Emerald Eyes

One week later.

I awoke on Monday morning with Dana's shrill warble in my ear.
"Brielle! Brielle! Wake up!"
I groaned and sat up, blinking hard as Dana's face came into view. She was already dressed, with her damp hair hanging loose around her face. Her makeup was flawless- not a smudge or streak to be found- and her clothes were perfectly coordinated. Flared jeans, faded to a perfect shade of blue, paired with a violet blouse and cowboy boots. Her earrings were dangling stars, the same color purple as her top, and the beads she wore around her neck were the same vivid amethyst hue. She stepped back as I climbed out of bed and dragged my limp body to the dresser. I grabbed old and faded jeans, a navy T-shirt and baby-blue socks, along with my toiletries bag, and headed down the hallway to the bathroom.
All of the sinks were occupied as girls brushed their teeth and combed their hair, applied their makeup and doused themselves with perfume. Laughter and chatter filled the steamy room. I found an empty stall and went in to change, and when I came out, a few sinks had opened up. I selected one at random and began to brush my hair. There was a huge knot on the right side of my head, and I focused on untangling it as the girls around me squealed and giggled.
When I got back to my room, Dana was already gone. I gathered up my stuff for the day- iPod, phone, school folders, sweatshirt, headphones and a book- and shoved it all into my backpack. Then I pulled on my shoes and headed downstairs for breakfast.
I got my cinnamon toast and overly yellow scrambled eggs, but as I was winding my way through tables and people, someone pushed their chair back... right into me.
My tray dropped with a loud crash. Or maybe it just seemed loud because everyone had fallen silent.
The giggles began as I dropped to my knees and began to pick up bits of egg and bread with my hands. No teacher or counselor offered to help or to make the laughter stop. I was sitting on the floor, clawing minuscule bits of food out of the carpet while the entire room laughed and laughed.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar girl appeared. She was tall, and thin, with a blank look on her face. Her hair was a bunch of colors- some parts were red, some were blonde, and others were black. She knelt down and began to pick up food, piling it into her hand. As she set it on my tray, she looked up at me with glowing emerald eyes. It was almost hypnotizing, like she was reading my mind. I opened my mouth to thank her, but she jumped up and ran off.
I dumped the dirty contents of my tray into a large, black trash can and went back up to the counter. The woman working was older, with crinkled eyes and a gentle smile. She gave me a sympathetic look as she handed me a fresh plate of toast. I took it gratefully and headed for my table in the back, ignoring calls of "Watch it, clumsy!" and "Ya gonna drop that one too?" I ate the sweet bread mechanically, barely tasting it. I looked around for the girl who had helped me, but she was nowhere to be found.
After the breakfast from hell, I had math class. More linear equations, complete with an introduction to polynomials. It was insufferably boring, and I kept seeing the green-eyed girl in the back of my mind. I had never seen her before, and she hadn't told me her name. I found myself fascinated with her. She didn't seem to be like all the other girls- she hadn't laughed at me, and she seemed to be more the quiet, emo type.
Mrs. Keelson's voice shattered my thoughts.
"All right, girls, class is over. Turn in your work to the wire basket, do it for homework if you have not finished. I will see you all tomorrow. God bless!"
I glanced down at my polynomials practice sheet. I had done two problems out of ten and spent the rest of the time daydreaming, which was rare for me. I shoved the paper into my math folder and filed out of the room.
Next class was English. Mrs. Kuzinski read Edgar Allan Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death" to us, and we discussed the symbolism of the colors in the seven rooms. That was a fascinating discussion, and I actually raised my hand a few times to answer. I loved reading Poe- to slip into his world of murder and madmen was always an experience.
History, however, was boring. A PowerPoint on the Depression, which meant notes. It passed quickly though, and soon it was time for lunch.
The meal that day was greasy pizza with thick crust. At least twenty people made smartass comments about my dropping my tray earlier. And my iPod had died, so I couldn't even drown them out. The green-eyed girl still wasn't there.
