Tears of the Broken (2 page)

The
cement steps, leading up to the double glass doors, seemed
unnaturally high and steep. I’m sure they’re not, but then again,
I’m also sure all those people on the other side can’t see me down
here on the grass—even if I do have a giant neon sign over my head
that says “Hello, I’m new.” But in the real world—the world outside
my head—I know they can see me.

The
morning sun caught the glass and reflected off it, leaving me blind
to the probably very mundane scene beyond. I’m sure it’s all
lockers lining both walls of a flat corridor, students laughing,
punching each other and gossiping about mediocre issues, but for
some reason, I can’t escape the feeling that someone’s curious,
unwanted gaze is infesting my personal space.

Nervously, with shoulders for earphones, I forced my Skechers
onto the first step and traced the cement handrail with my
fingertip. Then, as I reached the second step, the sun took a hike
behind a cloud, leaving me feeling exposed with the sudden ability
to see the exact scene I’d imagined on the other side of the
vortex—or double glass doors.

It
looks…normal. Just a school. Plain and seemingly ordinary, yet
terrifying.

A
pair of heavy black boots faced me from within The Beyond. My eyes
wandered over the dark blue jeans above them, then flowed along the
rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt, and stopped on the silver
door handles where his head would be. He’s so still. Why is he just
standing there—facing this way—when everyone else around him is
moving?

Is
he…watching me?

The
boy stuffed his hands in his pockets and took one step toward the
door. My heart skipped. Oh God, please don’t come over here. I
closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, he stopped
walking.

See,
Ara. There’s no way some tall guy—who I must admit, appears to
be
very
hot—was
looking at
you
.
Unless he’s trying to figure out if he should come out here and
shoo you off the property.

Suddenly not so willing to carry me forward, my feet glued
themselves firmly to the ground. Then again, the base of my shoes
more likely just melted in the heat of the sun. I’ll just wait for
him to move away.

The
boy took another step forward, but stopped suddenly, scooped his
backpack over his shoulder and turned away.

Thank God. Wiping the beading sweat from my brow, I rolled
away from the handrail and counted each step I took, keeping my
eyes on my shoes until I reached the top and saw another pair of
feet facing me from behind the glass. I looked up from the ankles,
right into her returning gaze. Great. She’s exactly the type of
girl I stayed away from at my old school—pretty, with a blue ribbon
tying her honey-blond hair into a ponytail. She has the typical
bright smile and golden brown skin, and she is
definitely
looking at me. I already
don’t like her. Okay, so it’s wrong to judge on first impressions,
but she’s pretty and perfect, and that makes me nervous—and
self-conscious.

Maybe I should just go back home and hide under the stairs
for the day.

Oh,
grow up, me—she won’t hurt you. She looks like she just wants to
talk.

Great, just what I need—a new friend.

After a deep breath, I proceeded with the inevitable. The
door swung open and the corridor enveloped me with its soothing,
icy breeze. At least the school has air-conditioning.

Then, the door closed, forcing me inside with a small whack
on my bottom.

“
New?” The pretty girl asked in a kind of high-pitched cross
between a pleasant and intimidating tone.

The
urge to rub my face and look away—pretending I didn’t see
her—itched in my fingers. “Yup,” I replied, anyway. Way to go, me.
One word down, the rest of the day to go.

“
Well, hi, I’m Emily Peirce. Class president candidate and,”
she tilted her head into her shoulder and extended her hand,
“captain of the cheer squad.”

Well, obviously, unless you always walk around in a pleated
skirt and a vest-like sweater. “Um. Hi. I’m Ara-Rose.”

With
introductions aside, my arms flooded with the sudden heat of fear.
I’m burning inside, either that or there’s a gigantic frog stuck in
my throat that’s actually made of fire. At least
hi
came out. One thing
to be thankful for, I guess.

“
Ara-Rose?” She winced. “Maybe you should just make it Ara,
you know, it’s kind of a mouthful.”

But…I
like
my name. I smiled pleasantly, remembering that being normal
means fitting in. “Sure. Just Ara’s fine.” And I’m a sell-out. Now
I’ve dropped the Am and the Rose from my name. What’s next? Maybe I
should call her Em. In fact, that’s what I’m going to do. Well,
maybe later, assuming we ever talk again after this one
time.

“
So,
I’ll take you to the office and get you a lesson plan, then show
you to your first class?” Emily offered.

“
Sure, that’d be great.” This isn’t so bad—teen facade, that
is. My hands are shaking and my knees are weak enough that at any
moment I may just end up face first on the floor, but at least I
can smile and look normal.

That’s the funny part, really; as far as anyone here is
concerned, I
am
normal.

Emily led the way through the corridors and I let my mind
wander in the ugliness of the décor. When I said this school was
brown and ugly, I was wrong. It is, in fact,
really
brown and
really
ugly, and the sticky yellow
linoleum looks nothing like my dress—thanks, Sam.

But,
for some reason, brown has always made me feel uneasy. I don’t know
why—it’s not like a colour can hurt me, but it just makes me feel
kinda…heavy. It’s better than black, though, I suppose, which is
the colour my life has been surrounded by for so long now. I guess
brown will be a nice change to the shade of misery and isolation.
The stale yellow?
That
will take some getting used to.

“
Are
you coming?” Emily asked from a few steps ahead.

Right. We were walking, weren’t we? “Sorry. I kind of faze
out sometimes.”

“
Do
you have, like, a brain condition or something?” Emily
asked.

“
Huh?”

“
You
said you faze out. Is there a reason?”

“
Oh.” I laughed, for real this time. “No, just an over-active
imagination.”

“
Well, you should fit in just fine here, then.”

