Try Not to Cry

Chapter 6

 "It seems that our second transfer won't be showing up today due to sudden illness. However, Mister Bluren here- that's Mitchell Bluren- will be taking his seat next to miss Cassidy today. Hopefully he will be a good influence on you," The bald man at the front of the room wearing a striped gray and white shirt with a dark blue tie on says, "And speaking of absences... has anyone seen, heard from, or know the whereabouts of Armani? No? No one? Good. Then let's get started. Today I'd like you to..."

 I let Mr.Duffle's scratchy voice pass over me as I doodle in my sketch book to distract myself. Last night, I couldn't sleep again. I had a nightmare about dying again. Only this time, it was different. Much different.

 I was running down the street at night, a black vehicle catching up to me on the road to my right until it speeds up ahead of me, spinning to the left and cutting me off. I stop, looking for another direction to go, when someone grabs me from behind. This person, breath heavy, covers my mouth before I can scream or yell and two men walk out of the black jeep. 

 The man from the driver's side keeps his right hand on the gun sticking out from his pocket. He stops in front of me with the other man closely behind.

 "It's not safe to walk around at night, little girl. Don't you know?" He asks. His voice is androgynous, with no significant tones. He speaks strongly, but calm. 

 The dream becomes fuzzy here, and I try to make out the words the lead man says before raising his gun to me and clicking the hammer back.

 "I'll be taking back what you stole now."

 And that's all I remember after I woke up. Then, however, just like before, more of the details of my dream became hazier and hazier. Was it a man that grabbed me? Were there houses on the street or was it more open? It's like they were just.... pulled from me.

 Although there was one thing that stuck with me... the black jeep.

 "Deep in thought?" Mitchell Bluren asks me, hands folded on the table. 

 "Not really." I say defensively, shutting the cover and pushing my sketch book aside. He shakes his head.

 "I wasn't asking for the password to your diary, 'Miss Cassidy'." Mitchell mocks. I try to ignore him, and I pick up on the last bit of Mr. Duffle's schedule speech.

 ".... I'd like each of you to practice these sentences to the person sitting next to you." He says.

 I pinch the bridge of my nose, "I don't own a diary," I respond.

 Mitchell stares at my skeleton of a sketch across the table, then at me.

 "Maybe you would've been better suited for art class than Latin."

 I look up at the old-fashioned chalk board. There's nothing written down, and I feel a bit regretful that I haven't been paying attention at all today. It was the same all day yesterday, of course. But the first day never matters, so I could afford to zone out and do nothing. Today though, I feel as though I just can't focus. And immediately this moment, I feel like I'd rather be anywhere but here right now.

 Mr. Duffle waddles his way to the back of the class, stopping in the aisle beside Mitchell and I's table, arms crossed. He looks impaitient and on the brink of disappointment, whe Mitch begins to say something.

 "[in Latin]Pardon my friend, she is.... not feeling well today. Perhaps," He pauses, "I can speak for her?"

 "Wow, I'm impressed, Bluren. You should really be in my other class." The bald man states, impressed.

 "Uh, no thank-you sir, I think that I'd prefer to stay in this one. I prefer the, um..." he looks to me, "Pace of this one."

 "Very well," he says, "And good choice," before walking back up the aisle to the front of the room again.

 Mitch promptly gives me a 'I just saved your ass' grin, and I know he was just showing off.

 "I can afford to fail a class," I tell him, before pulling back my art book and opening up to a clean page. 

 "Really?" Mitch asks, "Is that your excuse?"

 I give up looking for my favourite green mechanical pencil, making-do with the ballpoint pen laying on my desk. 

"At least I'm not the one taking the easy pass." I say, and I notice that Mitch doesn't seem to be paying any attention to what's going on in class, either.

 I find it harder to put down a single mark on the still-empty page laying in front of me. My pen lays between my fingers, the tip hovering gently above the page as I think.

 "How about," Mitch grabs my book and my pen out of my hand and begins writing something down on the corner of the page, "You come see me at 8 and I'll show you how to get that 'easy pass'."

 I snatch my things back from him as quickly as I can, when suddenly we're both called on.

 "If neither of you are going to listen in class, I'll have to make both of you stay after class."

 And Mitch and I never said another word to each other for the rest of class. 

 I find myself on the doorstep of Mitch's apartment hours later, at exactly 8 o'clock. Of course, I have no idea what I'm doing here. Or, why I came, for that matter. Frankly, I've had a terrible feeling about the whole situation since I read the sloppy address smeared across the page when I pulled the thing away from him. I guess I was just curious. That is, about Mitch. I don't know why, as much of a jerk he came off to me as from the start, from the moment he made the snide remark about the password to my diary to the moment he ripped my most valued source of comfort away from me, I can't help but feel this weird connection to him. 

 I pull my cellphone out from my back pocket to check the time. It's been ten minutes, and I'm still waiting out here. I shift my weight onto my left leg.

 Man, I must've been pretty tired this morning to think that this guy might actually be worth something. You know, aside from his weird apparent high-grade knowledge of Latin. Who would've thought that the jerk who invited girls over to this house after meeting them for a day was actually a dick. 

 I'm such an idiot. I really need to try and get some sleep tonight, and for all it's worth, avoid any kind of ridiculous argument with him in the morning.

 "Hey," Says a deep sultry voice in front of me, "Didn't think you were actually going to show up."

 If I'd of had the time to straighten out my thoughts just then, I would've thought about what an idiot this guy is and what an even bigger one I am for falling for his antics.

 Instead, I try to form a some-what logical sentence that would make sense in this kind of situation. Sadly for me, however, I was still stuck on the fact that he just caught me waiting for him on his doorstep.

 "Beer?" He lifts the white plastic bag in his left hand.

 "We're underage." I reply. Finally, my brain starts funtioning normally. Or, whatever was normal for the fact that I was still there.

 Mitch makes his way over to the door and sticks a key in the lock, "Not where I come from."

 The door opens, and he invites me in.

 Like the biggest idiot in the universe, I follow him inside.