Want Some Reviews? Forum Past the Bending Point

Sadie Smith

Past the Bending Point 10 Years Ago  Past the Bending Point   Chapter 1: Alabaster   My feet are freezing, and I feel my mascara and eye shadow running down my skin with the mist from the river next to me slowly eating away at the mask of false identity that I had applied to my face earlier in the day. I can feel the moon casting a shadow on me like I can feel the sun bearing down on my back in the heat of the day. But the shadow the moon cast is so deep. It threatens to swallow me whole, and I accept the fact that I am nothing compared to this world and the world’s around me.   I stick the end of another cigarette in my mouth and take in a deep breath. There are two hours left before school, and I've been out here all night, just sitting, listening, observing. Everything is like a whole new world at night. The water ignites with moonlight. The dark seems darker, and the light seems brighter. I love the sensation nighttime gives me. Like I could scream as loud as I possibly wanted to, and only the Man on the Moon would hear me. But he wouldn’t care, because I’m sure he does plenty of his own screaming up there. I know I would. Because no matter how much I like to be alone, I hate being lonely. And all he is is alone.    The Golden Gate Bridge becomes more beautiful. The San Francisco lights look like an amphitheater in the middle of a concert where the band members sing that one slow song and everyone brings out anything that glows to make the room have an eerie/sweet aura. I always spend Sunday nights out here. I contemplate what, and who I am. Am I worth it? Does anyone out there love me? Nah. I don't think so. Sure, people say they do, but they don't. Nobody. Puff of smoke. Loves. Puff. Me. Puff. I've been through almost a whole pack of cigarettes, and I still feel dead inside. I do it on this specific day of the week because if one time I choose to actually, and fully commit to dying, maybe whatever god there is will take pity on me and let me into “Heaven” if I do it on a so called “Holy” day. If not, then I have no doubt I will go to Hell. I am not a “good” person. I have no reason to be good, and if being “good” is what gets someone into Heaven, then I had better not waste my breath.  I don’t do religion, but I know there has to be some sort of afterlife. I mean, there can’t just be nothing. Where would everyone go? Just, blink out of existence. No. Blinking out of existence is hard, a lot harder than anyone would think. I would know I have tried countless times. I came out here at eleven thirty like every other Sunday and I stood on the walkway, and looked out across the water. This Sunday night I had put my feet over the railing, and I had leaned out, holding on with my fingers. I had gone out farther than I had leaned out last week, and next week I will go further until I am barely maintaining my hold on Life. Oh, that word. Life. It is a word that teases me every second of the day saying “Come on, Alabaster. Don’t you want life? Don’t you want the American dream? You just have to reach for it.” But I am in chains, and they hold me right out of Life’s reach. To live, you need something to live for. For most people it is marriage, I hate the idea of being glued down and forced to be a happy little homemaker, so marriage is out of the question. For others, it is academics, and I suck at anything to do with logic. And for a few rare people it is the idea that they alone can change the world, but I promise you I am no Martin Luther King Jr. and so, I quit trying.              "Just fall.” I had told myself. “The water will catch me, and I'll float away." I always think those words. But I never let myself fall. Because some estranged part of me believes in "What if?" The stupid expression my Anna Kate gave me. I never was able to get rid of the thought. "What if I meet someone who changes my world? What if I get a great opportunity for journaling in New York? What if I get to travel one day? What if I get married to the love of my life?" That is what keeps me going, but one day "What If?" will be a "Never going to happen." And it'll be over. I am jolted out of my memory by the sound of a train horn. The sun is starting to peek at me from the horizon. That’s my cue to leave. I pull my jacket on tighter and walk up the rocky shore, place my hands on either side of the fence, and push myself up; I put the one cigarette I have left back in my pocket along with my lighter. My feet numbly carry me to my bicycle. I swing my leg across the seat, and sigh. I can hear the blow of car horns, and the shout’s of people walking along the streets. I smell the exhaust that layers over this city in such thick sorrow. My eyes close and I take in a deep breath. San Francisco is waking up. But, I have to get home. I peddle forward, and make it to (what I don't know you could quite call an apartment, but it only costs $50.00 a month and it's all I can afford) my apartment. Parking my bike outside and chaining it to a pole I make my way up the creaking stairs, and unlock the door with the key that is folded into my wallet. When I get inside the stench of alcohol and smoke floods my senses, but I’m used to it by now so I throw my bag over the couch and lock the door behind me.  