|posted on 15-Sep-2002 11:09:12 PM by Nikkisue|
|Title: The Watcher|
Author's Note: Yeah I know I shouldn't be starting a new story, but the voices inside my head don't like listening to me.
Have you ever watched someone? Like, really looked at them? Looked past the outward expressions and looked beneath. I watch. Constantly. All I do is watch. Watching people is easier then talking to them. I don’t talk too much anyways, it’s a waste of breath and I have nothing good to say.
There’s this guy at my school who I watch a lot. It’s not because of his perfect face, because I couldn’t care less about that. It’s the way he looks at you, turning those amazing amber eyes at you. He’s never looked at me, but I can’t blame him.
No one has.
But I’m not mad, because I hate being watched. I guess that makes me a hypocrite doesn’t it?
But I’ve seen the people he’s looked at. Somehow just by him looking at him like that. . . they glow.
And it’s not like I’m invisible. If I was in a room and someone asked about me this is what they would say. “Oh yeah, that’s Liz Parker. She’s smart and quiet.”
Question: Is it going to say that on my gravestone?
She was smart and quiet.
God, I seriously hope not.
Not that I’m dying or anything. Because I’m not. I’m as healthy as a horse. It’s just, I get bored, so I watch.
I watch him.
I watch her.
I probably watch you.
Are you creeped out yet?
It’s not like I’m a stalker, I won’t follow you home or anything. I just stare and think. Think and stare.
It’s an unending process.
It’s my life.
But some people hide behind their faces. A mask. And they fool everyone.
Everyone but me.
Because I watch.
I’ll remember what you wore last year, I’ll remember what you said in front of the class, word by word.
I’m like an elephant, I never forget.
I need to stop comparing myself to animals.
When I die, I don’t want it to say;
She was smart and quiet.
But I guess you already knew that.
I don’t want to be famous or loved by millions.
I just want someone to remember me when I die.
Someone to watch over me.
To watch over the watcher.
Kind of poetic isn’t it?
Do you like? Feedback?
[ edited 10time(s), last at 11-Oct-2002 1:49:26 AM ]
|posted on 16-Sep-2002 2:11:59 PM by Nikkisue|
Well, here's the new part. Hope you like it.
It’s Monday morning.
Because if it isn’t, then I missed a day of school.
That’ll hurt my perfect attendance.
Everyone. Because if Liz Parker doesn’t get perfect grades and perfect attendance, then the world as we know it will explode. I know this because people freak out if I get a B on an assignment.
They expect me to always get A’s. They don’t watch me, they watch my grade point average. Because we have to have a smart and quiet girl as valedictorian. It’s tradition.
Yeah, well, Cindy Crawford was second in her class. And I bet she wasn’t quiet.
I grab the first thing my hand comes into contact with and quickly brush my long hair down. It’s easier to watch with your hair slightly hiding your face.
It’s fall now. It’s approaching Halloween.
Around Roswell, Halloween is like the Superbowl. People freak out and spend thousands dollars on Halloween.
Yet, every year, 75% of the people dress as aliens.
Roswell has no imagination. I get bored watching over the same people. They never change.
Except Max Evans. He’s a mystery.
A mystery that I need to solve.
Before I graduate and leave.
Because I am leaving, I promise you. There’s nothing holding me here.
I grab my backpack and head downstairs in my house. My dad’s probably still sleeping, he sleeps till 11 AM. Lucky bastard.
I grab a pop tart and head out the door, walking the two blocks towards my school. West Roswell High. Home of the Mighty Comets.
The championship football team.
And the basketball team.
Can’t forget baseball.
Guess who’s captain for all three teams?
That’s right. Max Evans.
Max Evans is an institution in this place. And I think the main reason he never caught me watching is because the whole school watches him.
I feel sorta of sympathetic towards him.
He’s the guy who walks down the halls like in all those teenager movies, surrounded by the football team and a couple of gorgeous girls at his arm. Everyone waves at him as he passes and he smiles back towards them, causing the girls to giggle and the guys to high five.
I have this theory that cancer is caused by high fives.
And the way I see it, at least half of the senior class is going to get cancer in the next 10 years.
As I arrive, I see that the campus is clean. So, it must be Monday.
