Have you ever phased out and started staring at something random?
No? No. Okay, well that's what I'm doing right now. Except, the something I'm looking at is actually a person. A person whom I just realized I've been blankly staring at for the past five minutes. I mouth a quick sorry at my classmate, whose name I don't actually know.
To be honest, I've been phasing out like that a lot today. There's just been so much on my mind that I have a hard time paying attention to what my teachers are saying. It doesn't help that this is the first day of school, and every teacher is going over the same thing.
Class rules.
It's like they forget that we've been forced to listen to this in every single class for the past four years.
As Mrs. Haplin rambles on and on about how we have to be on time and respectful, I find myself examining my fellow classmates. Because there are only two senior history classes, I know or at the very least know of, most everyone in here. They're mostly all the same people that were in my history class last year, A.P History. Of course there are a few new faces, but I'm mostly familiar with everyone here.
To my right is Gary Allred. Basically, Gary is that one weird kid that every school has. You know, the one that picks his nose and has peed himself once or twice over the years? Regardless, I've talked to him a few times, all of which have been interesting. He's a nice guy, just lacks basic people skills.
Now the person to my left is Melissa Dunbar. Melissa and I have a love hate relationship per se. We were buddy-buddy in middle school, but had some huge fight and didn't talk for a year. Ever sense then, we've just tolerated each other. To a point that is. We've gotten into heated debates about books, and have tied in just about every school competition. Basically, we're too alike to get along.
While I could go on explaining everyone in the classroom, that would take forever, so here is a summary. My school, like all others is made up of both intentional and unintentional cliques. You've got your Jocks, your Cheerleaders, Techies, Goths, Anime Geeks, those people that always seem to be high, then there's people like Marissa and I. Full time Nerds.
That fact used to bother me, but now I've come to terms with it. I actually happen to like being a nerd.
Camie on the other hand, is one of those people that doesn't really belong in any particular group. She is a computer god, yet is somehow still popular enough to be friends with a few cheerleaders.
The bell rings, releasing my peers and me to migrate to our next class. Everyone begins to rush out of the classroom like a herd of elephants. Meaning, if you're not quick enough, you'll get trampled. Literally. The year before last, some girl fell in the middle of the hallway during the lunch bell and broke two ribs.
Speaking of lunch, because of my painfully hectic morning, I forgot to pack myself something to eat. Nor was I able to eat breakfast. So now, I'm stuck with whatever our cafeteria is serving. Great.
Per usual, I am the last person to leave the classroom. I'd rather not be trampled by starving students, thank you very much. Besides it gives me a chance to ask my teacher for upcoming assignments.
Waving goodbye to Mrs. Haplin, I rush out into the hall. Its lunch period now, and If I don't get there quick, I won't get any food. Food that I most likely won't eat. I'm a food snob, I know.
Walking into the Cafeteria, I make my way to the lunch line. Miss. Mayz, the Lunch Lady, gives me a smile before plopping "meatloaf" onto my plastic plate.
I try to hide my disgust when I look down at my lunch. The supposed meatloaf in front of me is tinted green and smells awful. I mouth a quick thank you before walking over to Camie and I's designated table.
"Hey" I say with a nauseated smile. She raises her eyebrow and looks down at my tray. Camie soon shares the same expression as I do.
"What. The. Hell. Is. That?" She blurts out in a hushed tone.
"It's supposed to be meatloaf," I mutter. My best friend once again looks at my plate and then back at me.
"That is not meatloaf," She states a matter-a-factly.
She glances down at her own lunch, then does something I never thought I'd see. Camie hands me half of her sandwich. I can't help but gape at her.
"Who are you and what have you don't with my best friend?"
"Haha, very funny Ashlyn. I am capable of being nice you know. Now sit down." She gestures at the bench. I take a seat and bite into my sandwich.
"Just, don't expect me to do that ever again" she states before inhaling her half of the sandwich.
"There's the best friend that I know and love," I chuckle, my mouth stuffed full of bread. My best friend takes this as an opportunity to elbow me in the ribs, hard. Very hard.
"Ew Ashlyn! Seriously? That is freaking gross!" she declares, her eyebrows furrowed together and her mouth chock full of her food.
"You're one to talk . . . psycho." I mutter back at her before inflicting the same pain on her.
Holding her ribs, Camie bursts out in laughter and I soon follow suit. My best friend has the most hilarious laugh I've ever heard. Not that I can really make fun of her, my laugh is just as bad.
