Anonymous

During the middle of the class I had finished reading the last few chapters of the book, so I had taken out my notebook to write a story. I was so busy writing that I didn’t notice when the bell rang. I sat there writing in my notebook. I was running out of room to write, so I made a mental note to buy a new one soon. I felt a soft tap on my shoulder and looked up to find myself face to face with the Harry Potter sub. He smiled at me and half-whispered, half-said, “Class is over.” I blinked at him as that sank in. I realized what he had said and jumped out of my seat, trying to stuff all of the brainstorming tools I had taken out into my bag. In the middle of class, I'd taken out my iPod, just as everyone else had. I had put on my "Creative" playlist while I scribbled words in my notebook. Trying to stuff things into my backpack was just wasting time, so I decided to run through the empty halls and deal with it later. I kept my iPod out since my art teacher didn’t mind me using it. He knew that I did all of my work.

As I was running and trying to get all of my crap where it belonged, I didn’t notice a guy walking right in front of me. And he didn’t notice me since either. I was worrying about being late to class when I ran straight into him. I felt the air escape my lungs as I flew backward, my belongings flying in random directions. Then I heard a sickening thud against the lockers. My iPod! I mentally screamed.

(¶)I probably wasn’t going to be able to sit for a while, since I had landed on my butt with a great deal of force. I closed my eyes and groaned from the pain as I heard a soft, “Oh…” come from my obstacle. Apparently he was made out of stone, so he was still standing, unharmed. I sensed him looking down at me. I opened my eyes and met some very familiar grey ones. His eyes were mischievous, just like they used to be, but held a hint of recognition and amusement. Ten years ago - when I had first met him - his eyes had been so hard to read. But since about two years ago, reading him had become second nature. He smirked and stuck his hand out to help me up.

I looked at the hand that he had offered – it looked exactly the same. It even had that tiny scar by his thumb - fading, but still there. I took it shyly. He pulled me up a bit too quickly and roughly, and I crashed into him again. His hands wrapped around my waist and he hugged me tightly. He had gotten really strong. “Can’t breathe…” I wheezed.

“Oh, sorry about that. You’re lighter than I remember. I guess you lost some of that baby fat.” He said in his amazing British accent. Still as honest as ever. He still held me close to him, so I just looked into his mesmerizing eyes. His grip tightened a little and his face was really close. I said the first thing that came to my mind: “My iPod.”

(¶)He gave me a puzzled look and said, “What?”

“My iPod,” I repeated dumbly. I pointed to the lockers that I assumed it had smashed against and he looked that way. His curly, black hair was near my face, so I closed my eyes and inhaled. Strange, maybe, but his hair smelled wonderful.

“What about your iPod?” he asked, still facing the lockers. My eyes flew open and I came back to reality.

“I think it died,” I whispered. He turned to look at me slowly, then he let go of me. I had no idea why, but I was a bit disappointed. I went over to look at the damage, and sure enough, it was broken. I felt like crying. It was the first thing that I had bought with my own money; it couldn’t just die like that. I had only gotten it a few months ago when I had gotten my first paycheck from my summer job. I was on my knees practically sobbing when he came to look at it. He took it from me as I crawled over to the case that it had been in and picked it up. It had originally been white canvas, but I had scribbled all over it. I had actually made it myself from some old Converse that I had. I sat down cradling it, as if it had died along with my iPod. There was a split seam in the corner, but I could fix that. The only thing I couldn’t fix was my iPod. All things mechanical either exploded or burst into flames when I tried to fix them. The only things I could fix were vehicles. I could fix any kind. My dad had taught me when I was young. I could even fix professional bikes or racing cars. He had taught me everything and he had taught me well. He was the best after all, or had been. But ever since the accident, he hadn’t been the same. He could barely walk, let alone fix expensive cars.

We used to be rich, insanely so. Almost as rich as Aiden, the boy (well, man, I suppose. He was already eighteen) who was inspecting my iPod, is. But that’s in the past. I’m not complaining about how life is now. I actually like it better, since I know who my real friends are. Money has been tight since the accident, but so has our family, so I’ve come to appreciate our situation. The only reason I had an iPod was because we were actually doing okay for a while. Dad hadn't been on as much medicine, but he got worse right after I bought it. I’d been working more recently. Back to the present, though.

(¶)I sat down with my back against the lockers, looking at the case and the smashed earphones in my hand as if they were my crushed future, hopes, and dreams. I felt Aiden sit down next to me so I turned to him. He wiped a stray tear from my cheek. That was embarrassing. Letting the guy I thought I’d never see again watch me cry over an iPod. But to me it was more than an iPod. It was my life, my escape from cold, harsh reality. I know, I can be dramatic, but that’s just me. He smiled at me and whispered my salvation: “Don’t worry. I can fix it.”

