Broken Glass, Broken Hearts part 41

My phone rang. "Hello?" I asked questioningly. "Um...Tyler?" I furrowed my brow. "Yes?"

"Its...Sadie. Sadie Hawkins?" I sighed and sat down on my bed, "Hi, Sadie." She perked up, "Hi!"

Every time, for three weeks now, the phone would ring, and I would sound surprised, and she

would sound worried and intimidated for a while until she reached her 'happy moment' in which

she would perk up and ask me if I wanted to hang out. I obliged, of course, because I had absolutely

nothing else to do. I waited every day for something...a call, an email, a letter...anything, from Angela.

But every day, nothing came. That day, as I thought about it, (while Sadie was asking me if I wanted

to hang out,) I realized that I hadn't made any call to her either. I had just sat around, waiting for her.

What if she was waiting for me too? "I would love to hang out today, Sadie, sorry, but I've actually

got plans. Maybe some other time?" She was obviously not expecting that reply. "Oh...um...ok. Good.

Cool. See you...later, then." I smiled, "Ya. See ya." I hung up and immediately dialed Angela's number.

I got the busy signal. So I waited a few minutes and then tried again. I got the busy signal again.

I waited again and then called again. As I got the busy signal for the third time, I sighed, annoyed,

and hung up. The phone rang. I grabbed it, "Hello?"

"TYLER?!" Angela's voice hollered in my ear. The largest smile I had worn in three weeks fell upon

my face. "Angela."

"I've been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes and I kept getting the busy signal!"

"Mutual," I replied with a laugh. "What?" she asked in a confused but happy tone, "I've been doing

the same thing," I explained. She laughed.

© 2009

No Sense (anything can happen) part 3

The cossy stopped in front of a large grey building. There were three windows; one for each floor, I guessed. "We're here, ma'am," the driver said politely, hinting for me to leave so he could get back to work. "Yes," I whispered, almost forgetting to push the button. I didn't know what to say now. I was used to saying 'thank you' and departing, but not being able to say thank you made me feel uneasy. "I'll just be going now," I said as I pressed the button. I waited for him to reply, but he said nothing. I opened the door and just as soon as my feet were on the ground, the cossy driver was out the gates again. I almost laughed. I looked up at the large, frightening building and noticed several smaller building surrounding it. I walked forward. I saw someone scurry from one building to another, clothed darkly and huddling themselves as they ran, as if it was freezing and they wanted to stay warm. The person seemed to notice me but didn't dare stay out in the open for too long before they rushed into the other building. I felt like an idiot. What the heck was I doing here? How had I been permitted to be here? Where did I go now? "Its Vanessa, right?" a soft, comforting and yet confident voice behind me said. I swiveled on my heel. No one had called me Vanessa since the day I left my family, them screaming out my name and me kicking like a mad-man, trying desperately to escape the firm grip of the men pulling me away from everything I knew and loved. I looked at the attractive man behind me with a suspicious expression. He was about the same height as me, and his muscles were accentuated by button down shirt he wore. His hair was blond and short, soft-looking, and his eyes were green and huge. He had long eyelashes and a face that was both boy-ish and manly. He smiled at me, and I tried to keep my expression suspicious as his sweet smile sent calm through my veins. 'He just wants me to be calm so he can toy with me, punish me for violating the rules,' I told myself, but it was hard to believe because his face was so soft and he sounded so welcoming and loving. That and the fact that he had addressed me by my name made him a very likeable man. But I kept myself composed. He seemed to notice, with pain, that his soft features and voice hadn't tricked me. "Welcome," he said, his voice like warm milk pouring into a newborn's throat. It sent a chill through me, and yet I still kept my face suspicious. "Who are you?" I asked, my voice shaky. I cleared my throat quietly. No doubt he had memorized the meaning of a shaky voice. "I'm Noah," he said with a soft smile. I remembered from a long time ago that the name meant peace. It was a calming name. I never felt uncomfortable when I was with a Noah. "Hello Noah. Why do you know my name?" He didn't answer the question. "This morning, you woke up and felt a strange urge to come here, am I correct?" he said calmly, as if it was totally normal that he knew what I was thinking this morning. He didn't trick me. "Yes. How did you know that?"

