Collision Course(3)
Author: S.C. Stephens

But these people… You’d think I was the poster child for substance abuse.

I looked up when my lungs felt clearer. The face looking back at me in the mirror was almost unrecognizable to me. Not because of the small cut right at the edge of my eyebrow that was leaving a trail of blood nearly down to my cheek. No, the face was foreign because it looked…older; like a summer of grief and guilt and anger and…everything else, had aged me at least a decade.

I splashed some cold water on my face, cringing as it entered my torn skin, and gently wiped away the blood and the trace amount of dirt on me. Looking back up at my dripping face, I ran a hand down it and choked back the sudden, overwhelming feeling of absolute despair that had snuck up on me.

"Are you gonna cry?"

A soft voice made me spin around and there sitting on the floor at the far end of the room next to the stalls was…a girl. She must be new this year since I’d never seen her before, and in a school this size, you ran into everyone at least once. She had jet black hair pulled into almost childlike pigtails and was calmly picking at a thread of fabric in her ripped jeans. Her eyes, an odd gray color (odd in relation to her super dark hair), regarded mine with a look that was somewhere between amused and concerned. She jerked her thumb towards the door, a silver ring on it flashing in the lights. "I could leave if you want?"

Surprise at seeing a girl in the men’s room, who obviously had been here awhile, lightened my mood. I twisted my lips like I’d been nowhere near breaking down, which of course I had been. "No, I’m not going to…cry. Guys don’t do that." I emphasized ‘guys’ just in case she wasn’t aware she was lurking in the men’s room, although the urinals really couldn’t have been fooling her.

She raised one edge of her lip. "Right…" Cocking her head she pointed to where I’d been injured, a slight red welt was still with me. "What happened, West?"

I opened my mouth to tell her ‘nothing’ when what she’d called me registered in my brain. I cocked my head right back at her. "How did you know my name?"

She started laughing and the sound echoed around the tiled room, filling it with a certain merry-like music. She didn’t answer me, only shook her head lightly, like I was the cutest, most oblivious thing she’d ever seen. That’s when it hit me and I’m sure I must have turned bright red as stupidity flowed right through me. Yeah, my name wasn’t exactly hard to decipher when it was sprawled in four inch high letters across my back. Thanks to this damn jacket that every member of the football team wore, as a symbol of unity, or something, everyone within a block of me knew my name. I mentally decided I wasn’t ever wearing it again.

"Right…the jacket."

She laughed a little more as she gazed at me. I noticed her smile was a pleasant one; it seemed to brighten her face under the blackness of that hair. "So…" she tried again, "the war wound?" She pointed again at my face.

I looked away and muttered, "Nothing."

I glanced at her still on the floor and thought she looked about to challenge my answer; pretty bold of her since I didn’t know her from Adam. A slight smile came to my lips and I relaxed my stance, only then realizing I was even tense. Her objection died as she noticed me relax as well. Here was one person in the school who wasn’t looking at me critically, who wasn’t judging me, didn’t hate me. Here was one person…who didn’t know. I frowned. At least, not yet.

She frowned when she saw my expression change and looked about to question me again, but I beat her to it. "Why are you in here?" My hand swung around to indicate the room.

She shrugged and slid up the wall to stand. Her ripped jeans were matched with a long-sleeve shirt and she played absentmindedly with the almost too long sleeves, like she’d stretched out the fabric from her unconscious habit. She shivered a bit and I noticed she didn’t have a jacket. "Seemed as good a place as any to hide out." She shrugged again.

I looked around the room with my eyes. "Interesting choice," I muttered, as I took in the graffiti on the stalls, the water marks on the ceiling, and the telltale signs along the edge of the floor around the urinals that clearly indicated ‘men peed here’.

She laughed again at my look. "It was quiet here. No girls at least." A look crossed her features when she said that that I couldn’t quite place. It quickly left her as her calm look returned. "My name is Sawyer…if you were ever going to ask."

"Oh…right, hi." I fumbled around for words while the oddity of her name struck me. I wanted to ask, but didn’t want to be rude.

She sighed, interpreting my odd look, and I realized everyone must ask her. "Yes, as is Tom and Huck. My parents are big Twain fans. I suppose it could have been worse." She shook her head with annoyance clear in her features. The look made her even cuter and I smiled softly at her reaction to her own name.

She sighed again and reached down to grab a faded, olive-colored book bag that didn’t look to be holding much of anything. "Well, nice chatting with you, West. See ya around this…whopper of a school."

She opened the door into the much quieter hallway and before she completely disappeared, I called out, "It’s Lucas…" She vanished so fast, I had no idea if she heard me or not.

I sighed forlornly. The next time I saw her…she would know. Someone in this school would feel it was their duty to warn the new girl about the possible psychopath roaming the halls. A bitter note rang through me unexpectedly. As if they were all perfect, as if none of them had ever gotten behind the wheel when they shouldn’t have – which isn’t even what happened to me. Hypocrites. I sighed again. It had been nice to have someone look me in the eye when they spoke to me and that laugh… I hadn’t heard a genuine one in ages. Probably since that night.

