by Jessica Beal 2 years ago in love

A Short Story


The day was clear. "No snow today," she thought as she walked out of the gate. Letting out a sigh, she continued up the sidewalk towards the bus stop, the bottom of her pants dragging behind her making a sound the reminded her of sand at the beach.

More and more high school students began to show up as she waited for the bus. On Fridays, the bus driver seemed to take his time, and already tricked the students as to where he would stop to let them board. Flashing lights turned the corner; for once, the bus was on time.

Today, all she could think about was him. It seemed worse than other days. She took the three steps up onto the bus. She slowly worked her way to the back, taking a seat as the bus rolled on. She stared out the windows with questions in her eyes.

Very few people understood her, but he was on of them. It had been six months since they had last talked. With problems between her older sister and his older brother, they were held apart with no way to talk to each other.

The sweet words he had last said to her played in her mind like a broken record. "I want to be there when you are sad, hold you when you cry, be your one bone that will never break, and the kiss that never comes off your lips." She tried to clear her mind of his memory so many times. He was still her first thought in the morning and her last as her eyes closed for the night.

"He's just a memory now," she reminded herself. She wanted to forget him.

The bus stopped in front of her high school hell. With another sigh, she stood and walked to the front of the bus, taking those three steps down. She stood on the sidewalk and stared up at the old building as if she were the three-foot woman staring up at the seven-foot man. Everyday she would do this, wishing she could go home.

The bell rang, causing her to jump. She knew she had to go inside now. In the halls, she twisted and turned through the maze of people as they had fun without her. Another bell rang, telling the students they had five minutes before being late. The halls cleared quickly, and before she knew it, she was alone. She hated being alone; silence frightened her.

Taking the stairs that turned this way and that, she began to think of him again. "What if he was with someone else? What if he had stopped waiting for her?" The questions popped in her head, making her heart drop. She missed the weight on the other side of the bed, his rough hands that brushed her skin, velvet lips against hers, and the steady heartbeat when she laid her head on his chest.

She sat on the steps, placing her bag next her, and hung her head in her hands. She decided she wasn't going to class today. "I can't keep doing this," she whispered. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, taking mascara with them. She stood, picked up her bag, and began to walk down the twisting staircase. Once outside, she stared at the heavens as if to ask, "what next?" A breeze brushed her cheek as she closes her eyes.

"Excuse me? Can you tell me where room 113 is?" A voice came from behind her. She knew that voice as if from a dream. She turned with mascara tattooed on her cheeks. He stood there, just like in her dreams. "This isn't real, this isn't real. Wake up, wake up," she repeated, placing her hands on the side of her head as if to stop it from spinning and closed her eyes. "Oh, my god—" he whispered, dropping his books. She felt his rough hands on her face. Slowly, she lowered her hands and looked up at him. His eyes held her, unable to look away. His lips met hers, causing her knees to grow weak. Catching her, he held her close as if afraid to lose her again. He pulled away to look at her. Wiping the tears away, he whispered, "Beautiful."

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