After lunch was science. Our sniffling mess of a teacher, whose name I had learned was Mrs. Dudley, gave us anatomy handouts and diagrams of body systems. She sat at her desk, playing stupid Christian music and blowing her nose every five seconds.
Art, quite simply, sucked. Mrs. Brookstill was in a horrible mood, and four girls got yelled at for talking. One girl actually got kicked out- a tall brunette with wire-frame glasses. She had been reading, and Mrs. Brookstill sent her to the office. Our assignment was simply to finish yesterday's homework, the basic shape drawings. I was done, so I sat in the back corner and read. My focus was completely on my novel until a barking voice shattered my concentration.
"Miss Harper! Was I not clear yesterday that there is no working on anything besides art in my class?"
I jumped and looked up into Mrs. Brookstill's angry face. Words danced on the edges of my lips, but I couldn't get them out.
"I... I..." I stuttered. Everyone had fallen silent, their eyes on me.
"Miss Harper, I believe you know the expectations- and the consequences. Jessica was removed from class for reading. I ought to send you to Principal Gallagher as well." Her voice was ice-cold, bitter as bad medicine, and I felt hot tears stinging my eyelids.
"I... I finished the... the assignment." My voice cracked and a tear slipped down my cheek.
"Then you are to ask for a new one!" As she continued to lecture me on respect and the procedures, I gazed at the wall and tried to force away the tears.
In the corner of my eye, through the blurriness, I saw the door to the art room swing open. The green-eyed girl slipped in, a folder in her hand. She crossed the room and placed the thick gray folder on Mrs. Brookstill's desk. Then she caught sight of me, trembling in the corner, as Mrs. Brookstill ran through all the class rules once again. Her bright eyes held my gaze for a moment.
She then shuddered, as if something had startled her, and dashed out of the room, with her dark hair swinging behind her.
Mrs. Brookstill's voice was cut off by the bell.
"Girls, clean up. Miss Harper, I expect that you have learned your lesson." She retreated to her desk. I sat in the corner for a few moments, calming myself down. Just as I was about to get up, the girl pushed back through the door. She had a determined look on her face, and she seemed to be headed… right in my direction. I shrank back against the cabinets.
She took a seat on the floor next to me. “What the hell was that?” she whispered.
I shook my head. “Do I know you?” I knew the response was rude, but I didn’t want this random girl bugging me.
“No, you don’t. I was the one who helped you earlier though. So what just happened?”
“She yelled at me, okay? I broke a rule and she yelled at me.” My voice was flat and dull. “Now go away.”
She gave me an incredulous look. “What’s your problem? I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help,” I snapped.
“Fine. Be that way,” she muttered. She jumped up and dashed out of the room.
“Miss Harper, please get to your next class,” Mrs. Brookstill barked.

I rolled over, hit the wall, and groaned.
The clock read 3:57 AM. After four hours of restless sleep, I had woken up at two AM, and I had lain awake ever since. Dana was staying in a friend's dorm, so I was alone, sleepless, and going crazy. I had tried reading, listening to music, meditating- nothing worked.
Lying awake gave me a lot of thinking time. And my thoughts kept drifting back to the girl with green eyes. That was all I knew about her- she hadn't spoken to me either time I had seen her, and I didn't know her name.
I must have finally fallen back asleep, because when I opened my eyes again, the sun was peeking over the horizon and the clock read 7:40. I crawled out of my disheveled bed and dug up an outfit- a gray button-down, jeans and green socks. I got dressed quickly, brushed my hair and yanked it back into a sloppy ponytail. Maybe today would be a better day.

Tears cascaded down my cheeks as I curled my body tighter into the corner of the library. The simple act of releasing all the homesickness, humiliation and utter loneliness that had been building up inside me for the past week felt better than anything I could imagine, but it couldn’t wash away the desperation.
As snow fell outside, piling upon the windows and coating the dead grass, I drew my knees up to my chest and squeezed my eyes shut, gazing into endless blackness. It felt as if the entire world was slowly freezing and I was suspended in the ice.
