Tears of the Broken (17 page)

David cleared his throat and grew seemingly taller as he
slowly rolled his shoulders back, then stalked off into the
crowd.

“
What did I do?” I asked Emily.

She
just stared at me blankly with her mouth gaping. “You don’t
know?”

“
I
know what I was thinking, but I—”

“
But
you didn’t expect everyone in the corridor to be able see it on
your face.” She motioned around at the other students, most of them
giggling and covering their whispered conclusions with their
hands.

My
eyes widened. “What did he think I meant by that?”

“
Girl. We
all
know what
you
meant. It’s just whether or not
David is man enough to handle that kind of look from a pretty
girl?”

“
Do
you…do you think he’s upset with me?”

“
Upset? Are you kidding?” Emily laughed, then shook her head.
“Ara, that’s not David upset—”She pointed to the empty space where
he’d disappeared. “That’s David running from something he can’t
handle.”

“
So…he
is
upset, then?”

She
shook her head. “I doubt it. Look, if any girl looked at a guy the
way you just looked at David, they would have to run off. Well, any
self-respecting and decent guy would. Did you expect he’d
just
do it
right
here?” She cackled loudly.

“
So,
you don’t think he’s offended?”

Emily shook her head, stifling the laugh. “No way, not unless
he’s gay. And judging from how his fists just clenched up and his
whole body went all rigid, I would guess he is
definitely
not gay.”

I’m
not sure if that’s reassuring or if I feel worse now. Okay, so
David isn’t hurt or upset, but he might form a different opinion of
me. It’s one thing to figuratively jump him, an entirely different
thing to physically do it. I mean, I know too well what I was
picturing—I’m just glad David can’t read minds, or he might never
come back.

Sam
caught up as I came to the edge of the road, and babbled about his
day while I nodded and smiled and drifted in and out of
consciousness. How could I have let my imagination run away with me
in public like that?

How
embarrassing. And that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that
David didn’t even come back to school. What the hell did I do to
him?

My
attention fell back to the grass of the oval, with the hot sun
bearing down on me, when I heard the word
David
. “Huh?”

“
Yeah, you and David Knight. Everyone’s talking about
it—they’re saying you practically fornicated in the corridor,
today.” Sam looked at me for confirmation.

I
shook my head. “Nope. Nothing going on there. You must’ve heard
wrong.”

“
Nothing going on…
yet
?” He grinned.

I
chuckled quietly. “Yet.”

“
Hey, Ara?” he said as we reached the driveway.

“
Yes, Sam?”

“
When we get in, can you peel me one of those apple snakes I
saw you do the other day?”

“
You
saw
that?”

He
nodded.

“
Uh,
yeah, sure. I’ll even teach you how to do them.”

“
Really?”

“
Yep.”

“
Thanks, short-stuff.” He wrapped his arm over my shoulder as
we jumped the creaky bottom step and ran to the top of the
porch.

Another Daughtry one? I scribbled the song title down on the
scrap of paper sitting on top of my homework, then looked out at
the endless, fading blue sky. So far, Dad’s project on myths, Mr.
B’s assignment on Playwright’s, and the list of numbers I’m
supposed to work out for Math has not been touched. Instead, I have
a ten-song list of cry-your-eyes-out-over-not-being-loved tunes for
my “David playlist”.

I
just can’t get it out of my head—the way he walked off. I mean, was
it so offensive that I threw myself at him in front of hundreds of
other people? Like, I can tell him—or let him
think
I’m telling him—I don’t like
him, and he’ll stay beside me the whole day, but indicate my less
than honourable feelings for him and he plays Houdini, disappearing
from school for the rest of the day. How does he even get away with
that? What would his mum and dad say? Mine would tear me to
pieces.

I
wrote another song down then threw my pen at the top of my desk and
huffed, folding my arms. The only thing I’m achieving here is a
gigantic song list. But another great why-doesn’t-he-love-me song
came on, so I grabbed my pen again and added it to the list, then
dropped my head, with a thud, onto my desk. What am I doing? This
is getting me nowhere. I’m never gonna get my homework done at this
rate.

The
blue bird on my window chirped and I looked up to see the vibrant
remains of the day staring back at me. I need to get out of here. I
need to get away from my stereo and stop thinking about this boy.
But, he said he likes me! How can he say that and then run off when
I show
my
feelings.

Oh,
God. I covered my mouth. What if he doesn’t like me the way I like
him, and now he’s worried about how to break it to me. He might’ve
meant
I like you
as in a
friend
.

I
slapped my brow and fell on my hands against the desk. I’m such an
idiot.

“
That’s it!” My chair screeched as I jerked away from my desk.
No more attempting homework for today. My nails are stinging down
to the quick; I’m getting out of here.

I
changed my clothes, grabbed my blue, nylon-string guitar and headed
outside to the oak tree.

The
ropes squeaked as I rocked softly back and forth on the swing—using
the wind as therapy to cool the choking tension of my embarrassing
eat-the-cute-guy-in-the-corridor display.

My
soft, light-blue dress swayed around my knees with the graceful
breeze, which brought the diluted fragrance of frangipanis from the
neighbour’s garden. Now, that is a scent worth taking a breath for.
I feel better already.

Each
time the swing came back down to the earth for a second before
freeing me into the air, the old oak tree creaked, and yellowing
leaves rained to the ground around me. Looks like I might finally
be getting too big for this swing—or maybe the tree’s just getting
old.

