Seen Not Heard || BOOK 1

Lost Treasures

Chapter Three ~ Idina

August

I stare up at the big red John Quincy Adams Middle School sign, making sure to remember what my mother always told me to do, and take three deep breaths. I push through the doors of my brand new middle school where I know nothing and no one, and try to keep my head low, hoping no one notices me, the new girl.

When mom and I left at the beginning of August I was just trying to get settled into our new apartment. Thankfully my school started two weeks earlier than most, so I had some time to settle down before school in New York started at the end of August. It's the last year of middle school, so I'm just hoping I don't stick out like a sour thumb.

My room is decorated in shades of teal, purple, and white. I loved it. Our apartment complex is pretty close to school, but Mom is still forcing me to take the subway to school because she has work in the morning. She originally got a job as a secretary at a veterinarian's office, but she's already moved up to a nurse at the pet clinic. And, even though she works at a pet place, and I've begged and begged her, she still won't let me get a dog. She wants me to focus on getting to know people at school. How does she expect this to be any different than Houston?

Maybe it will, I mean, for the past week or so every time I've looked out my window I've seen this tall brunette girl staring out her window back at me. There is one apartment between ours, then the curve of a corner, so my window semi-faces towards her, and the courtyard. The fire escape connects our apartments to each other. When I saw her the first time I saw curiosity in her eyes. When she saw me looking back at her, a welcoming look cascaded her face. She smiled at me a big smile, reminding me of a golden retriever puppy. She started waving weirdly at me, and I, not knowing what to do, simply slowly raised my hand and move it in a wave-like awkward form. Every night this week, before she and I have both gone to bed, we've somehow ended up looking at each other at the same time. She smiles at me to say goodnight, and I smile back. Last night, I began to wonder what school she goes to, secretly hoping she goes to the same school as me. Maybe I've made at least one friend-type person.

Currently, I'm walking to my new locker, which I've written the combo to in my journal. At the front office, they said they've assigned someone to show me around the school, another student. Her dad is our history teacher they told me, and that she would be meeting me a little before school. I got here early, but I don't know if she's here or not. As I struggle to reach my journal, which apparently at the bottom of my mess of a backpack, I finally reach it. All my textbooks and school supplies are already in my locker, but I decided to bring my favorite books to put in my locker to make it feel more like home. I have Thirteen Reasons Why, Percy Jackson and The Titans Curse (my favorite in the first series), The Blood of Olympus, Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone (also my favorite in the series), The Giver, and, of course, The Perks of Being A Wallflower. I open my journal and find the combo on a light blue sticky note in my journal. I normally am pretty good at memorization, so hopefully I'll be able to memorize it by the end of the day. As I begin to plug in my combo, my bag slips down to my elbow, and gravity pulls my books out of my bag to the ground. My locker opens, and I look down to see my books scattered around me. This girl wearing all pink and a headband that says Missy, which I'm assuming is her name begins laughing with her friends. She walks past me, then slams my locker shut.

"Welcome to John Quincy Adams," she says with a mean scowl, and as she walks away says making sure to be just loud enough for me to hear, "weirdo." They walk off. First, I open my locker, then I put my backpack to the side of me, and bend down to retrieve my books. As I do I see a pair of cowboy-like shoes and denim jeans walking over to me. I don't even bother looking up. 

"Here, let me help you with that," He says, bending down. Wait, I know that voice, as he bends down I see his familiar blonde hair. He is focused on helping me with my books, first going for The Perks of Being A Wallflower, "You know, I've heard this book has a great story line..." he stops seeing my face, seeing it's me.

"Howdy cowboy," I say smiling. He wraps his arms around me in a hug. Once he releases me from his strong warming grip he grabs the rest of my books and helps me put them in my locker. "Thanks," I reply.

"No problem. H-How are you here? Why aren't you in Houston?" He asks in astonishment of my presence.

"It's a long story," I say.

"I've got time," He says. I close my journal, put it in my backpack, then put my bag in my locker. I close my locker, and he walks over to this bench next to a vending machine that is attached to the stairs. He scoots over, leaving room for me. I smile and walk over to him. I push up my glasses and sigh.

"So how have you been?" I ask him.

"Good. I moved here last year. I've made some nice friends, one's a goofball, one's a rebel, and one's planning on taking over the world someday. He's a mad genius, and frankly, I'd like to see what he does with it. I miss when we use to chat. When I moved, I lost your number or I would have texted and called you this year. I'm sorry. I wish I had. You seem so... different."

"Yeah. I am," I say rubbing my necklace. He notices, then his eyes light up. He runs to his locker, leaving me in awe. I see his locker happens to be almost next to mine, only separated by one. He opens it and shuffles through some things. He brings me a crumpled up, old, worn-out piece of paper. Before I can ask what it is I see a familiar title and familiar handwriting. 

The Cowboy, it says.

"I found it that day, at the rodeo. I kept it because I recognized your handwriting from my arm," I giggle at that comment he looks at the paper and hands it to me, "So...Why can't you have a happy ending too?" he asks. I look down as I finish uncrumpling the paper.

The question sends me over the edge; I can't help it. I break. Everything I've been holding in for the past few weeks. All the stress, the pain, the confusion, the hurt, the terror, finally gets to me. It's time to share my tale with someone other than my own mind.

And so, I tell him. I tell him how my father tried to hurt my mother. I tell him how my father would hurt me,  call me fat, constantly bullied me, and how I overcame depression, eating disorders, and unspeakable thoughts. I tell him how it's still hard to this day, every day, to fight these things that I feel creeping inside my brain, wanting me, which I refuse to let happen.

I'm in tears by the end of the tragic retelling of my life. He takes my hand in his, and I lean my head into his shoulder.

"I-I'm better now, at least somewhat," I mutter through my tears, "My mom got us away from him. That's why we're here. To start over." After a little while, I lean my head back up and look him dead in the eye.

"Y-You can't tell anyone about this Lucas. Please, promise me you won't," I stammer out trying to recover from my tears.

"I promise," he says, "It's your story to tell, not mine." I smile back at him, then mold my head back into his shoulder. We sit there for some time until two very unqiue girls approach us.