Suddenly, I felt a presence next to me. I figured it was the librarian, coming to find who was cutting gym to hide out in the library, so I glanced up and found myself caught in the gaze of glittering green eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly. Her voice was rough but soothing and reminded me of smoke.
“I’m fine,” I snapped. Bitterness flavored my voice, and even I was taken aback by how harsh I sounded.
A dark look flashed across her face, but the softness in her eyes never faded. “No, you’re not.”
“How do you know? You don’t know me.”
“That’s true; I don’t know you. I don’t even have a clue what your name is. But first of all, nobody who’s ‘fine’ cries like that. Second, the word ‘fine’ usually means you’re not fine. And before you ask how I know that, that’s how I am, so I can tell you firsthand.”
I glanced up at her, a feeling of trepidation growing within me. “You’re nothing like me. Now can you please leave me alone? Why do you keep bothering me?”
She stood, tugging her black hood over her head.
“Fine, I’ll leave you alone. But I’m telling you right now- we’re more alike than you think.”
With that, she disappeared.

I sat in study hall that evening, gazing out the window. Thoughts of her drifted in and out of my head like a green-eyed ghost. My book and history essay prep failed to keep me occupied for longer than a few minutes before a single thought shattered my focus. I couldn’t concentrate on anything except our earlier conversation- looking back; I couldn’t believe how rude I had been to her. She was only trying to help me, and I pushed her away.
A thought crossed my mind. What if she never spoke to me again?
I made a promise to myself that I would find her during free time. I’d apologize, and she’d accept it, and maybe we could even be friends.
Right.
The shrieking of the bell derailed my train of thought. A sigh of relief sounded throughout the room as books were stowed, phones and iPods were tucked away, and girls began to file out. I tagged onto the end of the line, behind a brunette wearing enough perfume to suffocate an innocent bystander. I was polite enough to gag quietly.
When we reached the cafeteria, only a few other groups had arrived. The meal of the night was tomato soup, served with French bread and a small salad. The fantastic odor of fresh tomatoes and garlic hit me the second I stepped into the room, and the warm scent of bread followed. We got our food quickly and seated ourselves, waiting impatiently for prayers to begin. We had to wait for the other groups, and I thought the smell of the soup would drive me crazy before they let us eat. The second the last group was seated, we rushed through grace as quickly as possible and dug in.
The soup was amazing- and the best food we had had at Forest Oak by far. I finished off the bowl in no time, mopping up the last bits of broth with my hunk of bread. By the time I had polished off all my food, it was only six-thirty. I signed out with a scrawny blonde counselor named Tammy and headed up to my room to call my mother.
As I sat on my bed, dialing the number that I knew by heart, I realized that I hadn’t spoken to my mother since arriving at school eight days ago. No calls, no texts, no letters. And that hurt. Had she called me and I had just missed it? Was my phone broken? Or had she totally forgotten about me, all alone at boarding school two hours away?
Only one way to find out, I thought as my mother picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom. It’s me. Brielle.”
She sighed. “Of course it’s you, Brielle. Your name came up on the Caller ID.”
I chose to ignore that. “So how’s home?”
“Fine.”
I pressed on. “And church?”
“Lovely, as always.” Her voice had gone from clipped to downright chilly.
“What are you doing now?”
Another sigh, this time with much more force. “Bible study, Brielle. Exactly what I’ve been doing on Monday nights since before you were born.”
Okay, that stung. Maybe it was her patronizing tone, or maybe it was just the fact that she seemed bothered by the fact that I had called her, but I felt an unexpected lump rise in my throat.
“Well… um… I have to go, I guess. It’s almost time for team building.”
“Fine, then.” Pure ice. Tears began to sting my eyes.
“I love you, Mom,” I choked out.
Click.
My own mother had hung up on me.
I dropped the phone onto my bed, slipped underneath the covers, and sobbed until I collapsed into sleep.
When I woke up, the digital clock read 2:30. I couldn’t hear breathing across the room, so I figured Dana had gone to a friend’s dorm. My eyes were sticky and my nose was clogged up with snot and tears. It hurt to breathe and I was tangled in the sheet.
If nobody cared here, and if nobody cared at home, then what choice did I have left?