With
a dizzying sway in my head from the movement, I sank my toes into
the cool, slightly moist soil and reached down to grab my guitar.
The reflection of the stranger I see in my mirror glared back at me
from the glossy surface; I ran my fingers over her pretty face then
gently along the strings, making a dull, tuneless song out of them
as my memory travelled back to the first time I saw this guitar. It
had been on display in the window of the music store, and I had
fallen in love with it immediately.

It’s
funny, really; love at first sight—how uncomplicated it can be with
an inanimate object, yet, when it comes to a boy, you’ll fall all
over yourself trying to hide your true feelings. Well, unless
you’re me. Then you just fall all over yourself—or stumble…into
cute guys…in the hallway…at school. I dropped my head into my hand.
Oh, man, I’m so awkward. I can’t believe I did that.

Blowing out my humiliation—again—I squared my shoulders and
twisted the pegs on the neck of the guitar, then strummed a soft A
minor. Ah, bliss. I love this chord. I don’t know why. It might be
because it’s the first chord my mum played on this when she bought
it for me.

With
the rope of the swing between my arm and the neck of the guitar, I
started swinging again, slowly, and hummed one of the songs from my
new David playlist. But, after one verse, my fingers stopped dead
on the strings. This isn’t helping.

“
Please, don’t stop on my account.”

I
know that voice. “David?” I smelled his sweet scent before I felt
him behind me—standing close—then, his fingers appeared beside my
temples, wrapped around the ropes of the swing. “Where did you come
from?” I squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun as I
looked up at him.

He
smiled and nodded toward the low-lying hedge fence.

“
Oh,” I said, looking away as the memory of his face—the look
of horror when he realised in the corridor today that I like
him—came flooding back, bringing a cloud of tension with
it.

David pushed the ropes of the swing, and I lifted my feet off
the ground as I floated melodiously back and forth. “I’m sorry I
left you—at school,” he said softly. “It isn’t like me to do
that.”

He’s
apologising? I should be the one saying sorry. I’m the one who
pummelled him, rendering him useless for the rest of the day.
“David, look, I need to talk to you about that—” I stopped the
motion of the swing with my feet and placed my guitar on the
grass.

David settled onto the ground in front of my legs, with one
hand propping him up against the lawn and the other wrapped over
his knee. “I’m listening,” his voice rose in question.

“
It’s just that…” I like you! I like you and
want you to like me so bad it kills me! It.
Kills
. Me!

His
eyes searched mine for a moment; I looked away, feeling naked and
exposed.

“
Ara? Look at me,” he asked softly. I swallowed my shame and
lifted my gaze to see one corner of David’s lip turn up into a
sexy, dimple-showing grin. “I guess there’s not really any need to
keep pretending—to keep following protocols?”

“
Protocols?” What does he mean by that? My ponytail tickled
the back of my neck as I shook my head. I wasn’t aware we were
following any protocols.

“
You
know what I mean.” His eyes seemed to hold uncertainty.

“
No.
Actually, I don’t. Please, fill me in.” This is really confusing.
If he’s talking about the way I looked at him today, then what does
that have to do with protocols?

“
I
know you like me, Ara. You don’t have to pretend, just because you
think it’s improper to fall for someone at first sight.” His eyes
lit up, shimmering green like a glass marble held up to the sun. “I
can see that you feel the same way I do.”

Oh,
my God! Is this the point where I can jump off the swing and fall
into his waiting arms? No. Don’t do that. Don’t read into it too
much. I looked away from his gleaming, white-toothed grin, and
clutched the ropes of the swing tighter.

“
Do you have any idea what you did to me
today?” David edged a little closer. My head moved in a silent no,
while my eyes dodged his. “Ara, when you looked at me that way—with
those stunning, soulful, blue eyes of yours—you tunnelled right
into me. You reached a part of me that has
never
been touched.
Ever
. I almost fell into
a thousand pieces on the floor. I—”He looked away as my eyes met
his. “I knew, from that moment on, you were
mine.”

All
the oxygen drained from my limbs.

“
Ara?” David paused, frowning at me. “You’re supposed to
breathe.”

Right. Air. Good idea. The daylight remained, though all
around me, night seemed to enclose my world—tunnelling my vision to
the only thing in the universe worth looking at.

David so cautiously and so slowly reached his hand out and
rested his fingertips just on the tops of mine. My heart forgot how
to beat and the tunnel of black swallowed me whole. The world
could’ve turned to ash and the pain of death could’ve burned my
limbs, but I wouldn’t have felt a thing, because David consumed
every fibre of my being with only the feel of his warm
touch.

As
his eyes scanned the tilt of my brow, I looked down at his
fingertips—long, thin and smooth—and so very hesitantly touching
mine. My skin tingled above the rushing blood in my hand, and I
nodded at him—to do it.

Hold
my hand
.

David’s cheeks lifted with a soft grin as he slipped his hand
into mine and pulled me down gently to the grass in front of him.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

My
head moved again, I’m not sure which way, and my lips went numb
from lack of oxygen as our eyes locked so intensely to each other’s
that if we were any nearer, the colours would’ve blended together.
I smoothed my thumb over his, taking in the satiny touch of his
skin.

Four
days. That’s all it took. Four days, and I am completely lost in
the cloud-like cover of infatuation. That’s what this has to be.
How could it be love, so soon?

David swallowed and looked down at our hands. Somehow, they
fit so perfectly together—our intertwined fingers—like they were
created only for this purpose. I am the lock, and he is the only
key. How can this not be love?

No,
I was wrong, before. I’m sure now, as plain as the thumping in my
chest and the ache I feel in my heart, that I recognise its
all-consuming air and ever-constant presence in my veins—this is
it! This
is
love.