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.

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