The Broken Date

|3|: Part 1

Jack's POV:

"Hey, Jack, Mark's here!"

I heard Chris calling me from the living room, but of course, I already knew Mark was here. From my bedroom window, I had watched him walk up he drive, had already seen he was wearing a new, pale blue sweater, the he was walking quickly, his head bobbing up and down to some melody in his head, that he was wearing his usual smile.

How could he be smiling?

"Jack," Chris repeated, a little louder, "Mark's here!"

Those words used to fill me with such happiness, such anticipation. Now I felt only dread.

I stopped at the top of the stairs. I suddenly felt as if I couldn't take another step. I wanted to turn around, to go back to my room, to climb into bed and pull he covers over my head.

"Hi, Jack." Mark smiled up at me from the bottom of the stairs.

I couldn't turn around now. I tried to smile back at him, but my mouth wouldn't cooperate. "Hi," I said, trying to sound normal, but voice sounded like someone else's.

"Please, just one game of Hungry Hippos," Chris whined, shoving the game box into Mark's chest.

"Sorry, Chris. I don't think we have time," Mark said, still smiling. He turned to me. "Wow. You look great. Did you change your hair?"

That was a running joke with us because I never changed my hair. I always wore it swept acrossed my forehead out of my eyes.

"Thanks," I said quietly, without smiling at his joke.

How could he act so normal?

"It doesn't take long to play," Chris insisted, shoving the box back into Mark's chest.

"Ouch!" Mark laughed and backed away. He ran his hand back through his wavy, raven-black hair. "I like your shirt. That's a great red." He told me.

"Dress shirt, not a normal shirt," I said, not meaning to sound as angry as I did. I quickly added, "It's silk. It's my dad's. He lent it to me."

I looked away. I stared at the striped on the wallpaper. How many hours had I spent picturing his face, daydreaming about his face, staring at his picture? Now, it hurt to look at him.

"You didn't notice my new sweater." He sounded hurt. I always noticed things like that.

"Yeah. I did." I didn't feel like talking about sweaters. I felt like screaming, "Why did you murder a man this afternoon? Why did you ruin our lives?!"

Mark looked nervous, too. Was he reading my thoughts?

We had been going together for so long, we often said the same things at the same time, often discovered they were silently sharing the exact same thoughts. Could he read my mind now? Did he know I was in the jewelry store? Did he know I had seen everything?

He pushed his hand through his hair again. He only did that when he was nervous or worried about something.

“We can play real fast,” Chris insisted, putting the game box on the floor in the hallway and removing the lid. “I always cheat, so the game goes faster. Ok?”

“Well---” Mark seemed to be relenting.

“No!” I screamed. “Leave us alone!” I didn't mean to scream. Get control, Jack, I told myself. Get control now, or it's going to be a long evening.

Who was I kidding? It's going to be the longest evening of my life---and the saddest---no matter what.

Mark and Chris both looked at me, startled.

“Sorry,” I said quietly to Chris.

“You ok?” Mark asked.

Ok? How could I be ok? How could he pretend that everything is ok?

“Fine.” I said, looking at the wallpaper. “Let's go.”

“I guess I'll have to play by myself,” Chris said with a shrug. He started banging away on the plastic hippos.

“Have a good time!” My ma called from the den.

If only she knew.

Everyone was acting normally. And that made me even sadder than anything. Because I knew things would never be normal again.

Mark and I walked quickly out of the house and down the drive. It was a warm and humid night, too warm for the sweater Mark was wearing. Black clouds covered the moon. It felt as if it might rain soon.

“Step into my air car,” Mark said, stopping at the sidewalk and pretending to open a car door for me.

His voice startled me. I was lost in my own thoughts. “Your what?”

“My air car. Some kids play air guitar. I drive an air car. It's not that bad, huh?” He moved his hands around an invisible steering wheel and pretended to drive.

“Four on the floor. I get great mileage. And the stereo CD player is the greatest!”

Why was he fooling around like this? He didn't usually act sill. He was definitely nervous, trying too hard, talking faster than usual, smiling a lot more.

“Maybe you should go back and play with Chris,” I said coldly.

He grabbed his heart and groaned as if mortality wounded. “You don't like my air car? Ok. Then we'll have to walk, as usual.”

Word count: 859. The reason I'm doing this in parts is because I plan the chapters to be hella long...why am I making more work for myself.. because I just love torturing myself..and also I want to get something out at least everyday.