First Impressions

School starts up very soon to my displeasure. Senior year. Sure, I want to get high school over with as soon as possible, but that doesn't mean I want to go to school.

The last week of summer was very awkward for me. My first time going clothes shopping without Mom. I know what most people are probably thinking: It's been a good four months; she should be getting over it. It's not good to grieve your entire life because people die all the time.

True, very true. But Mom was really the only person I had left when Dad died, she was my lifeline because she was always there to give me advice and listen and laugh with me. She never left me when I needed her, never. Always there, always. Always.

Brad was there too. But he would have left; I just did him a favor and saved him the trouble. That's what I keep telling myself at least. Maybe if I just keep thinking it, I won't feel so bad anymore.

The first day rolls around and I find myself dressed in a new pair of jeans that are less baggy and more girl-like with my combat boots and a gray fitted t-shirt layered with a burgundy colored long sleeved shirt. It's still summer, technically, but something just possessed me to wear long sleeves, so I did.

As I sling my backpack over my shoulder, there's a soft knock on the door. So soft that if I wasn't standing five feet away from it, I wouldn't have heard it. With my mind whirling with many thoughts, I automatically walk over and answer it.

"Hey, Autum." Brad. I should have known. His hands are stuffed in his jeans pockets and his hair is touching the top of his shoulders, the gray eyes averting themselves from me.

"Oh, hi." I speak. I haven't spoken for so long. Not even really over the summer. Only a couple times in the flower shop when florists come in, asking for advice on which soil is the best or if mulch would look better than cedar.

My throat feels scratchy and slightly dry.

We stand there awkwardly in silence before someone beeps a car horn. I look over to see Trev sitting in Brad's car in the driveway, waving at me with a wary smile. I wave back but just can't seem to conjure up the smile.

"I was, um, wondering if you would still, er, like a ride?" He stumbles over his words, his eyes finally looking at me. I wasn't ready for that. Not for them to be so focused on me and not for the waves of emotion coming over me.

"Sorry, I can't get into cars anymore." I state as natural as possible. "I've got to go."

I step out the door, locking it behind me, and start down the sidewalk. I'm not sure exactly how the boys react, and I'm not sure I really want to know. As soon as I stepped into the school, it was like any other first day.

Freshmen running, a couple people kicking and cursing at their lockers, everyone chattering with their friends.

I pass everyone, not looking anyone or even really taking notice of them. My locker is isolated at the end of the senior hallway. I shove my backpack into the storage space, grabbing a pen and notebook before going to English 12, my first period class.

The teacher tells us to write about our summer and turn our paper in at the end of the period for a small grade. I contemplate on writing a lie. Possibly pretending that I was still with Brad and my mother was still alive and we would have gone sky diving or something interesting like that. Writing the truth is out of the question.

After starting to write, then scribbling it out before trying to write and scribble it out again, the bell rings and I turn in my paper with a bunch of scribbles on it, in other words, completely useless and blank.

I go to second period, my math class. Brad is there, but he sits on the opposite side from me. No worries there. Heart is taped secure, tied tightly to my sternum so it doesn't pop out of my chest.

That period goes by uneventful.

Third period consists of an art class that I have take because I need at least two credits in the art department. Sadly, I have been placed in Drawing 2, the more advanced class because I had already taken Drawing 1 in California. Brad is in that class as well.

And he sits in front of me.

The tape is slowly peeling off and the ropes and chains are decaying away.

"Good day, class." Mr. Stratnam chirps as he whips through the door. The class is a total of sixteen people, not including the teacher. "Despite the fact that it's the 'first day of school'," He uses air quotes, "I would like to get started on your first project. It will be your main one of the year, but we will also be doing other prospects of art as well. I plan to cover painting, pastels, charcoal, color pencils, and regular pencils. Your main project will be done with anything of your choice."

"Your main project will be creating your self-portrait. It doesn't have to be from a picture. If you want, it can just be something that you always do or a picture of what you think of yourself. Perhaps, if you act like you are always happy but really sad, you would draw a depressing picture of you." Mr. Stratnam hypothesizes. "It will be graded on values, the amount of creativity you put into it, and how much I see you working on it."

"Go ahead and start doodling some ideas. Today won't be that laboring." Mr. Stratnam then retreats back to his canvas where had been previously painting. I get up to grab one of the drawing pencils from a drawer, coming back to stare down at the required sketchbook that I had bought.

A self-portrait? What should I draw?

I considered drawing myself eating my own heart, but quickly disregarded it. I don't want Mr. Stratnam thinking that I'm a cannibal and call police on me, stating that I ate the missing children.

I wonder what Brad would draw.

That makes me look up and stare at the back of his head. I can tell that he hasn't had a haircut for a long time. He hair is now slightly below his shoulders.

