Forgetmenots and Second Thoughts

Wren was never a huge fan of school. She always attended, though, knowing it was better than no education at all. Of course she’d skipped the occasional class or the odd entire day, and her grades were not half bad. She never argued when it came to going to school. And even though it was only her second day at Pinole Valley High School, today was completely unordinary in the sense that Wren was absolutely stubborn and refused to go. She refused to do anything, for that matter. Today was far more than an off day.

Wren felt like a piece of her heart had been taken from her chest. She felt numb all over, and when she attempted to get up out of bed the next morning, it was as though her body was a noodle. Her head hurt and she felt sick to her stomach every time her mind would flash back to the previous night. She refused to open her eyes and even look around her tiny bedroom, with the memories dripping on its walls. Sunlight was pouring through the window that was set above her bed, yet Wren did not notice with her covers still pulled over her head.

If she was so snub about the idea of school that morning, then why was it that she soon found herself walking down the halls of Pinole Valley High, dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt and a pair of her favourite jeans? Because the more time she spent muted away in her room, the more her head hurt and stomach churned. She felt weak and her knees trembled with every step she took down the hallway. Her once beautiful blue eyes were now clouded and glazed over, and her cheeks were flushed with a rosy pink color. Her hair was pulled sloppily into a high ponytail that sat on the top of her head, loose strands falling in her face. She finally reached her locker when a large yawn parted her lips. She got her books, and trudged toward her English class.

That morning, Wren ignored everyone. It was as though she had separated herself from the world, as if her spirit had flown away leaving a ghostly shell. She was warm under her sweater, yet she feared the remarks she’d receive if she took it off, because of the deep plum bruise on her arm. It was painful, but manageable. Wren felt as if it was her reward for fighting, for standing up. She felt useless and dirty and knew she was alone. She blocked out Sara, who continuously asked her what her problem was. Wren just faced forward, a selective mute. It was as though she was voiceless.

Yet, Sara had managed to drag her out of the school toward the back, yanking her by the arm. Wren rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. But she wouldn’t talk. Instead she gave Sara a grim look and asked her as politely as she could to leave her alone.

Wren felt as though she was boarder lining depression. She wasn’t sure how to handle the feelings that were cooped up inside of her. She felt like she had an intense anger that she had never felt before. She could not go “home” as she was told to call it. She was frightened and paranoid, and was now scared of her own shadow. Sara left her looking curious yet worried. She knew something was up, as did half of the school. Wren got weird glares from the students littered in the hallway. But now, she was sitting against the bare brick wall of the back of the school, her weak knees pulled up to her chest and her hood pulled up over her head. She stared blankly at the gravel at her feet and noticed a small ant crawling innocently along the rocks. She then saw a tiny spider crawl up behind it and soon, it had the poor bug in its grasp. Wren choked back a sob and soon a tear was crawling down her cheek. She wiped it away with her sweater’s sleeve, which was now pulled over her hands. She was about as helpless as the ant.

Wren sat there for the rest of the day and not a single being came out, fortunately for her. She hadn’t come in contact with anyone until the very end of the school day. Wren heard the ring of the bell and forced herself to get up, dusting the back of her jeans off with a hand. She walked to her locker, grabbed her bag and followed the rest of the student body out of the building.

She still felt miserable and did not think that anything could have made her day any worse, than the feeling she had at that moment. That was until she saw John and a young blonde walking down the hall not even two feet in front of her, their hands laced together. Her heart fell into her stomach, her stomach to her knees, making them shake even more than they already were. This, clearly, was not enough, as she saw Billie Joe walk by her, his hazel green eyes on her, smiling with his eyebrows raised, in a sort of I-told-you-so way. She looked at him confusedly, and then looked down. Tears clouded her vision. She forced herself through the mounds of people and out to her mother’s car, frightful as usual, of going back to the house.

Once they were home, Wren got out of the car and began walking in the opposite direction, a carbon copy of her actions from the first day in California. Only this time, Ingrid did not even attempt to stop her daughter, which pleased Wren to no end. Wren stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans while she walked, her hair being blown in all directions from the cool wind in the air. The clouds overhead her large and dark and heavy and Wren dreaded the thought of it raining while she was out.

