"Hello." I glance at the shaggy-headed boy standing in front of me. He's breathing deeply, his hands falling to his knees in attempt to keep his diaphragm up. "Oliver, right?"
"Yeah," He says, standing up and reaching into his right pocket. "Lilly wanted me to give this to you."
I watch his hands as he pulls out a clean, folded piece of paper and an inhaler. He hands me the paper before uncapping the small puffer and shaking it roughly. He brings it to his mouth, pressing down fast on the top of the inhaler before breathing in and keeping the air inside.
"She said she wants you to read that." He says with his breathing more steady as he recaps the device. "Like, before you leave school."
I glance down at the lined-paper, wondering why the blue-eyed girl would take the time to write me a note. I carefully shift the books in my bag; I note they have a desperate want to rip the seams apart and crawl away from me. I carefully unfold the neatly folded note and smooth out some wrinkles with the help of my denim clad thigh. The note is written on wide-ruled paper, and in black ink. The letters seem to be small compared to the width of the lines and I wonder if she chose this paper on purpose or if it was a simple mistake created by her mother or father. Her words are written in a messy scrawl and take up half the page's lines.
Miley-
I know that sending Oken isn't probably the best idea, but I needed to ask you somehow. This probably isn't the best way, but I'm in a hurry and wish I could write longer. I just wanted to know if you wanted to hang out after school? If you do then we can go for a walk or something. Meet me by the track field, close to the little shed thing. If you want to.
-Lilly
I stare at the handwriting in front of me. I wonder what each letter means to her, what she means by this note, and if she realized how she sounds. I ignore the urge to look again at some mistakes in her writing because you can't judge a book by just one page. I take a second before I glance up at an expectant face staring at me. I don't know how to react to this, and I'm sure it shows on my face.
"She really wants you to go." He grins, "I'm not supposed to say, but I'm pretty sure she wants more 'girly-type' friends. I'm much too macho."
I suppress the sudden, over-whelming urge to laugh, knowing it would be considered rude in the eyes of a person trying to be my friend. I just nod and grin back at him, hoping he didn't understand what my small cough had covered up.
"Where's the track field?"
--
There's a feeling I get in the center of my stomach when I think of the future. I can't help but think of what will happen, what might not happen, who I will meet, if I will meet someone who ruins me, or maybe even help me grow. I don't get this feeling all too often, but, when I do, I can't help but tense up. I'm afraid of the future, and I know I'm not alone with this train of thought.
Sometimes, I try to decipher this feeling that finds its home in the depths of my stomach because sometimes it doesn't feel too much like fear. Could it be excitement? Happiness? Nervouness? Anxiety? Anger?
Why can't I figure out this feeling I get when I think of the future?
Why do I get this feeling whenever I see that blue-eyed stranger?
--
"Hey, I didn't think you'd show." She smiles at me, standing up from her place on the bench behind the track shed.
"I got lost." I blush, staring at my shoes.
"It's okay." She smiles, "Oliver always gets lost, and he's been here for a lot longer."
I smile slightly at her attempt of understanding, and she motions for us to walk. There's silence, but it isn't the bad kind that makes you want to cringe. I find myself enjoying the sound of her breathing, in and out and in and out, as we venture to a place I don't recognize. The trees are composed like a poem; mixtures of deep greens and light browns as we pass them. Our shoes contrast brightly with the concrete below us as they gently beat down and create a rhythm with the nature around us. The sky is lit up with Zeus' chariot making his trek across the vast blue canvas along with puffs of fluffy white clouds.
I don't notice right away when we begin to slow as we trek farther and farther into the city. My steps are in time with her as we finally arrive in front of a white, two-story house with all the furnishings you would find in a fairytale story. The house even has shutters graced upon the window, ones that I wish I had on my house for a moment before I realize they wouldn't look anywhere near as good; they are painted a light blue that reminds me of an animated dog, whose name eludes me as of this moment.
"Nice house." I compliment, glancing at her with a smile dancing at the corners of my mouth.
"It's okay." She smiles at me before leading the way up to the front door.
The grass in front is green; I wonder if they water it every day and if the back looks the same. The shrubs line the walkway and remind me of an old movie that I had seen years ago. She takes out a key from her front pocket before sliding it into the doorknob and twisting it open.
AN: I think I changed Oliver's last name from Oaken to Oken. I'll go back and fix that later. Forgive my mistakes, I'm relying heavily on Microsoft Word, and that this is such a slow start. Thanks makurutenoh, Music and Reading Lover, anLeyda, soxx, spenceandash4ever, & AshleyAlien1408 for taking time to leave a review, and to everyone who put this story on their alerts. If you guys want to see something happen, just tell me in a review or PM me, because I wouldn't mind some ideas. I'll be sure to credit you if I use them. Thanks, again.
Disclaimer: See Chapter One because I'm too lazy to copy and paste.