The campus is only clean on Mondays. It takes approximately till lunch for it be trashed.
I see a crowd at the side parking lot, that can either mean two things.
1) There’s a fight.
or. . .
2) Someone got a new car.
And since no ones jumping and screaming ‘fight’, I’m willing to bet on the second.
I tilt my head and look a little closer. Ahh, yep, a new bright red Ferrari.
And the new owner is Tess Harding. She’s standing by her car, a bright smile on her face, eating up the attention. A dozen guys surround her, asking her questions about the car.
“What kind of model is it?”
“How much was it?”
And the most frequent one.
“Can I ride in it?”
I wonder if she knows that you have a more likely chance of getting pulled over in a red car than in another car.
I wonder if she knows that these guys wouldn’t give her the time of day if she didn’t have the car.
I think she knows. But she doesn’t care.
I see her smile and lean against the car. “It was a present from daddy.”
Ahh, and that brings us to Ed Harding. The daddy.
He’s this entrepreneur that I heard invented white-out. I don’t know if it’s true.
Did you know they have yellow white-out? That defeats the whole purpose of white-out. It’s supposed to be white!
Sorry, I’ve gotten off subject.
Tess scans the crowd and a slight smile comes upon her face. She walks up to Kyle Valenti, the co-captain of the football team.
And the basketball team.
Can’t forget baseball.
She dangles the keys in front of his face and drops them in his hand. Kyle smiles and pumps his hand in the air. He runs to the driver side of the car and jumps in. The car starts and burns rubber as it zooms out of the parking lot.
Teenagers should not be given cars. Or licenses. They shouldn’t even be allowed near a car.
See, Tess picked Kyle because she’s in love with him. I know that. He knows that. Your grandparents know that.
The crowd disperses and I continue the path into the school before the bell rings.
They won’t end of together. This I already know.
There are no couples in Roswell.
Roswell doesn’t care. Roswell can’t make a commitment. No wonder my mom left.
I twirl the combination on my locker and push open the lock.
It doesn’t open.
I try again. 34. . .12. . .3.
Did I mention I hate locks? I take a deep breath and do the combination slowly, stopping exactly on the number. I push open the lock and let out a relived sigh when it opens. I throw my hands in the air and almost shriek.
Almost. I stop myself and quickly look around, making sure no one saw.
We can’t have Liz Parker, NOT being quiet.
No one’s watching.
I shove a couple of binders in the locker and grab my English book. The bell rings and I head towards the classroom, directly towards the corner back seat. My seat.
I like the back. You can look and look and look and no one notices.
Class starts and Mr. Young clears his throat. “Take out your textbooks, we’ll be starting our section on Emily Dickinson.”
He scans the room and looks for an unlikely host to read.
This is me thinking the whole time.
Not me. Not me. Not me.
“Liz Parker, please read the first poem.”
I grimace and scan the page. Thanks a bunch Mr. Young.
“I’m Nobody-who are you?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise you know!
How dreary-to be-Somebody!
How public-like a Frog-
To tell one’s name-the livelong June-
To an admiring Bog!”
You’ve got to love Emily Dickinson.
No clue what’s she’s talking about, but it’s deep and dark.
I bet she was a hypocrite.
I’m going to grow up to be like her.
Except I can’t write poetry.
“What do you think it means Ms. Parker?”
I think it means you’re an idiot Mr. Young.
“Umm, maybe she means that she likes being nobody because when you’re somebody everyone expects you to be a certain way and do certain things.”
Mr. Young raises an eyebrow. “Interesting.”
Why do I feel he’s taking notes on this?
“Does anyone agree or disagree with Ms. Parker?”
A single hand raises and Mr. Young points towards it. The head turns around towards me and I stare at the book.
It’s Max Evans.
“Mr. Evans, what’s your take?”
“I think she’s talking about how being different from everyone else, you have to hide. Because people don’t like different people. But, when you’re somebody, it’s kinda of the same way. How you get put on a pedestal and everything.”
Mr. Young raises an eyebrow, “Interesting.”
Yeah, and what does Max know about being different and having to hide?
Mr. Young takes a piece of chalk and starts to write on the board. “I want you to dissect the next poem on the page, ‘One need not to be a Chamber’, tomorrow, we’ll discuss it.”
