Because Of You.

Chapter Seven.

    “Yeah, well…I just came home to grab my camera, so I’ll be right back,” I say, running up the steps, two at a time. I look around in my room until I find my photography camera. My dad gave it to me last year as a Christmas gift, probably the only good one that I’ve ever gotten. My parents normally try to get me things that they want me to be interested in. Like designer clothes, expensive shoes that make my feet feel like crap, or make up. All of these useless things to fake our way into this shit life that is my reality.

    I pull out my cell phone and go through my contacts list, stopping on Marcus’ name. Maybe it’s a bad idea, I mean, after what happened earlier today, I think things between him and I should just cool down.

    I get the jeans that I wore yesterday and check the pockets until I find Jude’s number in the back pocket. I punch in the numbers and start to hit the green button, but the connection between my brain and my hand isn’t working properly. My mind gets caught up in all of the possibilities that could happen if I call. One thing leading to another…

    Stop it, Shay! Just stop it!

    I press the button and hold the phone up to my ear, hearing it ring.

    “Hello?” Jude answers.

    My mouth is dry, and I can’t quite get anything out, so it’s quiet for a couple of seconds. “H-hi, Jude. It’s Shay,” I finally choke out.

    “Oh, hey, Shay,” Jude replies. “So, what’s up?”

    “Nothing, actually, I was just wondering if you…maybe wanted to start our project,”  say.

    “Yeah, sure. What’s your address, I’ll come pick you up,” he tells me.

    “Six, six, six Heller Drive,” I answer.

    “Alright, I’ll be there in ten,” Jude says.

    “Okay, great. Bye,” I say.

    “Bye, Shay.”

    Then the line goes dead.

    Oh my gosh, what did I just do? I shouldn’t have called. I would rather fail photography than go and do this. But, I can’t do that because Jude probably cares about his grade, if he just thought it was an easy ‘A’ he would’ve left when Mrs. Freeman said to.

    I slip my phone in the pocket of my jacket that I still haven’t taken off. Then I remember that I put my poem in it earlier. I figure that while I’m waiting I might as well put it in my journ--

    Shit! Where is it? It’s not in my pocket! Where the hell did it go? I quickly check all of my pockets and it’s not in any of them. Crap, crap, crap! What if somebody finds it and reads  it? That can’t happen. I mean, the poem doesn’t directly say what happened, but I’m sure that it can’t be that hard to piece together. Any person with a functional brain would be able to figure out the secrets that are embedded in each word.

    I’ll just look for it at school tomorrow, maybe it fell out of my pocket when I was leaving. Ugh, who am I kidding? It could be anywhere by now. Shit! How did I let this happen?

    I push my thoughts aside and go downstairs, quickly walking out the front door before my mom can say anything. I walk through the grass again, mainly because I know that my mom hates it. For some reason, I get a thrill out of doing things that I know would make her mad. It silly really, but it’s the little things that give me a rush.

    I sit on the curb at the end of the drive way and wait for Jude to get here. Then I hear giggling coming from the neighbors house, which makes me look over to see neighbor kids playing outside. A little girl and a boy who looks to be the same age. They look so…carefree, and why shouldn’t they be? They’re little, the worst they have to worry about is what dress to put on their Barbie doll or whether or not they have enough Lego’s to build a castle. Man, I wish I could go back to when I was six years old. That was a good time. Dad was my hero, mom loved me more than air, but now; dad’s an asshole and mom would love the air more if I weren’t in it.