Sinner and Saint

(3) Partners

"Mom." My greeting sounded more surprised than I would've liked, but it was out of the normal to see my mother up at this time. "What are you doing?"

She looked up at me with a forced smile, her hair disheveled and her scrubs wrinkled as she opened and closed the cabinets, searching for something as if she wasn't in her own home. "Right now I'm looking for the coffee beans." She mumbled, frustration clear in her voice.

I stepped down from the last step on the stairway, where I had been standing, and walked around the kitchen island, moving past my mother to the cookie jar where we kept the coffee beans. "Here." I said as I handed it to her. She looked on the verge of tears at this point but took it from me without saying a word.

We stood in silence as she started making her pot of coffee and I took the opportuinty to really look at her. Her dark curls were up in a ponytail, the ends brushing the nape of her neck as she moved around. She looked tired; her brown eyes dull as they scanned the area.

As they looked anywhere but me.

I favored her in many ways, but I got my lightness from my father; while my mother's skin was a beautiiful brown, my own was an intriguing olive toned.

"Why are you awake, mom? I don't usually see you in the mornings." I approuched conversation hesitantly, using my arms to slide myself onto the counter to sit with her as she poured herself a mug of coffee.

She sipped her drink, her face twisting as I'm assuming it was too hot. After a minute of her silence, she finally spoke. "We're short staffed at the moment, so I have to work a double."

I nodded, my eyes looking down at her scrubs before to my hands that were in my lap. I thought my mom being a nurse was amazing. To be able to help people everyday- I couldn't even imagine. I know it took a lot out of her, but sometimes I felt she used it as an excuse. A reason why she couldn't be there to see me off before school, or that she 'didn't have a choice over schedules'. That she didn't like how she couldn't eat dinner with me, or say goodnight to me before I went to bed. Though I would never voice this to her. It just gets lonely eating alone at the dinner table everynight.

I waited.

I waited for her to try and make conversation- to ask how the first day of school was.

But as time ticked by, and the closer it got to me having to leave, I realized she wasn't going to make a peep.

So hopping down from the counter, I slid passed her. If she wasn't going to try, I sure as hell wasn't.

~*~*~*~*~

I was going through my bag when my locker slammed shut, making me jump. My head whipped to see who would approach me like this, but my breath hitched in my throat as I looked into the eyes that once used to make me melt, now just make me sick.

Startled at his body now leaning against my locker, my eyes squinted into a glare.

"What do you want, Jake?" I asked sternly, showing no emotion on my face

"You." he says plainly, a lazy smile creeping onto his face as he loosely folded his arms over his broad chest.

"I don't have time for this, I need to get to class." I said trying to control myself from hissing it at him. I put the strap of my bag over my shoulder and started to walk off. I couldn't deal with this right now.

He grabs my arm though, and suddenly every memory is flashed back to me. The simple contact with him sends chills down my spine. But I can't lose it here. I can't how him any weakness. I can't give him that kind of power.

"Let go of me."

He immediately lets go and looks almost apologetic, but I'm not falling for that face again. I saw it too many times.

"I'm sorry. I just- I'm not that person anymore Haze, I swear."

"I have to go," I say backing away from him, gripping the strap of my bag till my knuckles lost color. "And don't call me Haze; only my friends can call me that."

~*~*~*~*~

I walk into room E6 - Mr. Krettz- our Lit teacher- and head straight to the empty seat I see next to Chelsea, who I can always count on to get to class early and get us seats. She's done this for every class we've ever had together since the first grade.

As soon as she sees me she lights up and waves at me, a big smile on her face. I can't help but smile at her as I weave through the desks currently separating us. She has a way about her that can always make me feel special- like I'm a somebody. She doesn't realize it, but it's just what I needed at the moment; to know I had someone who really loved me and would never hurt me.

As soon as I sit down, in walks Mr. krettz. He's a very serious, all work, no play kind of man. I've never had a problem with him, though a lot of students hate him. He's really not that bad as long as you don't ask questions and just do as he says.

He begins to go over a brief lecture about how just because we're seniors now, it doesn't mean we don't have to do work and put in effort, and that he has no problem failing us. Apparently, he doesn't care if we don't walk across that stage in May.

At the end he announces he wants to start this year with a project. Each of us will be assigned a partner.

Immediately everyone gets excited, shouting names across the room to claim their territory. By instinct, Chelsea and I turn towards each other and she squeals because we both already knew a project together just means an extra excuse to hang out.

Everyone is shut up by Mr. Krettz's slam on his desk. "Class! First of all, calm down! Secondly, I never said you get to pick your partners."

That sends all kinds of whines and groans to sound throughout the room.

Even one kid begging, "Please Mr. Krettz, its our last year at least let us pick our partners."

"Actually that's precisely why I'm picking them for you. This is your last year in high school and I bet half of you never speak to one another. You may know your classmates names, you probably even know every rumor going around about them, but do you know them? That's what Literature is all about, digging below the surface, reading between the lines, and the results may just surprise you. So with that said, I'll read aloud who will be with whom."

I stopped listening after Mr. Krettz named Chelsea and my name didn't follow after, instead he put her with the emo girl that always sits in the corner. I realized then that I don't even know her name.

I guess that's the point of what Mr. Krettz was saying. I begin to feel that maybe this isn't such a bad idea after all. That is, of course, until he named me. "Hazel Parker," and I wasn't happy about who he said afterwards.

"Your with Greyson Rivers."