He’s looking at me. That means he’s going to ask me on my take tomorrow. Fun.
I look around the room. Tess and Kyle are gone. They must still be driving.
I watch him. He’s just sitting there, writing on a piece of paper. The girls in the room are whispering to each other, no doubt talking about him. The guys are in a heated discussion, most likely about sports.
See, Roswell’s got no imagination.
What is Max writing?
Maybe I can stretch a little and see.
I lean forward in my desk and stretch as far as I can without anyone noticing.
It looks. . .like a note.
Ok, that’s all I wanted to see, it’s not like I want to read it.
Because that would be an invasion of privacy.
And I don’t care.
But. . . I wonder who the note was to. A potential fling?
You know, Emily Dickinson’s right about one thing that I can relate to.
Just that small, smart, and quiet girl who answers to the name Liz.
|posted on 17-Sep-2002 11:47:18 PM by Nikkisue|
|Thanks again to:|
Also thanks to JaneLane, your icon reminds me of that receptionist from Beetlejuice!
You guys freaking rock.
Well, here's the new part!
There’s only one basic rule to watching people.
Don’t get caught.
I’ve never gotten caught and I don’t plan on ever getting caught.
I’m in Biology right now, sitting. . . yep, you guessed it, in the back corner.
There are an odd number of students in this class, so I volunteered to work by myself.
Gives me more time to watch.
They’re practically all in my class.
Who you might be asking?
The people I like to watch the most.
There’s Max Evans of course. He’s sitting next to Maria Deluca.
I like to watch Maria because she’s unpredictable. She might be quiet and then start dancing. She might just snap at someone, or just start to cry.
Next table over is Isabel Evans, Max’s twin. She’s like the epitome of ‘the coolest girl in school’. The Evans, are both institutions. The school’s obsessed with them. I guess I kinda am too.
She’s supposed to be this big bitch, but I know better.
Because I watch her.
She’s really gentle around her ‘boyfriend‘.
Which brings us to her lab partner, Alex Whitman.
The guy who’s a geek, but kinda not.
He’s does computers, he does guitar.
In my opinion, they ex each other out. So, he’s just a normal guy.
Isabel’s never a bitch around him.
I suspect it’s love.
But they’re not together. Just really good friends.
Remember? Roswell doesn’t make commitments.
You’re either friends or you’re married.
There’s no in-between.
Looks like Kyle and Tess are back. When Mr. Tran asked us to pick partner, she practically jumped on Kyle. I would have laughed. . .
If I laughed in public.
Which I don’t.
Kyle’s an okay guy, but he’s uses people.
Mostly Tess, because she lets him.
In front of Tess sits Michael Guerin, the classic rebel. Has spiky brown hair, over 6 feet, and a bad attitude.
He’s in charge of the art department at this school. This woman named Mrs. Kurt used to run it, but she got a better offer.
So he’s runs it. Everything. Photo. Art. Web Design.
I’ve watched him paint once. It’s freaking amazing. He’s got talent.
That’s good. He’s going to need it to get out of this town.
Next to Michael is Courtney Banks, Isabel’s personal slave.
I want one.
She follows Isabel everywhere, complimenting her, doing anything she wants.
It’s very pathetic.
Courtney is ruining the names of teenagers everywhere. She’s a watcher too, but she only watches Isabel.
It’s fun watching Courtney watch Isabel. She gets this dreamy look on her face, and I swear she’s picturing her head on Isabel’s body.
Next table over we have Pam Troy. The so-called ‘slut’ of the school.
Supposedly she’s slept with everyone. I don’t believe it.
I just think she likes dressing like that. And, with everything there comes a consequence.
Right next to Pam, is her best friend, Sean Deluca. Also Maria’s cousin.
Sean’s done some jail time. I hear he robbed a donut shop. Got caught real fast. You know. . . ‘cause cops like donuts?
He and Pam are fun to watch because they do anything they want, without caring about what anyone thinks.
I kinda admire them for that.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if everyone in this class was stuck together in a room for a week.
Maria would probably kill someone.
Courtney would probably steal Isabel’s underwear.
Tess would probably jump Kyle.
I would probably go sane.
It would be scary.
I tie my hair back and put on a pair of green goggles. I can imagine how the green is helping my complexion.
