ONE:

I sat on the edge of an old park bench, peeling off the paint and crunching it up in my hands. It was growing dark, usually I’d be heading home by now but for some reason I felt the need to stay.

The cold breeze blew across my face, causing me to shiver and pull up my jacket to block the wind from hitting my neck and face.

Street lamps were beginning to come on at this point, and thought that I was still out here put a pit of fear in my stomach. The cold chilled from my spine and shivered throughout my whole body making my torso suddenly collapse onto my thighs, but I didn’t do that. Then I was thrown off the bench completely, landing three feet away in a clump.

“What the” I said cutting myself off when I realized that I couldn’t move. What’s happening?

I turned my head to the bench that I had just previously been thrown off of in hopes of seeing a reasonable explanation, but there was nothing.

“Claire,” an indescribable voice whispered in my ear, and the fact that it was my name, terrified me beyond the point of begging for my life, I was now at the point where I was wondering when they were going to kill me.

“W-ha-t?”I asked taking in deep breaths before each syllable. My eyes holding in the tears, that I wanted desperately to cry.

“Claire, I’m not trying to scare you,” a deep, rough male’s voice said, as a cold gloved hand lightly moved my hair from my neck.

Jolting awake, I jumped up quickly rubbing the sleep from my eyes then glanced around my room, checking for anything out of place from yesterday evening. My dresser still had clothes bursting from the drawers, and my floor was covered with the blankets’ and pillow’s that I throw off my bed when I sleep, nothing was out of place.

Dreams like this have haunted me for the past two years and the strangest thing is, they’re never about me, though they seem so real.

“Dalilah! Are you awake yet?” my mom called from the top of the stairs, that lead down into my basement bedroom.

My mother is an impatient woman, who cannot wait for anything, and through previous experiences, I’ve learned to answer her quickly, and then she doesn’t come down to drag me out of bed.

“Yes” I moaned loudly, I am not and will never be a morning person

Soon enough if she didn’t see me, she’d come down and pull me out of my little chunk of heaven anyway, so inevitable, I inched my legs out from underneath my warm, midnight-blue comforter, until they fell, the souls of my feet hitting the cold carpet hard, like they had just been thrown into a tub of ice. In my mind the thought, ‘if I just pretend to be, a little sick Mom will let me stay home . . . ’ it seemed like a good plan, except for that strange gut feeling that I had to go to school today, like you know that feeling when you forget that you planned something, on a certain day but you know something’s going to happen, even though you don’t know what it is?

I got ready faster than normal; grabbing an apple while I walked through the kitchen, then adjusted my bag and walked out the front door. Eventually, my morning had become a habitual ritual, with nothing different every day that I practiced.

“See ya Ma,” I called to her with a mouth full of half chewed apple, as I close the door behind me, not giving her time to respond.

My beautiful truck or otherwise known as Frankie, stood static in my usual parking spot, but this time she was covered in about two inches of snow. This is one of the few things that ruins my routine, and turns out to be one of the events in life that frustrates me. It didn’t take me long to get back on track and soon enough I was on my ten-minute route to school.

FIRST PERIOD:

I sighed, as I closed my eyes tightly, lowering myself in my desk. I was far too tired to have even come to school, let alone class. My nightmare, from earlier, that has been keeping me up for the past week, replayed as if on fast forward whenever I would blink, but that didn’t stop my eye lids from trying to meet halfway.

“Dalilah?” Mrs. Harsh asked, in an irritated voice. The old woman leaned her hip on her large desk in the front of the room, arms crossed. Annoyed.

“Hmm?” I asked, dazed.

“Does this lesson bore you?” she asked, but all I hear is a soft mumble. So I nod my head and hope for the best.

By now I hear an almost quiet rumble of laughter ripples through the class, agitating Mrs. Harsh more than I thought possible, and in one growl I was sent to the office.

The main office, placed at the front of the school, with glass walls three fourths the way around. It’s apparently so the staff can keep an eye on things; though last year the schools worse fight occurred in the foyer, directly in front of the second glass wall, and none of the staff even noticed until some kid was sent to the hospital, and is now being home schooled.

When I walk in the secretary, Mrs. Beall, glances up from her work and sighs.

“Dalilah,” she giggled, sarcastically, “what is it now?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, collapsing in one of the padded chairs just outside the large, oak door to the principles’ office. Normally someone could just walk right in, but Mr. Jones must be in a meeting, because his usually open door and was closed.

“He’ll see you in a sec,” Mrs. Beall informed me, “he’s just fixing up some loose ends for the new student.”

“New kid,” I mused too quiet for even Mrs. Beall and her bionic ears but as she promised, not long after emerged the new tall, dark, and handsome that will soon be attending Caleb Creek High. He glanced down at me with deep eyes that looked like hot embers, even though his eyes are blue, but the moment our eyes met, he quickly looked back to Mr. Jones listening to his few comment on the school and threats for if he did anything to stir up contention. He didn’t look like he cared what would happen if he got in trouble, in fact the way he looked at Mr. Jones, seemed like he was silently telling him to shut up.

As I sat there, mere inches from either person, I chose to study over this new kid, I had to know if he was going to cause problems or avoid them, but due to his gothic attire, including a black Hollywood Undead T-shirt and black skinny jeans with chains jingling from his left pocket, I decided he was going to cause and not avoid. I didn’t really have to judge his clothing though, his attitude shone through like a wolf in a flock of sheep. In all he was one of the bad boys that every girl dreams about, but to me he just looked like another annoying guy that thinks he can get away with anything.

“Dalilah,” Mr. Jones said, abruptly placing his hand on my shoulder and giving me a little squeeze. I now adjusted my focus to him wondering what he suddenly wanted me for. “Dalilah will give you a tour of the school.”

“What?” I sighed, now glaring up at him.

Ignoring my question, he introduced me and whoever, “Dalilah, this is Benjamin Puck. Ben, this is Dalilah Hardwick.”

“Hey,” I said, only to be polite.

Ben jerked his head upward in sort of a half nod, like he got my word, but didn’t answer, like he considered himself so much better than me. Great, a cocky, jerk too.

“Ok, so I’ll just leave you two to go on the tour, but Dalilah, don’t lose him,” Mr. Jones joked, as I stood up shot him a ‘whatever’ smile and walked out of the office not even caring if this Ben kid was following or not.

Once out of the office and away from the glass walls I turned to him and asked, “so where’s your first class?”

He looks me up and down for a moment then I could see in his eyes he was debating on telling me or not. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one to telling me that?” he finally asked, with a crooked grin.

“My apologies, if you don’t mind I would like to know what your first class is,” I retorted, rolling my eyes, then leaned again the wall closest to me.

“Do you get any sleep at night? If you so, maybe you should add a little bit more towards your beauty sleep.”

His statement hung in the air between us for an immeasurable amount of seconds, as my jaw quivered, threatening to drop. Who exactly does he think he is? All I want to know is, where his first class is. Is that too much to ask? I don’t think that gives him the right to insult me. He makes me wish I had taken a sick day.

“Go to hell.” Its times like this that my moms’ saying comes into effect, ‘only swear if there is nothing left to say’.

“I think I’m already there,” he said leaning towards me, intimidation covering his face like a mask. It was almost like he was trying to pin his ridiculous behavior on me, as if I provoked him in to acting like how he did.

At that moment I turn and walk off, I didn’t need to take this abuse. For all I cared, he could find his classes on his own, he could ditch, and he could do whatever he wanted as long as I never had to look, speak, or have any other type of interaction with him.

Author's Note

first chapter? i hppe its still good i'm still not quite used to writing like this :)