Once again, he ignored my question. "You are, in fact, not a representative or a caller, but you told a cossy driver that you are one, correct?" 'Ok,' I whispered in my mind, 'so he doesn't know everything I'm thinking. Just vague. "I did," I said, this time refraining from asking how he knew that. "Alright. Then its been assured," he said, frowning slightly, as he wrote something on a notepad. "What's been assured?" He looked up at me, no longer sweet and friendly but frowning. Still, his features hadn't seized to seem comforting, even his irritated expression couldn't cover up his soft face and voice. Even his hair looked soft. I wanted desperately to reach out and see if it was, but I didn't. "So," he said as he started walking toward the large building and signaled for me to follow him, "you have a very strong personality, am I correct?" I blinked, "Um...I guess so..."

"You are very stubborn? Independent?" he asked, looking back at me. I laughed lightly. "Yes," I replied. He opened the doors to the large building and nodded, as if by agreeing with his question/statement I had proven his unspoken theory correct. "What's going on?" I asked, stepping into the building. "Well," he started, finally explaining, "it seems we've made a mistake." He looked up at my face with a furrowed brow, "You're a glitch."

© 2009

Broken Glass, Broken Hearts part 40

"So, Tyler where are you from?"

"I lived a few hours away from here by car, but I only lived there for about a year. I lived across the country before that."

"That's cool," she said, still staring at my eyes. "So, I heard you were talking about a girl...Angela?"

"Yea."

"Is she your girlfriend?" she asked persistently, clearly not knowing when to stop. I paused, "...no."

"Oh," she said, almost happily. I felt like punching her, even if she did seem nice. "Well, the way I heard it, it sure sounded like you like her..." she continued. My gosh. Learn some social skills, girl. "I do," I said, attempting to bore a hole in her head with my death glare. She didn't notice. "Oh. So you mean, you like her, but she's not your girlfriend?"

"I love her," I said emotionlessly. It was so true, so incredibly true that I lost my death glare and my frown softened. "Oh," she said, sounding disappointed. The lunch bell rang. She looked up at the bell. I got up and left before she could say anything else. Well, she was nice, except when the topic of Angela came up. Which was Ok, since I really wanted to keep that topic to my self.

"So your boyfriend moved?" Selena asked, licking frosting off of her fingers from a small

cupcake she just devoured in one bite. She pulls her hair out of her thick ponytail and brushes her

fingers through her long recently-dyed-blonde hair, clearly trying to get Paolo's attention. (Paolo

is the new transfer student, and Selena's newest obsession.) I rolled my eyes dramatically and then

rolled my eyes again at how dramatically I just rolled my eyes. "Tyler wasn't my boyfriend." Selena

sighs, also dramatically. "Ok, so he's just the guy you're in love with who loves you back that you

spent every waking second with." I blinked, stared up at the whiteboard, blinked again, and then

looked back at Selena, "Wow. You're blunt." Selena smiled, "Yup!"

I walked out of the classroom and knew that I had to do...something. Anything. It had been three

weeks now, two days away from four, and I was still going through every movement of my day

emotionless, keeping to myself and boxing myself in. I glanced over at Prudence, the girl known as

'that weird emo kid' and felt pity for her. But I didn't want to become her. I couldn't live like this,

secluded, lonely, and just all around...bored-for another year. I just couldn't. So I walked over to my

locker, swung my backpack in, and slammed the door shut. The bell rang and I grinned slightly as I

headed over to the math room without any work.

Mr. Conwell cuts no slack. Ever. Under any circumstances. So, of course, he is the perfect way

to get detention. Not every kid's dream, but useful for me. "Correct your homework on your own

and then we'll take notes," Mr. Conwell said, pushing his glasses back up to his eyes. I leaned back

against my chair and kept the grin off my face. He didn't notice. He began to talk, glancing

back at us occasionally to make sure that we were paying attention. Finally, he noticed me lounging

in my chair, listening intently so that what he said would register into my head but not taking notes

so that I could get that prized detention slip. "Angela. You are doing absolutely nothing," Mr.