Of course, Max looks cute with them on.
And Isabel looks perfect.
And Maria looks like a brainiac.
And Alex looks buffer.
And Tess looks taller.
And Kyle looks wiser.
And Michael looks nicer.
And Courtney looks normal.
And Pam looks holier.
And Sean looks generous.
And yet, they all seem to look better, and I probably look, just plain. . .weird.
Oh well, at least they aren't watching me.
I’m in Calculus right now. Max is in here too.
Oh, did I forget to mention he’s in all of my classes?
I swear I didn’t rig my schedule. It has a mind of its own.
This is my life.
I think. I watch.
I think. I watch.
I occasionally eat and sleep.
But mostly thinking and watching.
It works for me. . .
but you shouldn't try it at home.
In this class I sit to the right in the middle aisle. The teacher assigned seats.
It’s the only class where I’m not in the back.
It’s the only class where I can smell Max.
He’s sits diagonal to me. And I swear he wears too much cologne.
It floats in the air molecules and heads straight for my little nose. It‘s all I can smell.
I hate it. It’s hard to watch, hell, it’s hard to think when all I can smell is that cologne.
It’s harder to watch him because he could be looking at me through the corner of his eye at one point and catch me watching him.
And I can’t get caught.
I hate math. All you need to know in life revolving math is how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. And I know all that.
So, I shouldn’t have to take it.
At least then I wouldn’t have to smell MAXWELL FREAKING EVANS!
Ok, all I need to do is calm down. Breathe through the mouth. It’s easy.
A piece of cake.
The guy sitting next to me keeps tapping his pencil against the desk. It’s really annoying.
If I wasn’t so busy focusing on my breathing, I would glare at him.
Then he would be shaking in his manly boots.
I open my binder and take out the piece of paper I copied the poem unto. I’ve already read it a couple of times, and it’s kind of confusing.
I think Emily Dickinson was on crack. Maybe I need some to understand.
You wanna hear it?
One need not to be a Chamber-to be Haunter-
One need not to be a House-
The Brain has corridors-surpassing
Far Safer, of a Midnight Meeting
Than its interior Confronting-
That Cooler Host-
For safer, through an abbey gallop,
The stones a' chase-
Then unarmed, one’s self encounter-
In lonesome place-
Ourself behind ourself, concealed-
Should startle most-
Assassin hid in our Apartment
Be horror's least.
The Body-borrows a Revolver-
He bolts the Door-
O’erlooking a superior Spectre-
Seems like she has some identity problems.
Join the club Em.
[ edited 3 time(s), last at 21-Sep-2002 1:07:15 AM ]
|posted on 21-Sep-2002 1:05:42 AM by Nikkisue|
|NOTE: Thanks to everyone for the feedback!|
Do you ever wonder what would happen if you could stop time? You would never be embarrassed over tripping or spitting, or say the wrong thing.
You’d be perfect.
And you could stand right in front of people’s faces and just stare at them.
It would be heaven.
Hypothetically of course.
It’s lunch time now. And they’re all sitting at the same table. Just eating and talking.
All of them. Isabel, Courtney, Maria, Michael, Alex, Pam, Sean, Tess, Kyle and Max.
The more interesting group of people at this school.
Just sitting and talking.
Guess what I’m doing?
If you said watching, give yourself a pat on the back.
I’m sitting under a tree at the edge of the quad. It’s my personal haven at lunch. Sure, you get the cars passing by, but other than that, it’s perfect.
I’m bored. This peanut butter and jelly sandwich really isn’t doing it for me today.
Hmm, who to watch?
Paulie and the rest of the football team are playing quarters.
The sluty table are painting their nails and flipping through magazines. Can’t forget with the bottle of water they constitute as ‘lunch’.
The computer geeks and the band are at a table laughing about something. Uh oh, Gary Simpson is snorting. They must be talking about Star Wars.
The loners are sitting at a bench, some writing, some playing cards. I should be over there, but I’m under the category ‘smart’.
I skip past them and look at the table with the smart people. They’re doing their homework and probably discussing a book.
The day I join that table is the day I will gladly shoot myself.
No one to watch. Groan. That means I have to watch them.
Oh, well, beats picking at this PB&J sandwich.