I dragged myself out of bed, rearranged my blankets, and fell back against the stiff mattress. God, I hated this place. I had no friends, my classes were boring, and I was sick of having religion shoved down my throat every day. This place was worse than home.
If that was even possible.
My head was aching with frustration. Only three and a half more years of this. I had completely blown my only opportunity to make a friend, and there was no way she would ever want to talk to me again after how I had treated her. I knew I didn’t necessarily stand out, but I didn’t know that I was totally invisible. Even my own mother didn’t want to talk to me. Did she miss me at all? She had Serena to care about, without her fourteen-year-old burden.
Somewhere in the middle of these thoughts, I fell asleep again. It wasn’t the dead-to-the-world slumber that I so badly needed, but more of a state of semiconsciousness. I couldn’t tell what was real and what I was dreaming.
Eventually, though, morning came. And with it came more snow, falling from threatening gray skies. I stayed in bed as long as possible, but it came to the point where I would be late for breakfast if I didn’t start getting ready. So I dragged my limp body out of bed, pulled on clothes, skipped brushing my teeth, and halfheartedly ran a brush through my hair. I was worn out from crying and exhausted from the loneliness that ran through my veins.
Breakfast that morning was cinnamon oatmeal and bagels. I opted for two egg bagels and skipped the oatmeal- never liked it, even as a little kid. I sat at my usual table and listened to the Cure on my iPod. Everyone ignored me and I ignored them. Perfect.
We had a pop quiz in math, which sucked, because I was completely unprepared and only managed to finish nine of the twenty problems. I could see the disappointment on Mrs. Keelson’s face when I handed my quiz in not even half-done, but she didn’t say anything. She just ushered me out the door. “God bless,” she mumbled.
English was an hour of silence. Mrs. Kuzinski had a headache and didn’t feel like giving instructions, so she just scrawled “SILENT READING” on the board and retreated to her desk. I used the time to finish my history essay prep, which I knew I would have to write next hour. Something about how religion could have helped the people who lost everything during the Depression. I bullshitted most of it and kept my opinions out of it. I didn’t need to be thrown out of school for “sacrilegious behavior”.
Gym class eventually rolled around, and I skipped out again with a supposed stomachache. The overly sympathetic teacher, a slim redhead whose name tag read “Mrs. Andrews”, wrote me a note and sent me to the library, where I curled up in my regular corner, fished for a book in my bag and lost myself in the terrifying world of Ellen Hopkins’ Crank.
Just as I reached the part in the book where Kristina first meets Brendan, I felt somebody settle themselves next to me. I kept my eyes down, peeking over the spine of the book to see who it was.
The girl was back. She had on the same black sweatshirt as the day before, and her knees were drawn up tightly against her chest. She really was quite beautiful, with her sharp features and multicolored hair that reached the center of her back.
She turned suddenly to face me. I dropped my eyes back behind my book, but it was too late. She recognized me, I could tell by the look on her face. I had no choice but to reveal myself. The book hit the floor with a gentle thunk as I dropped it next to me and met her eyes.
“Hey,” she said quietly, picking at a bit of skin on her index finger.
“Hi,” I whispered. My stomach was doing flips. “How are you?”
She shrugged. “Could be better, but then again, I’ve been a lot worse. How are you?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. Listen, since you’re here, I wanted to apologize. You know, for yesterday. And last week.”
“Oh?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
“Yeah. Listen, I feel really bad for snapping at you. You were right, by the way.” Saying the words felt like a weight off my shoulders.
She smiled. “It’s fine. I wasn’t mad at you or anything.” Her smile lit up her face and made her green eyes sparkle.
“Still. I felt terrible.”
She nodded. “Don’t worry. It’s cool.”
We sat without speaking for a couple minutes. Just as I was about to pick up my book again, she broke the silence.
“So why were you so upset?”
I sighed. “Tired, homesick, lonely. Nothing interesting.”
She repositioned herself so she was facing me. “That really sucks. I know how you feel though. Not that my family takes much of an interest in me, but I really hate it here.”