The bell rings, making me jump in surprise.

Had I just spent the whole period staring at the back of a head?

I get up to put the drawing pencil away as students start filing out of the classroom, chattering to each other excitedly. When I go back to my desk to pick up the sketchbook, Brad is gone but a note is on my desk.

With a sigh, I press the note into my pocket and decide to read it later. Of course I want to read it so badly right now, but I know I shouldn't. I might just end up crying.

My next period class is history. By the end of class, I know who lost their virginity, who went to juvy, who got pregnant, and who turned hot over the summer. Behind me sits a bunch of chattering girls.

Lunch comes and goes. I mostly spent it at my locker, peeling the orange I brought and trying to think of a good self-portrait idea.

What about wings? I could fly away.

Horns for the devil?

A ghost for nonexistent?

I consider the last idea and scribble it down in my notebook, reminding me so I could work on it tonight. The bell rings, signaling that lunch has ended. I get up, swatting the dirt off my jeans and turn to my locker to get another notebook out for my next class.

Music Appreciation.

Nothing much is done in that class today. It's mostly listening to different kinds of music and writing down how they make you feel and how your opinion is on the songs.

All through the class, I sit there and stare at the clock, tapping my pencil while trying to estimate how many hours I have left until graduation. I think it's possibly around six thousand six hundred and seventy two.

By the time I come to my conclusion, my name is called.

"Autum." Mr. Warner calls, handing a pass out to me. I get up, collecting my things, and take the pass.

The hallways are hauntingly empty. I can hear my own footsteps. I pass by classrooms, not really paying attention to any of them. The fluorescent lights are so bright that they start to give me a headache.

I continue staring down at the ground, wondering why the office wants to see me. I'm sure I did nothing wrong.

I enter through the office doors, getting a very inferior feeling as the secretary instructs me to sit. The chair is very stiff and uncomfortable. The walls are bare except for the file holders that hang off them, offering different papers.

Physicals. Sunshine Society. Year book order forms. Thespians.

I was just down to Debate team when my name is called.

I get up and go into the guidance counselor's office, taking a seat in yet another very uncomfortable chair. Why am I here? Is there something wrong with my classes? It's too early for grades.

As I wonder what could possibly be the reason, the counselor shifts through her papers until they are somewhat orderly, taking her time. She finally turns to me and folds her hands on her desk.

"Is everything alright with you, Autum?" She questions. I start to silently panic. Does she know I live by myself? Is she going to call social services?

"Why do you want to know." I demand more than ask, though my tone is very quiet. She watches me carefully, like a scientist examining a specimen.

"A couple of your friends have come in here, stating that they have been quite worried. I am just here to make sure that it is just some slight teenage drama and nothing too serious." She states professionally. Obviously she hasn't gone through my records, so she has no idea what she's talking about with her 'teenage drama' part. I sigh heavily through my nose.

"It's nothing bad. My friends are probably overreacting. They tend to do that a lot." I pull my lips back, hoping she takes that as a smile and not a grimace. "It might get sorted out."

She nods just as the bell rings. I walk out of the office with a slight temper.

What is it to them? They are merely people who knew me. It's none of their business anymore; they have no right to worry about me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

Even as I ranted through my head I knew everything I thought was a lie. Sure, I can take care of myself, but it's very exhausting. Of course they have every right to care about me, even if I try considering that they aren't really my friends. Sure, I miss them. I miss every single one of them.

But nobody wants something that's broken. It's a proven fact. If you have a broken oven, do you still want to keep it? Does anyone want a broken arm? What about a broken vase?

It's completely pointless to want something that doesn't work anymore.

I keep walking, thinking to myself the whole time. Which would explain why I ran into someone's back when they stopped walking. I look up to meet very familiar hazel eyes.

"Autum?" Trev asks, slightly surprised. I part my mouth slightly open, everything in my head coming to a dead halt.

"Hi." I squeak. I notice that Shale and Tash are in front of him, staring at me. We just stand there for a very long time. So long that none of us really notice that the halls are already empty. I shift uncomfortably.

"Why don't you ever talk to us anymore?" Shale asks quietly. I look at her and feel my lip tremble. She looks like she's about to cry. "We keep trying to talk to you but you never want to talk to us. We're trying to comfort you and help you through this. That's what friends do, right?"

I say the first thing that comes to my mind.

"Nobody wants a broken arm." I mumble, looking down at my shoes. There's a slight grunt from Trev.

"What is that supposed to even mean? Why don't you just let us help? We're supposed to be friends but now it's like we're trash! Do you honestly feel nothing?" Trev explodes, actually shouting so it echoes down the hallway. Shale and Tash each put a hand on his shoulders. I look up at Trev with very pathetic eyes, realizing that I'm almost getting ready to cry.