I hate chunky peanut butter.
Are you wondering at all why I’m telling you all about my life?
I think I’m telling you, so that if I do die. . . and no one remembers me, then you will.
Morbid, don’t you think?
I’m in the gym right now, sitting on the bleachers.
All the guys are playing basketball. It’s this really heated game where people are getting slammed against, and shoved and tripped.
I’m watching them freely, like everyone else.
Maria is playing, and she’s pushing guys left and right. Screaming into their ears, pantsing some of them.
She‘s got spunk. Unpredictable.
Groan. Today’s the first day of my new job.
“Hello, welcome to the Crashdown, I’m your waitress Liz, can I get you something to drink or are you ready to order?”
My dad made me get a job, because he’s too lazy to get one himself.
I can’t see myself as a waitress. They have to be energetic and perky, and I’m neither.
Wow, Max is all sweaty and his arms are all shiny. His black hair is sticking to his forehead, and he kinda looks. . .nice.
In a strictly sweaty and smelly way.
The way he moves across the court, never looking at the ground, always at the basket, you can tell, he was born to play.
Now I, can’t make a basket to save my life. It’s either too short or too long.
The rest of the day happened and I am now standing in the back room at the Crashdown.
In a green dress thing.
I don’t even know how to describe it, so I won’t.
All I’ll tell you is that it’s. . .embarrassing.
“Oh my god, you work here too?”
I turn around quickly and come face to face with Tess Harding.
Why the hell does Tess work? Her daddy’s rich.
She has her blonde curls up in a ponytail and is tapping her order pad against her hip.
“It’s Liz Parker right?”
I nod. How much you want to bet I know what she’s going to say next.
“You’re that smart girl, huh?”
Yes, and I love to be referred as that, thank you Tess.
“And you’re that rich girl.”
Did I just say that? Did Liz Parker just have a comeback. Not a good one mind you, but a comeback?
Did I just refer to myself in the third person?
Tess’s nose scrunches up in deep thought. It looks like it hurts.
She brushes past me and opens a locker, grabbing a chapstick. She takes a deep breath and she turns back to me.
“Look, sorry about that. It’s just, you’re the last person I expected to see here.”
What the hell is wrong with me today?
I need to be tranquillized.
Tess just stares at me for a moment and then bursts out in this big smile.
“We are going to have so much fun!”
She heads over to the diamond window on the door and looks through the restaurant. She squeals and then fixes her hair and uniform.
“Kyle’s here, wish me good luck.”
“Break a leg.”
Break something Tess.
She smiles at me and heads out the door, a bored look on her face.
I think we now know why Tess works.
Kyle’s here. Dun, dun, dun.
Yep. She’s a stalker.
I step out of the doors. It seems that for one second the entire room is silent, but I think that may be my imagination.
I walk over to Fred Gillian, the manager and he tells me what to do.
What’s so hard about waitressing, you take an order, give them their food.
I just nod and smile as he talks.
I don’t want to watch Fred anytime soon.
I head towards the entrance and straighten my antennas.
“Oh my god, you work here?”
Here we go again.
Now you also may be wondering in the first place, why do I watch people?
I remember the exact day it happened and what I wore and what everyone said.
I was 13, it was the last day of 8th grade and everyone was excited about going to high school. Sunshine Mendez was on stage giving a speech about how we were, ‘entering the best four years of our lives’.
I’m thinking, who the hell would name their daughter Sunshine?
I’m also thinking, best four year of your life my ass.
I turned my head and saw my mom and dad sitting in one of the chairs on the side, excited smiles on their face. The smooth fabric of my light blue dress kept hitting my leg because of the wind and my hair which I had curled kept ending up in my mouth.
Sunshine kept on talking about her best memories, roller skating and going to parties.
And I got to thinking. Am I really going to be spending the next four years of my life with these people?
Paulie and Jon were a couple rows in front of me, making farting noises with their arms.
Courtney and Pam were filing each other’s nails. (This was before Courtney became ‘Obsesso-Girl’.)
Sean and Michael were belching the alphabet and I kept thinking.
I have to get the hell out of Roswell.
I turned and looked back at my parents and they were starting to argue. I could tell.
They weren’t yelling or anything, but they had fake smiles on their faces and I could see that they were arguing under their breath.
