Sent She wasn’t very pretty: a long nose stretched down her face, beside it lay dyed black hair with bright green streaks, but she was mine. Most people avoided her; she had a very unusual style. Today she wore bleach splattered purple overalls and a bright green off-the-shoulder shirt, which was against the dress code. I just wore a boring grey buttondown and tan trousers; at least I wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. It was tenth grade, and who you talked to was closely observed. I didn’t have to worry about that, because I never talked to anyone. I did talk to her though… well we texted at least. By that, I mean she texted me, I never really responded too much. It was a Monday when it happened. We’d been in school for about two weeks when she first texted me. Nothing special, just the usual, “Hey, I don’t have your contact saved, but you’re in my grade, right? ” and “Hello? Who is this? ” that went on through the first period to lunch. I expected her to start believing that she was texting a robot number and ignore me like everyone else, but she didn’t. I always wondered why she kept texting a number when she didn’t even know if someone was on the other side. That’s when I realized I had my read receipts on. But for some reason, I kept them on. It was nice knowing that someone knew I was there. I had to take the bus home. My parents were at work and I wasn’t old enough to drive yet. I never liked taking the bus, too much pressure, but today it was the only option. Deciding where to sit was the most awkward and uncomfortable part for me. The front of the bus was filled with trendy kids, who gossiped to everyone and about everyone. Sitting there would just draw attention, which is the last thing I needed. The gamers sat in the middle, and I didn’t even own an Xbox, but we occasionally communicated, just the usual, “Hey! Did you have the test? Any plans over the summer?” strictly business and nothing out of the ordinary or personal, which is fine by me. The back Thalia O’Neil would be a good option, except for the fact that it was contaminated by the juniors and seniors, which just left the back middle, for the extras. It was a new bus, and by that I mean, it had only a few graffiti slurs and didn’t completely smell like the inside of the boys’ locker room after basketball season. The bus ride to my house was thirty minutes, thirty-six if you count the walk from where the bus dropped me off. It could’ve dropped me off directly at my house, but I prefered for people not to see the shack I lived in. Well, “shack” is a bit of an exaggeration, it was truly a beautiful house, but it was too perfect, too noticeable. It had dark blue shutters and doors, and we had painted the wooden porch and swing the previous summer. I hadn’t really noticed it all before; I had been accustomed to having my head down like a beaten dog. That day was different somehow. I even took a moment to appreciate the daisies planted by my mother. They were messy and would probably die before October, but they still looked beautiful to me. My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my head for a moment. I shook my head to clear my vision; it was her: “Today was fine, I hate my Calculus teacher though .” I slipped through my garage to my room only to be greeted with another text, “Ugghhhh my sister just got me grounded . I hate her so muchhh .” I rolled my eyes, “Ugghh that sucks.” I whispered, but I didn’t respond. I liked listening to her, I didn’t want to ruin that with my socially awkward way of speaking. She was a good acquaintance of mine, I thought, and I would’ve thought of her as a friend, but it didn’t seem fitting yet. That is, until she really started to open up. “I want to run away,” her text said. I shook my head, it was about 1 o’clock in the morning, and I was still
😃
🤔
❤
😒🙄
😡😡
😡😡
25