She found herself retracing her steps as the path she chose became familiar to her. In the distance she could see a large hill full of dead grass, a chain link fence, and a pair of train tracks with a road sign. Wren smiled warmly at the memory of her first encounter with Christie Road; it was where she’d met Billie Joe. Not that she was particularly fond of him—she felt that she needed a reason to smile. Finding Christie Road seemed to be the only good thing that’d happened since she’d moved from Delaware.

She put her hood on again and her sleeves over her hands, feeling rather chilly as she crept over to the tracks and sat down on them. She aimlessly looked around. She was in pain, and she felt worthless.

Soon, the clouds over her opened up and trickled down slowly like a child’s tears. The wind blew cold air in her direction, causing her to shiver. Her teeth chattered as she brought her knees to her chest and put her head down. She began to snivel; letting out all of her feelings and emotions she had been keeping away and hiding for the entire day. She absolutely hated California. She despised Rodeo and everything in it. She wanted to strangle Charlie in his sleep. She was lost and alone.

It was then that she began to blame herself for everything. She had left her bedroom door unlocked for the first time since she’d moved in. She had given him access, and gave him time to get to her. She should have moved, got up and got out of that room as soon as he entered. But by the time she actually knew what was going on, he was on top of her and she was choking on a disgusting sock. She should have noticed the signs—the way he looked at her the first time they had met, the way he said her name and complimented her. She had definitely, without a doubt, been creeped out slightly but she had never thought in a million years he would have sunk down to that level.

And now, she was alone and felt homeless, like she could never go back.

“Wren?” She heard her name being called from behind her. The voice was muffled from under her hood and she could not make out who the person was. She slowly lifted her head. Her jaw dropped slightly when she saw the face of Billie Joe.

She had not expected Billie to meet her there once again, especially not while it was raining out. He was dressed in a pair of faded denim jeans and a black scoop neck tee shirt, along with his leather jacket and beaten up Converse. His hair was dampened with rain and was frizzy yet it still held onto the curl. His hazel green eyes were vivid even from a distance. He began to walk closer to her. Wren, still shocked, did not move, but put her head back down.

She felt a slight tap on her shoulder. “Are you alright?” Billie asked her. Wren rolled her eyes and lifted her head again, looking him straight in the eye, something she seemed to do frequently.

“Does it look like I am alright?” She spat cynically. Billie raised his hands and looked to the left, as if defending himself. He sat down beside her. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. He was digging through his pockets and soon pulled out a cigarette, in which he lit and put to his lips and inhaled deeply, letting out a puff of smoke. He caught Wren looking at him.

“Sorry, this is my last one.” He told her with a friendly smile. Wren shook her and looked away. The rain had begun to pick up, but that did not seem to bother Billie all that much. Wren sighed, her cheeks tear stained and rosy. The loose hairs from her pony tail were wet and stuck to her face. She felt like a complete mess.

“You want to talk about it?” Billie Joe asked her. Wren shook her head, but Billie was not happy with this response. “Come on. I already know what’s shaking you up. It’s not so bad.” He said somewhat sincerely. Wren huffed and glared at him.

“You don’t know half of it!” She yelled, standing up. She was furious. She could not help but choke up again for about the hundredth time that day. It was never ending. Billie saw her crying and began to get worried. He stood to face her.

“This isn’t just about John, is it?” He questioned. She could not stand to look at Billie Joe, she did not want to slip up and tell him. She did not know him all that well—she really didn’t know him at all. Spilling her guts to a complete stranger wasn’t something she particularly wanted to do. But there was something about him at that moment that Wren just could not place; something different about him.

Billie Joe put his hands on each of her shoulders and stared her right in the eye. Wren had just about had it with him. She shrugged him off and put all of her force and weight into stomping forcefully on his toe. He yelped and jumped backward, Wren storming off in the opposite direction. She did not know where she was going nor did she care—anywhere that she could be alone was game for her. Billie stood in the rain watching after her. He suddenly did not care much for his cigarette and threw it to the ground. He shook his head and scratched the side of his nose.

What had he done wrong? He was trying to be as friendly as he could be after the way he’d acted toward her over the past couple of days. Wren didn't see something that was clear as glass to him:

He cared.

Billie Joe stuffed his hands into his pockets and huffed away in the direction of his house.
“I’m just a stupid freaking desperate and jealous idiot.” Billie muttered to himself, dragging his feet while he walked.