And one more thought came to my mind. I could learn a lot more from watching these people then from listening to them.
So, I began to watch.
And that’s it.
No extravagant story, just me and my twisted mind.
Just one little event that changed my life.
So I started to study more and became more quiet.
And people detached themselves from me and I was happy.
Happy just watching them.
Mom left a couple months afterwards. Actually, she left a week after the first day of freshman year.
And the funny thing was that I watched her leave.
I watched her pack her stuff up and she kept stopping whatever she was doing and just stare at me.
I guess we kinda watched each other.
She grabbed all her stuff and put it into the cab in the front. She walked over to me and hugged me, this tight hug where you can’t breath. Then she stared at me for a moment before kissing me on the forehead.
“Elizabeth, I love you. Watch over your father, ok dear?”
Not a problem mom, got that covered.
And she drove away. Just like that.
Dad came home, acted like nothing had changed.
And I watched him. Watched him slowly stop going to work before he got fired.
Watched him just sit on the couch drinking beer and watching sports.
I followed my mom’s advice. Because she wanted me too.
So, here I am today. The watcher.
The smart and quiet girl.
And now I’m shoved into the world of food advertisement.
In a really short, tight, metallic green dress.
Wait, didn’t someone say something to me.
“Oh my god, you work here?”
|posted on 11-Oct-2002 1:48:58 AM by Nikkisue|
|AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm back! Sorry for the delay, it was part craziness, part life and part (actually most) procrastination. But can you blame me? I'm a teenager! Isn't that somewhere in our genetic code? Oh, well, here's the new part. It kinda sucks, but, oh, who gives a sh**.|
Before I turn around, let me make one thing clear. I never wanted this much attention. I hate attention. I hate anything relating to attention. So, you can imagine how much I’m hating this right now. People are supposed to ignore me, that’s the way its supposed to be.
But, this is real life, and someone’s calling me so I do in fact turn around.
“Oh my god. You work here?”
I wonder when we became acquaintances.
I wonder when everyone started caring about where I worked and what I did.
“Um, yeah?” I say.
Maria giggles. She actually giggles. “Don’t sound so exited.”
The bell above the door rings and in walks Max and his group. Said group is Isabel, Alex, Pam, Courtney, Sean and Michael. Max smiles at everyone as he enters, and they are wave back. Reminds me of Cheers (you know, when everyone knows your name).
“Listen,” Maria says, “I’m going to go over there and eat with them.” Pause. “Why don’t you come over and take our order.”
Yeah, that’s gonna happen. “No, that’s ok. Tess is over there, so she can take your order.”
Maria glances at the table and then at me again. “You sure?”
I nod. “Yep. I got a lot to do today. You know, first day and all.”
Maria just gives me a sad look. What’s her deal? She nods and leaves, her blonde curls flying behind her. I watch as she practically jumps on Michael and proceeds to mess up his hair. Isabel is talking to Sean about something and Courtney is hanging on every word. Pam ad Alex are spitting straw wrappers at each other. Max is jut sitting there. Odd.
I wish I could tell you that time passed by in a blur but it didn’t. Actually, a couple times I was convinced that the clock was turning the wrong way. It was hard, watching them goof around like a bunch of friends who knew each other from birth. It was like watching a movie, and each person was playing a part, reading lines from a memorized script.
My shift ended and I dressed quickly in my regular clothes and left. Waitressing isn’t fun, but it’s better than living on the street. I just wish my dad would get off his butt and get his life together. When I enter the house, I find that he’s watching some Spanish soap opera, a can of beer resting on his beer belly. I don’t know why he watches Spanish soap operas, he doesn’t speak Spanish. I think he said once that Spanish chicks were hot. Yep, he’s my dad.
I walk down the hall in the house to my room. I love my room. I find it very relaxing. My oak bed is covered in a light blue and white bedspread with some light brown. I have a desk on the side and an old white dresses with a bunch of books on it.
Instead of eating dinner and doing my homework, I fall onto the bed in a lump. I’m really tired, work is exhausting. In a few seconds, I’m asleep.
When I first open my eyes, I groan because the light filtering through the blinds are shining directly into my eyes. I close them, but see those blotches of shapes in my vision. I hate that. Turning over on my bed, I squint at the alarm clock next to my bed. With a curse I sit up in bed, it’s 7:51! School starts at 8:00!