I walk to my bathroom and look in the mirror preparing myself for what I may find. Pale eyes, ugly face. I hate myself. I’m ugly. I’m horrible. Nobody should need to look at me. My face looks ghost-like, and creepy. If I were another person and saw Alabaster Monroe walking down one side of the road, I’d call the cops. Biting my lip I take my phone and shove it in the mirror right where my face looks back at me. "Gah!" I scream. Glass shatters along with my phone screen. The broken mirror stares at me and my reflection starts and ends in so many places. Just like my life. I stare at myself for too long, getting angrier the whole time. How could I turn out this way? Why out of all the people I could possibly be, did it have to be me that has a trash bin for a mom, or a ghost of a father? Because whoever created me knew what I would become, and chose to punish me for it.   I look down, and realize that there is a lot of my blood from a rough gash on the back of my hand spreading across the floor. I tear open the medical drawer, I have in my bathroom. My fingers dig past all the drugs, and pills, and grab a gauze wrap. I wrap my hand up, and walk out of the bathroom. Caring no more about my stringy, jet black hair, and my drippy make-up than I cared about who was going to be the President of the United States in twenty years.  I walk into my room and throw on a blue shirt, and pull my black jacket back on. My eye drops take out some of the redness of no sleep, but not enough. I shrug, there is nothing I can do about it now. Making my way into the kitchenette I peep over towards the couch. "Mom?" I call for her, but she doesn’t answer. She has probably been out with some guy last night. It doesn’t matter to me. Whenever she is home, I feel an overwhelming sense of hatred towards her. My lips desire to scream at her saying that she is the one who made me like this. If she had led a normal life, I’d be normal. But, normality is not a luxury I have inhabited. Sighing, I plop onto the kitchen chair. Leaning toward the fridge, I swing the door open. I end up grabbing a half drunken beer bottle, and a piece of old banana bread. I tip the rest of the bottle in my mouth, ate the bread, and twist my fingers around the zipper of my jacket. My eyes looked at the oven clock. Now that my phone is out of use I will be guessing the time forever. My mouth goes dry as I realize that I was a timeless, unconnected, out of place, Psychopath with no point in this world. Just one more things to add to the list of “Why Alabaster Monroe Hates Herself”. It is a very long list. My mouth swishes with the bitter taste of beer. I lean my head down, suppressing the slowly forming headache. Quickly I pull my sleeves down when I catch a peek at the scars covering my wrists. Biting my lip my body finds itself in my room. I grab bracelets out of my dresser drawer and cover my arm with leather. I take a deep breath. Senior year, here I come. However unprepared I am. Chapter 2: Sam "Sam? It's time to get up. You have to be at school in ten!" I am aware of my mom talking to me, but my brain is stuck halfway between Heaven and Hell real life is the latter . "Feet on the floor!" I nod, though she can’t see me, and slam my feet on the floor hard enough for her to see I am awake. I hate it when I’m so miserably tired, but I had been trying to get my new room set up last night, and hadn’t gone to bed until twelve. I am a weakling who likes his sleep. Tell me to go to bed at seven, and I will. Then it hits me. New school. Ten minutes to be at the bus stop. My eyes flip open and I tear through my box of clothes. Ending up with khaki shorts and some old T-shirt of my dad’s. I look in the mirror, and shrug, oh well this was as good as it is going to get. As I rub the bristles of my toothbrush across my teeth I hop on opposite feet to pull on my tennis shoes. I glance at my hair, and grimace. Definitely time for a hair cut. I glance at my watch, and do the half jog half run to get downstairs. I am about to slip my coat on when I hear my mom’s voice calling me back. "Honey, wake up Emma and Caroline, please." My mom’s voice rings from the kitchen, its usual honey sweetness singing in my ears. I bite my lip from telling her I really need to go, and I jump up the stairs and flip on the light in my little sisters' room. "Em, Carol, up now!" They moan at me, and I dodge to the left to avoid a flying pillow. “Hey, be glad I woke you guys up!” My hands fly up in a defensive position