I looked at him with wide eyes and he just laughed. I hugged him and chanted “Thank you!” over and over again. I jumped up and held out my hand to help him up. He took it and supported most of his weight on his left leg as he got up. I pouted at him.

“I’m stronger than you think, you know,” I whined. He looked me up and down and laughed. He did a hilarious double-take and looked me up and down again and again with an appreciative look in his eyes. His eyes lingered at my chest a bit too long, so I crossed my arms self-consciously as I blushed. He smirked and said something I never expected to hear from a guy - at least not a straight one.

“I love your outfit,” he choked out through laughs. I stared at him incredulously. Then I noticed something horrible. We were wearing the exact same thing. Exactly. He was wearing a Kings of Leon band shirt and ripped grey skinny jeans along with dark red Converse. I blushed even more as my jaw dropped. That’s the outfit I had taken out of my closet this morning and thrown on. The only difference was that he had a black leather jacket over his and I was wearing a black and grey striped sweater over mine, and of course his shoes were clean, especially compared to mine.

“The only reason you like it is because you’re wearing it too,” I muttered. He just laughed harder and kind of started to hunch over. I was afraid that he was about to have a seizure or something when he started to stand up straight again and wiped his face. He was still chuckling, but a little more quietly and a lot less violently. I was surprised no one had come out to scold us when I noticed that we were by a loud classroom. I had almost forgotten that we were at school, since I hadn’t heard the bell ring. I probably hadn’t noticed it. Again. Then I remembered that I was supposed to be in class. He noticed that I looked worried, and asked me what was wrong.

“I’m supposed to be in class right now!” I nearly screamed.

“Oh shit, Mr. Gara’s going to kill me!” he bellowed. I looked questioningly at him.

“You have art right now?” I asked him.

“Yeah, so?” he inquired.

“I have that class too.” I stated.

"Oh, okay. Hurrah, I guess,” he slurred. I smacked his chest and glared at him.

“I didn’t point it out because of that. When I bumped into you, you were walking the other way.” I claimed.

“I thought that his class was that way,” he said, pointing.

“No, he changed his classroom about a year ago. Come on, I’ll show you where it is.” With that I picked up all of my scattered things while he grabbed my iPod and my backpack. I stuffed everything in my backpack while he held it open and I put it on after I zipped it up. I grabbed his wrist and led him to our class. Once we got there the classroom was rowdy. Apparently Mr. G wasn’t in the class yet so Aiden and I quickly sat down in the nearest empty table. I put my backpack on the table in front of me and started organizing my things. It was pretty quiet at our table (obviously not the rest of the class) except for the ruffling of my papers. Aiden was never really comfortable with silence so he decided to talk.

“Aren’t you wondering why I’m here?” he asked. I knew what he was talking about. He had moved back to England two years ago. I had never really known him that well since he was only my best friend’s sister’s friend. Yeah, I know. Confusing, but that’s how I knew him. I always thought he was Nina’s boyfriend, but whenever I asked them about it they would say that they were friends and then exchange a "look" that I never really understood. I didn’t expect to see him ever again, yet here he was. I'd had kind of a tiny crush on him ever since kindergarten. Ever since I met him, I guess. I had gotten over him about a year and a half ago, though.

“Well, I assume you moved back,” I said calmly. He smiled at me.

“I meant aren’t you wondering why I’m back? As in why I moved back maybe?” He elaborated. I opened my mouth to respond, but right when I was about to make a smart remark, a much disheveled Mr. G came in.

“Good morning class. I hope you’re all doing well,” he said absently. He didn’t notice Aiden, which I think is good since he is Nina’s father (Mr. G., not Aiden of course), so I decided to try and ask him why he was so late to class. Then I noticed how he looked. He looked like complete crap, and that's saying something when it comes to Mr. G. His shirt was stained, his hair was on end as if he had been pulling it for hours, and his pants were wrinkled and had dried mud on the bottom. I wondered what could have made him come to school so indecently dressed. I mean, he was always a bit messy, but he’s an artist, he’s supposed to be slightly disheveled. He probably had a bad time getting to class. When I came to this conclusion I returned to my conversation with Aiden.

“Well, it would be nice to know why you returned, since I thought I’d never see you again,” I said quietly. I didn’t want him to know that I had a burning desire - no, need - to know why he was here. It was so intense that I almost physically felt it squeezing my brain as I tried to think of possible reasons why he would come back.