I jump out of bed and quickly grab the first pair of pants and a shirt I see. No time to match. I grab a hair tie and quickly shove all my hair up into a ponytail. Then I grab my backpack, cursing to myself about the fact that I didn’t do any of my homework. Running out of the door, I start to race to school.
Do you know how impossible it is to run with a backpack on? You run awkward and it’s pretty funny as long as it’s not you. Turning the last corner, the school comes into view. No one’s outside. I glance at my watch to realize it’s 7:59. I have approximately one minute to make it to my first period class.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I skid down the hallway right in front of my door as son as the second bell rings. Opening the door, I quietly walk inside and go to my seat in the back. The teacher Mr. Young just nods at me. Ahh, the advantages of being a good student.
“Miss Parker, since you here right on time,” he says with a sarcastic smile, “why don’t you tell us what you thought the poem meant.”
The poem? Oh, shit, right I didn’t get around to that.
“Uhh,” I say as I try to remember how it went. “I think she was talking about secrets?”
There. I think that was a good answer.
“Care to explain furthermore Ms. Parker?” Mr. Young says as he sits on his desk in front of the room. Crap.
“Right. Uh, she meant that even if you didn’t have any physical secrets or experiences, you can still be haunted. And sometimes you can get lost in your own head and being by yourself can be the scariest thing?”
Mr. Young stares at me for a second and the room is silent. “Interesting,” he says again.
I sigh and slouch over my desk. Well, for BSing the whole thing I think that I did pretty well.
Opening my English binder, my eyes narrow when I see a folded piece of paper. Cautiously I pick it up? Should I open it? Oh, hell, it can’t be a bomb or anything.
Looking around first, I slowly open it up, wincing from the crinkling sound. At first look it looks like a note. But to who?
Dear (the name is erased and crossed out so I can’t read it),
Hi. I don’t know you that well. But I see you around school. I like to watch you. That might sound scary but hear me out first. You’re different from other girls around here. All they care about are clothes and makeup and guys. You. . .you have depth. Which is probably why I shouldn’t be around you.
I can’t tell you who I am. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be. Things are, well, they’re complicated. But, just know that I’m watching. Not stalking, hello Clarice kinda way, just noticing you. I guess I just wanted to tell you that you’re not alone. Even if you might think so.
well, I can’t tell you that part.
I put down the letter and had the strangest urge to laugh. When that passed I had the strangest urge to throw up. Someone had noticed me? Had watched me?
Wait. It wasn’t even addressed. It could be to some random person. Someone probably just accidentally dropped it into my binder. Good, I have nothing to worry about.
I spend the rest of the period finishing my homework for my biology and math class. The bell rings and I head to my second period class. I go to my seat in the back.
Welcome to the story of my life. Isn’t it the most exciting thing ever? Other than the mysterious note and my new spanking job, everything is the same. I watch as Max, Maria and Alex come in the classroom. No sign of Pam, Courtney, Isabel, Michael, or Sean.
So, the class is practically empty. I look down at my outfit and snort outloud. Then I cover my mouth as a laugh threatens to escape. I’m wearing these dark green jeans and this hideous orange shirt. Totally doesn’t match. People probably think I’m colorblind. My hair is sticking out in a million directions and there are bumps on my head.
I look just fabulous.
I look over at Max, Maria and Alex who are sitting at the same table. Maria’s kinda whispering half yelling at Max and Alex and waving her hands around dramatically. I wonder what’s she saying?
Alex says something and I don’t think Maria liked the answer because she hits him. I only catch the end of the conversation before the bell rings.
“--get killed or worse--”
“--find them, even if--”
“--kill him myself!”
As you can guess it, that was mostly heard from Maria. Max and Alex looked scared but I would be too if she was looking at me like that. I wonder what she’s talking about? It must have something to do with everyone but Max, Alex and Maria being gone.
The teacher drones on about biology and for some reason I can’t get the conversation out of my head, and that stupid note (probably not even written to me) out of my head. It’s enough to make a girl go crazy.
If she wasn’t already.
[ edited 2 time(s), last at 11-Oct-2002 1:51:03 AM ]