I wiped the remaining water droplets off my face and then, with a long steadying breath, I opened the door – right as the bell rang. Damn, now on top of everything else…I was late.

Chapter 2

An Act of Kindness

I hurried down the hall and up the flight of stairs to the second floor. Passing three closed doors, I found the one that would be home to my first period class – English. I placed my fingers on the handle and closed my eyes for a second, taking a big breath. With a sharp exhale, I opened the door and was greeted with absolute silence.

I scanned the room, not really meaning to, but as a leftover habit from walking into a classroom and looking for my friends. I was immediately sorry that I did. Every person was staring at me. Most faces held tight eyes and tighter lips, some just looked curious, but every head was in my direction. As my eyes flicked over the back of the silent room, I noticed that I was wrong, not everyone was looking. One head was still down, the owner of it doodling on a notebook in front of them. A slight curve of my lip registered my recognition of bathroom girl in the back row. She was oblivious to the sudden tension in the room and was just doing her own thing. Watching her was soothing and my eyes lingered for a few more seconds before returning to the front of class where a person was awkwardly clearing their throat.

"Lucas, um…go ahead and…take a seat."

Ms. Reynolds was our English teacher and she was giving me nervous glances, obviously not sure how to deal with me. I wondered for a moment if she expected me to break down and start blubbering right in front of her. Her pale eyes glanced over my features, never settling on one, as she adjusted and readjusted a stack of papers in her hands.

"I’ll…um…let the tardiness slide…just for today. I’m sure…I’m sure you’re…having…"

She let her thoughts die out and I was momentarily amused by the irony of an English teacher struggling to put her words together. Was I having…what? A hard time? A horrid morning? Well, sure, of course I was. What else was today going to be for me but a nightmare? It’s not like any of the "Ghosts of High School Past" that were going to pop up as I walked throughout the school today were going to be pleasant for me. It wasn’t like the student body was being warm and welcoming. Today…today was just going to suck.

I didn’t say any of that to her though. I adjusted my backpack and started walking to the only available seat, in the very back row. I wouldn’t make Ms. Reynolds look bad in front of her class, that wasn’t my style. Besides, I liked her. Every guy in the school "liked" her. She had started working here right after college and as a result, she looked (and was) not much older than the students here. She kept her light brown hair cut in a stylishly short pixie style that Lil used to rave about and her clothes were always the newest, latest trends, which Sammy used to ooh and aah over. As for Darren and me…well, let’s just say she filled out those "trends" nicely.

Forcing thoughts of my friends to the back of my mind, I walked past a member of my football team. Will McKinney. He and I’d had a friendly competition for the past two years over who was going to be the quarterback for that year. I’d beat him out both years, but he’d been jovial about the loss, jokingly saying that he’d just break my leg one day and move up from second string. Today was apparently that day.

His foot came out right as I walked by and, like a moron, my toe caught the edge of it. I tripped over him and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he raised his foot once he’d jostled me so that I couldn’t balance myself. I went right down to the floor, smacking a desk along the way with my hand and banging my knee painfully on the hard ground. Great.

Ms. Reynolds scolded Will up and down and started swiftly coming down the aisle to help me stand. The entire class sniggered as I stood on my own before she could get to me. A teacher helping me to my feet really wasn’t what I needed right now. I shrugged it off and looking behind me at her concerned eyes, told her I was fine. With a glance at a smirking Will out of the corner of my eye, I finished walking the two seats to the open desk in the back row. Will bumped fists with the other member of the team in the room, Randy Harlow. They both laughed while students around them congratulated them on making me look incredibly stupid.

Sitting down, I cast a quick glance at the person beside me. Bathroom girl. What was her name again? That’s right…Twain fans…Sawyer. She’d finally looked up when she’d heard the snickers in the room and was eyeing me curiously. I turned my head and stared at my desk again. She wouldn’t have to be curious for too much longer…someone would tell her.

I could feel her gray eyes staring at me and I had the feeling she was going to ask me if I was alright, but at that moment Ms. Reynolds resumed class.

"Okay guys, like I was saying, there is going to be a grief counselor on staff full time this year, so if any of you need to talk about…" I looked up at her as what she was saying registered with me, and she looked at me at the same time, "well, anything, someone will be there for you." She said that solely to me and I felt my breath quicken in a way I was getting used to. God, I didn’t want to lose it here.

I broke eye contact with her, staring back down at the fake wood grain laminated onto my hard metal desk. I focused on breathing in and out like a regular person, not letting this panic attack take me over. Ms. Reynolds voice continued describing the counselor’s duties and how we’d each gone through something tragic a few months ago and the school wasn’t going to overlook that. I wished they would. I wished everyone would overlook it, so I could get through a few seconds in peace. But I wasn’t the only one hurting…and some people did actually want to talk about it. I heard a few sniffles around the room and felt hot stares lighting up my body.