After we've both finished devouring our food, we begin our first day of school tradition. Every year we write down predictions for each other and keep them buried in our yards until the school year is up. Last year, Camie predicted that I would get a boyfriend. That obviously didn't happen.
"Ashlyn, I swear, you'd better predict something good this year. For the life of me, I can't figure out how you do it, but yours always come true." Camie tells me while handing me a small piece of paper and a pencil.
It's true, since the first year we started this, I've gotten everything right. Camie insists I should be a fortune teller.
Truth be told, I just use common sense and intuition. For instance, last year I predicted Camie would finally get off her butt and run a 5k like she has always talked about. Now Camie on the other hand, likes to pick things that will very likely never happen. Two years ago, she predicted I would get a cat. I am allergic to cats.
As we both compose our predictions, the entire cafeteria goes silent. Almost instinctively, Camie and I look up in unison. Anytime the usually excruciatingly loud cafeteria becomes quiet, you're going to want to look up. . . Except for right now.
The spectacle in front of me makes all of the progress I've made today fade away. It makes my blood boil and my heart ache. Now entering the cafeteria are the people responsible for Bryn's suicide. I like to call them, the Kens and Barbie's of the school.
The group is made up of six people. The girls, who are all slightly underdressed, waltz into the room like they own the damn place. I suppose in some way, they do. Josey Jackson, Cathy Mitel, and Ren Garten, all three the very pain of my existence.
I've never personally talked to any of them, but I have been a witness to many cringe-worthy arguments.
The boys on the other hand, seem slightly more tolerable. For the most part, they stay out of trouble and just stick to themselves. Unless someone gets in their way that is, then all hell breaks loose. Unsurprisingly, all three boys, Dylan Talon, Avery Knight, and Alex Perter, all have unearthly good looks. Not that I've noticed.
Over the past three months, it's these six people who have been at the top of my mind. I can't stop wondering if they know what they did, if they're sorry. I want to know that they're sorry. That's what I want more than anything.
In a surprising turn of events, the K & B's take a sharp turn in my direction.
"Please turn around, please turn around," I mutter to myself quietly. Much to my dismay, they don't. I glance over at Camie, who shares the same confused expression that I have. She shrugs her shoulders before turning back to the scene unraveling in front of us.
In a desperate attempt to avoid them, I begin to rise from my seat. Before I can do so completely, Camie puts her hand on my shoulder and forces me back down.
"Don't let them intimidate you. You're fine," Camie assures me under her breath so that only I can hear her.
After what seems like an eternity, they reach our table.
"We want this table," Josey blurts out with a smirk on her makeup caked face. I glance over at Camie, who has an annoyed smile on her face.
"And? If you didn't already notice, which based on your I.Q., you haven't, this table is taken." Josey looks a bit taken aback.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Josey practically shouts at Camie.
"I think I'm someone who doesn't have time for your shit. So, you can leave now. Bye." It surprises me how calm Camie is able to stay throughout this whole situation.
Josey lets out a laugh and turns to look at Alex, who is on her left. They seem to have an argument with their eyes for a moment, before Alex steps forward. "Look Babe, just go sit somewhere else and we won't have a problem, simple as that."
By now, that calmness I was talking about has slipped out of my best friend, as she is now standing with her face in Alex's. "For starters, don't ever call me Babe. Also, Ashlyn and I don't listen to as-"
Camie pauses for a moment and turns to face me, her eyes expectant. She wants me to give her something to call him. It was her New Year's resolution to stop cursing. So, quoting Rory Gilmore, I blurt out the only thing that comes to mind, "Butt Faced Miscreant."
"Butt Faced Miscreants," Camie finishes before turning back to me. "Wait what?"
Before I can respond, I notice that Alex looks like he's about to poop himself. I presume that's the face he makes when he's mad. He opens his mouth to spurt out what I can only guess would be a mouthful of obscenities, but is stopped by Ren, who looks slightly dumfounded.
"Wait a minute. Ashlyn? Like Ashlyn Breyers. Bryn Breyers older sister?" She questions me with a look that I almost mistake for guilt.
I guess they do know about me.
"Yeah, that's me," I mutter quietly.
For a moment, everyone in their group is silent. Cathy steps forward. "I was really sorry to hear about your sister," she speaks lightly, her voice sounding as if it would crack any moment. I notice that her eyes have large bags underneath them.
Avery opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but decides against it and backs away.
"I-I-"Josey starts before shaking her head. "It's truly awful what happened to her, I can't imagine why your sister would take her own life." She speaks venomously.
