The shade offered by the tree is welcomed as I lean on it's bark, going through the novel Perfume by Patrick Suskind. That was my favorite book so far. I lick the tip of my index finger, flipping open the next page when a shadow stretches to reach my sneakers.
I peer up at the small girl standing in front of me with a glare on her face. She fiddles with a pen in one hand and clutches a notebook in the other. Blonde bangs bounces across her face. She's the carbon copy of Billie Tyson.
" Hi? " My lips stretch, eyes narrowed.
She doesn't reply, still peering at where I sit with a strange frustration. " Do you plan to sit there for long? "
" Where? Here? Umm..... Not really. I have a class in ten minutes. "
She nods, cheeks red with a smile. I wasn't wrong, she's anti-social just like me. " Is this your spot? "
She nods again and I pull myself up, dusting off the dirt from my black pants. I stretch, holding the novel over my head as she rushes to sit on the spot I had been, placing her notebook on pale thighs.
" You write poems, " I state matter-of-factly. She gawks at me, blinking rapidly and I smile.
I pat her shoulder and head for class, still stretching on the way. Mission accomplished. See, to get someone to come to you, be a little mysterious, drop a cliffhanger or information and then....disappear.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Class is mundane, to put it mildly. Some read, others chat with each other. I pick my way to the last seat at the middle row, plumping down on the cold chair. Pain shoots up my spine and I'm instantly conscious of the other pain around my body. The bruise on my temple is faint but stings a little. I think my nose is permanently broken, it makes pop noises.
The atmosphere is somewhat pleasant and I find myself unwillingly thinking back to awful days, days when I was just a kid. Days when I was the naive, pushover. Days when I was called an idiot. Bullied. Pushed around in this Godforsaken town.
I especially remember when I was fourteen years old. I still remember the uniform, the texture of my hair against my forehead. I remember Colson Gallagher well. He had framed me for something I didn't do, and as stupid as I was, I didn't object. I remember being scared, I remember wanting to get on his good side.
That day, he had beaten me, made me swear never to tell the truth. Others laughed at me, insulted me, called me a moron. I had gotten home, wanting to hear comforting words. Instead, I got the beaten of my life, dad was beyond disappointed. He called me stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
You're stupid!
" I'm not!!! " I yell out loud, only realizing it when people sneak glances at me.
Swallowing deeply, I slip out my English textbook, awaiting our teacher. A hand slides unto my shoulder and I immediately recognize it's harsh, hostile grip. My best bud, Colson Gallagher. Still figuring out when and how to kill him though.
He circles me, appearing right in my face. A stunning smile stretches his lips, eyes glistening with mischief. Kind of like the look I give when I spot a prey.
" Hey Jash?! Miss me? " He thumbs my nose. " Hmm. Your bruises seem to have healed, told you I'd go easy. "
" Yeah! Looking pretty boy, " One of his goons say. I don't even bother to look at him. Colson chuckles, crossing his arms.
" My money Jasher. Where is it? "
I bite hard on my tongue, reaching into my bag to slip out a fat envelope. Colson yanks it with delight, sniffing the wad of cash so lovingly, his eyeballs rolling inside.
" This is what I'm talking about Jashy! This week's party is gonna be awesome! "
Yes. I need it to be awesome, coz an awesome guest will be present.
" We'll let you off today, Jash. " He double taps my shoulder, walking to his seat. I dust off where his hand had been, working my jaw.