What Separates Me From You
One.
If you were to walk down the halls of Ridgeway Central High School at precisely 3:22 p.m. on any given day you might be surprised by what you’d find. Shoved amongst the tiny, beaten bank of lockers just outside room 117C you will find a girl whose legs are pressed tightly up against her chest. Her long, dark hair makes her face almost impossible to see, she has headphones in her ears, if you tried to call out to her the noise would simply get mixed in with the music she holds close to her heart. Beside her you will find a rather short, teenage boy whose neck is home to a scorpion tattoo. His right hand is placed on the girl’s knee, slowly moving back and forth.
There is another boy directly to right of the girl. He wears glasses, their plastic frames serve as protection from the violent daggers his classmates throw at him. His thin body looks fragile and weak, his fingers are laced through the bony hands of a girl who is leaning up against his side. Her bright green eyes are glazed over with fear, perhaps she’s scared someone will find out her secret. After all, her short blonde hair was never good at hiding much.
Around the corner the shadow of an approaching figure is evident. His steps are heavy, full of anger and wrath like the military boots that slowly tap against the ground. His shaggy hair was barely visible beneath the raised black hood of his jacket. His hazel eyes peered at the ground like daggers, his long arms embraced the girl to his left. Her skin had a slight touch of sun, her brown eyes were smiling beneath her short, playful, curly hair.
From behind the girl you could only slightly see the bushy bunch of hair atop the head of a boy. He was smiling, it was obvious that at this moment in time he didn’t have a single care in the world. The girl by his side is wearing her blonde hair in two long, identical braids tied with pink bows at the bottom. Her dark skinny jeans are tucked safely away inside her tall riding boots, her blue eyes were sparkling like diamonds in the snow.
No, I’m not staring at a high quality photo plastered to an Internet site and I’m not simply creeping around the hallways of my school trying to find out what everyone else is doing. I’ve seen this scene so many times I could repeat it to you without even trying, I could spit the words out of my mouth like a child spits out the nasty bustle sprouts at dinner. The bank of lockers outside room 117C has been my home for the past three and half years, it’s a place I’m not ready to leave, but I fear I’ll have to. Remember the girl with her legs pressed against her chest? That’s me, Anya. Remember the boy whose hand was on my leg? That’s Frank, he’s one of my best friends, some might even go as far as to say he’s my boyfriend. I’m not complaining, it’s all just a part of my little plan.
There is another boy directly to right of the girl. He wears glasses, their plastic frames serve as protection from the violent daggers his classmates throw at him. His thin body looks fragile and weak, his fingers are laced through the bony hands of a girl who is leaning up against his side. Her bright green eyes are glazed over with fear, perhaps she’s scared someone will find out her secret. After all, her short blonde hair was never good at hiding much.
Around the corner the shadow of an approaching figure is evident. His steps are heavy, full of anger and wrath like the military boots that slowly tap against the ground. His shaggy hair was barely visible beneath the raised black hood of his jacket. His hazel eyes peered at the ground like daggers, his long arms embraced the girl to his left. Her skin had a slight touch of sun, her brown eyes were smiling beneath her short, playful, curly hair.
From behind the girl you could only slightly see the bushy bunch of hair atop the head of a boy. He was smiling, it was obvious that at this moment in time he didn’t have a single care in the world. The girl by his side is wearing her blonde hair in two long, identical braids tied with pink bows at the bottom. Her dark skinny jeans are tucked safely away inside her tall riding boots, her blue eyes were sparkling like diamonds in the snow.
No, I’m not staring at a high quality photo plastered to an Internet site and I’m not simply creeping around the hallways of my school trying to find out what everyone else is doing. I’ve seen this scene so many times I could repeat it to you without even trying, I could spit the words out of my mouth like a child spits out the nasty bustle sprouts at dinner. The bank of lockers outside room 117C has been my home for the past three and half years, it’s a place I’m not ready to leave, but I fear I’ll have to. Remember the girl with her legs pressed against her chest? That’s me, Anya. Remember the boy whose hand was on my leg? That’s Frank, he’s one of my best friends, some might even go as far as to say he’s my boyfriend. I’m not complaining, it’s all just a part of my little plan.
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I realize this is a lot of description. But, I don't care. This is just kind of an intro chapter.What do you think so far, though?