“Funny, it’s the same way for me.”
She nodded and absently twirled a strand of red hair around her finger. “At least at home, I can just hide out in my room and ignore them all. I have to interact with people here whether I like them or not. And I’ve discovered that I hate almost everybody in this school.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Does that include me?”
“Hell no. In fact, you’re the first person I’ve met that I haven’t wanted to strangle instantly.”
“Even though I was a bitch to you?”
A grin spread across her face. “Even then.”
The bell let out a wicked shriek. Four o’clock, signifying the end of gym class. Shower time lasted for half an hour, so I settled back against the shelf and struggled to think of another question for her. Just as I was about to ask her about her family, she began to talk, and our voices overlapped.
“So what’s your-”
“What kind of-”
We both laughed. “You go first,” I told her with a grin.
“What kind of music do you like?” she asked, brushing her hair off her face.
I thought for a moment. “Mostly sad stuff. The Cure, a little bit of Pink Floyd, the Black Crowes. A couple songs by Alice in Chains. Nothing really interesting.”
She grinned at me. “Dude, I love the Cure. And the Crowes. You’ve got good taste, my friend.”
Friend. I liked that.
“What do you like?”
Concentration spread across her face. “Let’s see. The Cure and the Black Crowes, like you said. Nirvana. Stone Sour, Mudvayne, and a little bit of Five Finger Death Punch. Some Megadeth, but only a few songs. KISS, Led Zeppelin and the Sex Pistols. And my guilty pleasure- Bon Jovi. I love him.” She grinned again. “Oh, and of course, Shinedown. I am completely and totally in love with Shinedown. Have you ever listened to them?”
Shinedown. I had heard the name but not the songs. I shook my head. “I’ve heard of them but I’ve never listened to their music.”
She gasped. “Oh, my God. I cannot let you go another day without hearing this band. They are fucking amazing.” She reached into her black backpack and rooted around until she unearthed her iPod, the red headphone cord wrapped neatly around it. She unwound the cord and handed me the earbuds. They fit my ears perfectly, unlike my headphones, which always fell out. I waited as she scrolled through her songs, muttering under her breath.
“All right. This one is called ‘Second Chance’. Probably their biggest song. It was all over the radio when it came out. Unfortunately, not many people know them beyond this song.” She clicked the button, turned up the volume, and an incredible guitar opening burst into my ears. The vocals started soon after, and I was completely swept away. The lyrics were fantastic, the singer’s voice was incredible, and the guitar, drums and bass just added to the awesomeness. My hands were shaking by the time the song faded to its end, and I handed the headphones back in a catatonic state.
“Is it good?” she asked with a concerned look in her eyes.
I found my words. “That is the most amazing thing I have ever heard.”
She grinned. “Isn’t it? They’ve got some songs that are even better than that.”
“No way.”
“Absolutely. I’d show you them but my battery is getting pretty low. They’re my favorite band.”
“I can see why. Pretty great stuff.”
She grinned again. God, she had a killer smile.
We sat quietly for about twenty minutes. I picked my book back up and got lost in Kristina’s whirlwind of meth-fueled mania. Just as I got to the part where Brendan rapes Kristina, the girl broke the silence yet again.
“So what were you going to ask me earlier?”
I set my book down. “What’s your family like?”
Her face clouded over.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.”
She shrugged. “I just want to wait until I know you a little better. I have to know I can trust you, okay?”
“No problem. Can I ask you something else though?”
“Um, yeah. What is it?” she asked, confused.
“You have to tell me one thing.” I made my voice dead serious.
“What?” She looked worried now.
I let my solemn expression drop away to reveal a smile. “What’s your name?”
She laughed. “Zoe. Zoe Noelle Fabian.”
Zoe. So she did have a name. And it seemed perfect for her: tough yet mysterious.
After a few more minutes, I checked my phone for the time. 4:27. Study hall began at 4:30, so I shoved my book into my bag and zipped up my sweatshirt to brave the cold.
“Time for study hall already?” she asked.
“Yeah. You want to come with me?”
A warm smile spread across her face. “I’d like that.”