Nobody's Listening

O N E

It was finally the end of the day of the first day of school… the first day of being a senior. I sighed with happiness, and being the only one left in West Wing Hall B, I took off my horrid ballet flats that were digging into my heels and ankles and padded to my locker, a relatively short distance away. The marble floor was cold on my sore feet. It felt nice.

I spun the new combination into my new locker and it popped open with ease. I knelt on the floor and began to fill my messenger bag with my new textbooks that I had stowed away after each class. I would definitely need my Latin textbook at home. And I don’t think I’ll need my History book here, so I would take that one home too. Might as well leave math until I needed it, and hopefully I would never need it…

“Hello, Dezzy,” a voice said from behind me, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I jumped and accidently banged my head on the locker door. “Fuck, Cyd, do you have to be so fucking quiet?” I rubbed my head as I looked up at my small, lithe, curly-haired brunette friend.

Cyd smiled down at me (which wasn’t that much of a difference, she was so short). “Sorry, doll. Senior year sucks, huh?”

I shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. I’m just really tired.” I picked up my remaining text books and shoved them into the top shelf of my locker. “Any juicy gossip floating around yet?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully and then started jumping up and down excitedly. “You won’t believe it! Lucas Reynolds, you know him, right? The really hot one? Well, it turns out he has crushes on exactly three girls this year—“

I slammed my locker shut with my foot and leaned against it, smiling and shaking my head. “And how do you know this?”

She tugged at a curl and gave me a pixy-ish devil grin. “I asked. Duh. Well, anyway…” Her phone started ringing at that exact moment, and she held her index finger at me. A few seconds later of intense whispering, she shut her phone and smiled tightly at me. “Sorry, Dezzy, gotta go. I’ll call when I get home, okay?” She leaned up and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Bye.”

I watched as she ran to the parking lot and shook my head wearily. I picked up my messenger bag and started to walk after her. Once I started getting to the double doors that led the way to freedom, I starting looking for my keys when I ran into someone. I fell backwards onto my ass, my keys and my black-rimmed glasses sliding across the floor. I heard an angry yelp.

“Shit! Can’t you…”

The anger trailed away and I squinted up into the beautiful face of James Morgan, our school’s original emo kid, who still had it going on, even in his old-news days. His hair was perfectly swooped, but not too long or thin to make him look like a poser. He didn’t have on his sister’s skinny jeans either, which was a big plus for emo guys everywhere; all he wore was simple black jeans and a red plaid, collared, shirt that probably would have showed off his nice arms if he didn’t have them hidden in a black jacket. Poor emo kid.

I started to get myself up, but he held out his hand helpfully. I rested my tanner hand in his extremely pale one and let myself be pulled up. “I’m so sorry, James,” I said to him, dusting myself off and retrieving my runaway keys and glasses. I was trying to get away from his burning gaze. “I’m sorta in a hurry to get home and get a nap in before supper.” I placed the glasses on my face and my world sharpened considerably.

He chuckled, his silvery gray eyes softening. “It’s fine, Desirae Plunkett.” He knew my whole name! I fought the urge to squeal. “I was actually looking for my friend, Craig, to take me home, but can you? I can’t find him and he’s not responding to his calls or texts.”

“No car?” I asked teasingly. I tugged anxiously at my new black Linkin Park shirt, which was incredibly tight on me, now that I thought about it.

“Nope. So, what do you say?” James gave me a shy smile.

I shrugged and stopped tugging at my shirt. “Sure, that’s fine. Follow me.” I began to lead the way to my old blue mommy van. James’ smile deepened, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up, but in a good way.

Once we got into the Whale, as my friends jokingly called it, and pulled out of the school’s parking lot, James reached over to turn down my mix CD I had in the car’s CD player. It was playing “Always” by Sum 41, one of my favorite songs.

I glanced over at him and noticed him staring at me. I turned back to the road and fiddled with my bangs, burning under his intense stare. “What?” I asked him.

“I like your shirt,” he whispered, reaching over and pinching the sleeve of it in his fingers, feeling the material. “It looks good on you.”

“Haha, thanks,” I answered sarcastically, reaching over to turn the song back up, which had already turned into “The Real Slim Shady” by Eminem. (I said it was a mix tape.)

“Oh Jesus, you don't act like much of a hipster, huh? Not very underground, are they? Linkin Park, Sum 41, Eminem?” He laughed, slapping his knee comically.

My gaze on the road hardened… along with my heart. “I am not a hipster,” I answered in a dangerous, boi-you-gonna-get-sliced-up voice.

In the side mirror, I could see him roll his eyes. I saw an abandoned parking lot and pulled in, parking haphazardly. Gripping the steering wheel and taking deep, soothing breaths, I told him to get out.

“What?”

“Did I stutter?” I asked slowly, focusing on the music. The relaxing beat of “Lillian” by +44. ‘I couldn’t coexist with the cold and suspicious.’ I understood that feeling.

James started to get out but then he stopped and turned to me. “Are you really angry because I called you a hipster?” he asked incredulously. “Because I know you and your friends call me and my other friends freaks and emo kids.”

I was lost for words. “Yeah, but…” I leaned forward and grabbed his cold hand. “Aren’t you?”

He pulled his hand away and sighed with defeat. “Does it matter?”

I straightened up. “Actually, yes, it does.” I grabbed his hand again and pulled up his left sleeve. Ugly, jagged, pink and white scars were lined up on his arm. James jerked his arm away and narrowed his eyes.

“I quit,” he said instantly, covering his arm up again and rubbing.

I felt sorry for him. How can a guy that’s so cute and mysterious cut himself up like that? My heart filled with sorrow and compassion, but I knew that I would never be able to help him. He looked too far gone. I looked into his eyes and saw only loneliness. Once loneliness spreads to your eyes, there’s no looking back.

I started the car back up and sighed heavily. “I’ll drop you off.”

The ride to his house was quiet, and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.