But it feels so good to talk to them, despite the circumstances. Even if they are angry with me, at least they're talking to me. It makes me feel only slightly better.

"I feel everything." I tell Trev. His angered face turns back into a very depressed one, matching Shale and Tash's faces. "Nobody wants anything broken."

"What is exactly broken, Autum?" Tash asks silently.

"What isn't broken?" I've had enough. I walk around them and leave. Not very much sense in being a half hour late to my next class, is there?

But, despite the current circumstances, it felt good to talk to my forgotten friends.

It also hurt even more when I know that I can't talk to them anymore.

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. In Drawing, I've decided to go with the idea of me being invisible. Or trying to be at least. Somehow, I get the idea of putting my forgotten friends in there, staring right at me though you can barely see me. Mr. Stratnam loved the idea.

"This could be a self-discovery portrait. Realizing that you think people don't see you, when they do. Or maybe, you want them to see you. It's very universal." He told me on Wednesday. "I'm very excited to see the outcome of your progress in this class."

Of course he said that. Instead of having it for just one-semester, this year they were having drawing as two-semesters.

Today is Saturday, and a very select day that I decided to have the flower shop closed. I knew I would need a day of rest after the first week of school. I wake up at eight o'clock to get a head start on cleaning the house, deciding that I'll clean in the morning and rest in the late afternoon.

By eleven o'clock, almost everything is done. I washed the kitchen and bathroom floors, swept the carpet, did the dishes and laundry, and cleaned my room. There were still dusting and putting clothes and towels away though. Then I have to give the dogs a bath.

I finish the first two things on my list before moving on to the last. Just as I had gotten four bottles of shampoo, three brushes, and a million towels into the tub I would be using and start heading outside, my doorbell rings.

I sigh, setting the tub down and pushing my hair away from my face. Probably a missionary person who goes door to door giving out free bibles.

I answer the door and come chest to face with a black t-shirt. When I look up, gray eyes stare down at me indifferently. I step back to try and close the door quickly, but he steps in instead, placing his hand on the door to prevent my action.

"I need to talk to you." He demands quietly, his eyes boring into mine. I feel myself getting angry for no reason. Why?

"There. You just did. Good-bye." I try shoving him out with the door, but he doesn't move at all. I keep glaring at him. Why does he have to do this to me? I don't want to hurt him anymore.

"No, we need to have a whole conversation, Autum." My name rolls off his tongue, almost like he's trying to sing it. I feel my fingers start to grow shaky.

"Aren't we doing that right now?" I cut it in. He sighs, stepping uninvitingly through the door and going towards the couch. Mac and Dannit had wanted to stay inside today, so their tails start wagging when he comes in. I reluctantly sit in the arm chair, watching as he pats Dannit's head.

What does he want to talk to me about? Does he not get the point that I let him go see he could be away from me?

"How are you doing?" He finally turns to me. I cross my arms. "I want to know the truth. Have you not thought about giving some of these dogs away? It's probably really hard supporting them-"

"They're family." I snap at him. There's a slight awkward silence.

"Autum, do you even realize how much I like you? Possibly even love? I want to be here with you to comfort you and just be here for you. We can't let something tragic tear us apart. We have to get through it together. Do you feel anything for me right now?" He lets out a pause, staring intensely at me. I feel my lip start to tremble and know that I can't answer the question. My voice will crack.

"Autum, you have to let us be with you. We all miss you and it hurts that you keep avoiding us." When I still don't say anything, he keeps talking, moving closer and closer to me. "I love you so much, Autum. I miss you. Please, let us in."

He's coming closer now, like a snake who is striking. I'm suddenly pulled up from my seat and arms are wrapped around me while Brad ravages my lips with kisses, almost savagely. Like he's never going to get one again.

I'm not quite sure how long we stand there, intertwined while he continues kissing my feverishly, but by the time I look outside through the kitchen window, its dark. So much for trying to relax.

I pull away from Brad to see him staring down at me expectantly. His eyes glisten with concern and a slight satisfaction. His arms are still around my shoulders protectively while mine are wrapped around his torso. Almost like we're meant to be like that.

But we're not. Nobody wants anything broken.

"Don't do that again." I mumble, looking down as I pull away and walk towards the door.

"What?" His voice sounds hurt and surprised. "Autum, I-"

"Get out." I order as I open the door. Please don't make me do this. Please don't make me hurt you. Please, just leave.

"Autum." His eyes flash as I stare up at him beside me. There's sadness again. I shake my head at him.

"You're making it harder than it really is, just leave." I state, looking out the door. He drawls in a shaky breath, trying to let his hand touch my cheek. I slap it away. I make the mistake of looking at him again. Tears start running down his cheeks.

"Fine. I'll leave you alone for good." He leaves and I close the door, turning my back and leaning against it as I sink to the ground.

What have I done?