Great. Just what I want—to fit in. I think I’ll take sitting
up the back quietly, by myself, followed with a side of
leave-me-the-hell-alone-everybody, thanks.

“
So,
you’re brave,” Emily said as we walked side by side.

“
I
am?”

"Yes. Starting a new school on the second week back after
summer break.
Everyone’s
going to notice you. I hope you like attention.”
She grinned.

“
Love it.” Truthfully, I want to lower my head and cry. I knew
it—when they told me I had to go to school today—I knew it was
going to be bad. But I’ll be okay as long as I don’t cry in front
of anyone. That’s my worst nightmare. Worse than the ‘walking naked
through school’ dream. I can do that, but crying? Well, crying is
always followed by questions.

“
You’re right.” Emily studied my face for a second. “You do
just faze out, don’t you?”

Blinking off the trance, I looked around. The halls are
empty. One by one, the students had filed into their classes,
closing the plain brown doors behind them, leaving Emily and I
alone in the hall.

“
Come on,” Emily linked her arm through mine, “let’s just find
out where your first class is.”

We
headed toward the light at the end of the artificially lit
tunnel—otherwise known as the corridor—and I noticed that the doors
to the front car park mirror the ones to the football field
exactly, like a square telescope. Hm, so, symmetry, ugliness and
sticky floors that slow you down when you walk are the key elements
to a first-class education. Way to go, Dad. Maybe send me to a
reform school next time—might be less dreary than this convent-like
institution.

“
Okay.” Emily bounced to a halt with her ponytail swinging.
“This is the school office and your first stop on today’s tour.”
She held her palm out to dramatically present the
doorway.

Forcing a small laugh, to be polite, I followed her into the
quiet, muggy office. The lady behind the desk, talking softly on
the phone, looked up and smiled as we closed the door. The smell of
inks and warm paper resonated from a quietly humming photocopier
behind the desk and caused a slight twinge of familiarity to pinch
the centre of my chest. It’s calm in here, like the office at my
old school.

When
a man walked through a door to the left, the aroma of stale coffee
and cold toast wafted out with the sudden bellow of loud
voices—their deep laughter breaking the silence. I pressed my back
to the wall, feeling small and exposed.

“
I’ll be with you in a minute, Emily,” the lady whispered and
held up a finger. She rested her ear against her shoulder, with a
phone nestled into her chin as she scribbled on some paper. “Okay,
Mrs. Rossi, I’ll let them know,” she said into the receiver. “Well,
you tell him to get some rest, and we’ll see him back here next
week. Okay, bye.” As she hung up the phone, the lady looked at
me.

I
want to hide under the desk. I’d do it, too, but it might look a
bit odd if the new kid suddenly disappears and sits at your
feet.

“
Miss Apple,” Emily leaned her forearms on the tall counter,
“this is our newest student, Ara.”

“
Well, hello there, Ara.” She stood up and offered me her
hand. I shook it, breaking free of her frail, bony hold
quickly.

“
Um,
hello,” I muttered.

“
Well, it’s very nice to finally meet ya,” she said softly.
“I’ll just find your file here among all this mess, and—” her voice
trailed off. “Haven’t had a chance to read it yet, been so busy
with all this stuff here. Ah, here we go.” She put her glasses on.
“Amara—Amara-Rose?” She looked up.

I
nodded.

“
Pretty name.”

“
Thank you.” Strangely, my voice has become barely a whisper.
I must’ve lost it under the desk with my courage. So not like me.
“I’m, uh—I’m going to go by just Ara, though,” I added
quietly.

“
Okay, sure, Ara.” She read my file for a
moment. “Oh?
Oh
,
okay.”

I
cringed at her tone, waiting for a question to follow. Emily
frowned at the receptionist, and I avoided eye contact.

“
Well, um, here’s your lesson plan, and you can just go ahead
and take one of those there maps ya see.” The lady pointed to a
pile of oddly placed pamphlets on the counter.

Well, that’s one thing I hadn’t counted on—a map.

Miss
Apple smiled at me as I ran my fingers over the paper-saviour and
bit my lip, hiding a hint of a grin.
This
little piece of paper is my new
best friend.

“
Now, Emily, can you show
Amara-Rose—sorry,
Ara
, to her first class?” She took off her glasses and sat back
down. I guess the question was rhetorical. As we reached the door,
Miss Apple called out, “Oh, and, Amara-Rose? You have a good day
now, okay?”

“
Uh—yeah. Thanks.” I managed two seconds of eye contact before
anxiety stole my gaze away. I’m doing well. But my fake smile can’t
hide the awkward tension boiling in the pit of my empty
stomach.

Reluctantly, I followed Emily into the corridor. She grabbed
my lesson plan, making odd faces as she looked over it, while I
focused on breathing the cool air of the empty, echoing halls.
“Well, the worst part’s yet to come.”

“
It
is?” I asked softly, taking the lesson plan and pinching the edges
between my nails.

“
Yes.” She smiled as if leading to some conclusion. “Your
first class of the day,” her tone rose upward on the
end.

Hm.
The worst part being the first step? I think she meant that to be
reassuring, or maybe a joke. In fact, I’m sure she’s trying to be
friendly, but I have to force myself just to breathe right now—I
can’t even think about making friends.

“
There’s no need to worry,” Emily said as we walked, “People
will only stare at you for the first few weeks.”

“
Okay, well, I feel sick now.” I laughed—it was a nervous
laugh.

“
You’ll be okay, really. You have Mr. Benson
first and he’s nice. He’ll go really easy on you. Plus—” she
stopped and turned around to face me, her eyes alight with
excitement, “you have
David Knight
in your class.” Her cheeks went pink and she
batted her lashes.

“
Is
he nice?” He must be, for that kind of reaction.