I find myself at a loss for words. By the looks of it, everyone else is experiencing the same thing.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have no remorse?" Camie inquires angrily.
"Remorse? I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Josey replies calmly. Camie appears as if she's about to explode. If I wasn't still in shock, I'd look the same.
Josey starts to speak, but is interrupted by Dylan, "Come on guys, they're not worth the trouble."
The other five nod their heads in agreement. By the looks of it, none of them are quite ready to face what they've done.
_
The bell rang soon after the K & B's left and Camie and I parted ways, agreeing that we would talk about what happened after school. I am currently pushing my way through a crowd of students attempting to reach my locker. I promised Camie that I would skip last period with her and go to the mall.
Unsurprisingly, when I reach my locker, it doesn't open. I have what I like to call, the locker curse. Unfortunately for me, my locker has a track record of getting stuck. Sure, I've had different lockers over the years, but every single one has had this issue. Every. Single. One.
"You need some help?" I hear a voice behind me. Instinctively, I turn around and am greeted with one of the last people I want to see at the moment. Dylan.
"N-no thanks, I've got it," I reply, trying my best to hide the myriad of emotions behind it. I turn my attention back to my locker, but despite my best efforts, I can't get it open. Eventually I give up, I guess I'll just have to retrieve my books tomorrow.
When I turn around, Dylan is still standing in the exact same spot he was before, a humorous grin plastered on his annoyingly perfect face.
"What are you still doing here?" I question him.
"I guessed that you would need my help. By the looks of it, I was right."
"You're wrong. I'm good, I can do it."
"That's not what it look like to me. You were about to give up." He smirks.
"Well, maybe you need to get your eyes checked. . . I was just going to-to get my locker opening device . . .," I reply, giving myself a mental face palm.
"Really? You know, I would love to see this locker opening device," Dylan says expectantly. It's like he wants me to make a big fool of myself. I rummage through my bag, desperately trying to find something to fit my needs. Much to my avail, I find nothing.
"It looks like I left it at home." Dylan gives me a look before waltzing over to my locker and prying it open as if it was nothing. I bet I loosened it a bit. . . Yeah, that's the story I'm sticking to.
"Thanks. . . I guess," I mutter, slightly annoyed that he was able to open it so easy.
He raises his eyebrows, "You guess?"
"Well, I'm sure I would have gotten it open eventually, so I really didn't need your help," I lie through my teeth. There was no way I would have gotten that thing open.
"You sure about that sweetheart?" I shoot him a glare.
"Look, I'm sorry," Dylan states, with a hint of regret in his voice.
"What?" I ask, slightly confused. He's sorry. These past three months that's all I've wanted to hear, but it sounds strange coming from him.
"For what happened at lunch. Josey, she can be really insensitive sometimes. She shouldn't have brought up your sister." His eyes radiate sadness. For a split second, all I want to do is make them light up. I can't help but shake my dead at the thought. I don't feel bad for him. He doesn't deserve my pity. He's not sorry about what he's done.
Biting my tongue, I give him a fake smile, "It's fine, really."
By the look on his face, he knows I'm lying. He furrows his brows and places his fingers on his temple. Once he looks up, he starts to speak.
"I-"I cut him off before he can say anything else.
"Like I said, its fine, I have to go." I start towards the door before I feel a strong grip on my arm.
"Damnit Ashlyn, just let me talk to you." He yells through his teeth. I snatch my hand away from his.
"No. I don't expect you to understand this, but I don't want to talk about it. Today has been hard enough as is. I don't need to add this to the pile as well. So, please, just leave me alone!" I yell back, my voice starting to break. I can feel the tears I thought I'd run dry begin to form in my eyes.
Dylan nods his head and takes off in the opposite direction without sparing me a second glance.
At this moment, all I feel towards him is hate. I don't thoroughly dislike him. I hate him. I hate all of the K & B's.
AUTHORS NOTE:
I hope you all enjoyed chapter three of my book. This chapter was really fun to write. It has a lot more dialogue than the other two chapters. Maybe too much? I don't know, let me know what you think.
My goal is to update every Sunday, but I can't assure this will happen every week, as this coming week is a holiday. I will try my best to get it done however. I wish I could update more often like other Wattpad writers, but this is not the case. I have school, homework, and pets who take up a lot my spare time during the week, so I am unable to write much except on the weekends. My goal for this chapter is 10 views, and 2 votes!
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