Conwell sighed. "Sorry. My stuff's in my locker," I said, wiping the grin off my face with my jacket

sleeve. "Go get it," he said, holding out the hall pass. My eyebrows raised. No way. Mr. Conwell

never let people go to their lockers during class. Ever. Under any circumstances. I walked awkwardly

and nervously up to the front of the classroom. I felt so out of place, so unnatural, as if someone had

a remote control to my life and was forcing everything to go wrong for me. I took the hall pass and

left the room, breathing heavily. I walked over to my locker, stared at it, and kept walking. I walked

into the girl's bathroom and washed my face in the sink. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw

mascara driping down my cheeks, smudged around my eyes. I sighed and tried to fix my makeup to

no prevail. I walked back to the classroom after a few minutes of staring at my makeup smudged

reflection. Mr. Conwell looked up, saw that I was holding nothing, frowned, looked at my face with

an angry expression, and raised his eyebrows. He sighed heavily, "Go. Sit. Try to pay attention." I

sat. But I didn't pay attention. I just came into the classroom after being given the hall pass with

no textbooks, and Mr. Conwell has not given me a detention sleep. I honestly search the room for

someone holding a remote.

© 2009

Broken Glass, Broken Hearts part 39

"You're in my seat," a girl with short, light brown hair said impatiently to me. Her hair framed her face just so and her lips were small and naturally pouty. She was very attractive. "This is a lunch table," I said in surprise. "Yea," she started, "my lunch seat." I turned to face her, because I felt uncomfortable having her talk to my back, and she seemed to take in her breath. "H-hi. Hi. Hello. You're-new," she stuttered. I nodded. "You're the sensitive one," she said, smiling slightly. I rolled my eyes. "I'll just get out of your way, then," I muttered angrily. "No! No, that's Ok. I 'll just sit here," she said, sitting across from me. She stared into my eyes, seeming to take them apart in her mind, grasping everything about them. I flipped my hair slightly, a natural tendency. She gasped. Um...creepy? "I'm Tyler," I said, feeling extremely awkward. "Sadie," she said immediately. "Hawkins. Sadie Hawkins." I laughed out loud, "Your name is Sadie Hawkins?"

She rolled her eyes, "Yea. My parents met when my mom asked my dad to the Sadie Hawkins dance, and they thought it would romantic to name me Sadie Hawkins." I laughed, "Is that just your first name?" She nodded. "That sucks."

"Tell me about it." I smiled. She seemed nice. Not exactly anything compared to my last first-day-of-school friend, but she was certainly...nice.

"JAKE! COME DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!" my mom yelled in an extremely angry tone. Slightly afraid, I felt like telling Jake to do what she said. "MAKE ME!" he yelled back. My mom sighed angrily and started up the stairs to do just that.

Jake came downstairs. "We have to talk about you kids' behavior," my mother said angrily. Jake rolled his eyes dramatically and I zoned out, staring out the window behind my mom as she lectured us, not hearing a word she said. None of it. The trees moved swiftly with the wind and a bird landed on a branch in front of the window, staring at me. Right into my eyes. "What are you doing here?" the bird seemed to ask me. My eyebrows raised, and my mom, satisfied that she had made her point, (whatever point that had been,) headed into the kitchen. "I'm going out, mom," I said, taking a jacket off the coat rack and keeping my eyes on the bird. "Be back in time for dinner," she sighed, knowing she couldn't stop me. I headed out the door and hurried over to the window sill, but the bird was gone. I was about to keep walking down the street when I saw something under the windowsill. I blinked. "No," I whispered. I backed away. "NO!" There, sitting on the soft dirt, was a baseball. THE baseball. I fell to the ground. Tears didn't come. I stared at the ball. I reached out and picked it up. It was heavy and felt rough. It was a well-used ball. Used by someone who really loved baseball. I threw it back to the ground. I didn't care if it was well-used. It could have been one of Babe Ruth's home-run balls, for all I cared, and I would still have left it there on the dirt.

© 2009