Broken Bones, Broken Smiles, Broken Hearts

24 - 36 - 12.

I enter the combination into the locker, waiting for it to click open but nothing happens. It's an old gray locker, a slight dent in the center of it.

"Damn locker," I mumble, kicking the damn thing. It swings open and I roll my eyes. No use for the combination I guess. I stuff my jacket into the locker, the school hallway being really warm for a cold winter day.

I slam it shut and walk down the hallway, examining my new peers. It seems like any other average high school. You had your preps, your jocks, your nerds, your freaks, etc.

Dellward High School is the third school I've transfered to this year and it's only February. No, I didn't go to different schools cause my family traveled or anything. I lived in the same town all my life, Walterville. It's a town right outside of Dellward and luckily, I lived on the edge of town.

But the real reason I transfered wasn't a shocker. I honestly didn't "transfer". I was kicked out of my last school for causing way too much trouble. I'm not even going to lie, I'm a handful. And beating up Eddie Riverton was Principle Miller's final straw before I got the boot.

Here I am in Dellward, just waiting to repeat the good old cycle of going to another school.

Senior year is supposed to be great, so much fun. But it's not. Not even close. Sure, there's the parties, I go to lots of them. Partying is definitely up my alley. But they're nothing spectacular, trust me. You get smashed for a night and then you can't remember shit the next morning. What's the fun in that? Well obviously there was some fun otherwise I wouldn't keep doing it.

Some people consider me to be a loner. Sure, I have friends. But I don't trust any of 'em. And they probably don't trust me back. Great "friends", huh?

I look down at the schedule in my hand and groan at my first class, Spanish. Most seniors didn't even take Spanish because only three years of it are required. But I need the credits so I have no choice.

I stuff the paper back into my pocket and look for room 105, only a few doors away. The bell rings as I walk into the room and I take the only seat available in the middle of the room. It's near the door though so I'm satisfied.

"Ah, you must be our new student. I'm Senor Fernando," the teacher says, sitting at his desk. He's a man in his upper forties, maybe early fifties. He's starting to bald on the top of his head and has a really bad comb-over. His has a thick accent that I don't think is Spanish but I don't question it.

"Everyone welcome Roscoe Cameron to our class," Senor Fernando smiles. "I have a handout for you to work on for the next fifteen minutes and then we'll go over it. Roscoe, I'll go get you a textbook." He passes worksheets to each person in the front of a row, who in return pass it back to the person behind it.

The girl in front of me turns around, handing me the paper. She doesn't look at me, but down at her hand. Before taking the paper from her, I look at her. There's something about her. Not in that cheesy, she's gorgeous way. She is good looking, I'm not going to deny that. But there's something different. And then I realize, it's her eyes.

It's not that she has a pretty pair of blue eyes. They are pretty. But they look empty. She looks void of emotion.

I take the paper and she turns around, the tips of her red hair touching my desk. Not once did she look at me.

I knew for a fact, there was something behind those empty eyes. And I wanted to find out.