in case something harder than a pillow comes hurdling my way. Caroline sits up and glares at me. Her blondish hair sticking up in so many directions that I think she is an undercover Einstein, and her eyes are half open. Emma still has her head stuffed on her pillow. I grin wildly, and put my fingers into my mouth. A piercing whistle rings off the walls, and Emma’s body goes flying to the floor as she practically leaps out of her skin. Caroline’s eyes are wide open and staring at me like I just shot a puppy. “Get out!” They both yell at me simultaneously. I shrink out of the room, still chuckling to myself. I am back downstairs, coffee and bagel in hand when my mom stops me with a smile. "What are you forgetting?" Groaning, I stop, turned to her, and kiss her on the cheek. She is wearing her brown hair up in a bun, and an apron around her healthy figure, and her face is makeup-less. I’ve seen pictures of my mom when she was younger, and even now she is as pretty as she used to be. "I love you mom. Love you dad!" I call to my father who is coming out of the living room with an empty coffee cup, and the newspaper. His bushy hair, and glasses make him look like a youth minister, I am so glad I look more like my mom. My dad looks somewhat like a hobo, and a pastor at the same time and I doubt that would achieve many girls on my side."See y'all later." Then I jog out the door, remembering the jacket I had left inside as the cold wind hits my body.  ***  The bus stop is plain, and cold. The wind whips around me, and I wish for the ten millionth time I had remembered my jacket. A cold front has been coming through California in the middle of August for no apparent reason, and I hate it. The warm weather is better. Sure, I like sweatpants and beanies as much as the next guys, but cold weather makes me want to curl into a ball and freeze to death. I have less than three minutes before the bus will arrive and for the first time I get a chance to look around. I'm surrounded by trashy apartment buildings. The one I am living in is nice. We have three rooms, but my room and my sister's rooms go onto the floor above us which gives us an upgrade in payments. The apartments across the street consist of cracking bricks, broken windows, and weeds growing up through the concrete. There is trash everywhere, and cigarette butts on the ground. I feel very weary of all the people who were standing outside on the streets. It is a tiny bit terrifying. I am standing and shivering in the cold when I see something moving out of the trashiest apartment across the street. Where my family set up is the neighborhood next to the Projects. I shiver when I see the slim figure sauntering towards me. The person who slips out of the window looks like a murderer. I put my fists in knuckles, prepared to fight a girl if I have to. Then, I actually see her, and my lungs stop moving. Her face is... amazing. Her eyes flash ivory green underneath heavy black makeup that runs down. Her lips are white, and her face is ghastly pale. Her outfit... is something else. She’s wearing black, skin tight pants, a tight blue shirt, with a leather jacket on it. Her face is stormy, and her mouth pursed, and for some reason I get the feeling that my well being is not number one on her list of priorities. She stands next to me without a second glance. I realize after five minutes that A. The bus is very late B. We are the only people waiting here and it is very awkward. I can tell we both have something to say, but knowing that I don’t know what to say, I can tell she doesn’t either, or maybe she just doesn’t care. I get the feeling it is the latter. Because the longer I stand beside her, the more tension I feel in my body. I glance at the Girl, and try to get something from the way she acts. Her feet are spread apart in what looks to me like a fighter’s stance, and her jaw is set in a straight line. From the way her eyebrows point downwards, and the line on her face doesn’t move I get a feeling that she does a lot of frowning. And I feel like every second we stand there is one more minute for her electricity to get closer to me. I can feel the slow, steady curls of energy climbing through her body and reaching out to me with electrifying fingers, and I have to hold myself by the tail to keep from running away. "Hi." I say just to blur out the eerie silence, but it doesn't help.  I try to reach out and pull the simple word back into my mouth, but it doesn't work. She looks at me, and her eyes make me feel like a criminal being interrogated, and I feel a trickle of sweat roll down my forehead even in the brisk weather the day is offering me. "I'm... um my name is...erm..." Those eyes make me so uncomfortable, they are piercing my heart like daggers. The Girl barely glances at me before pulling her sunglasses over her eyes. I immediately take in a deep breath feeling as though Thor's Hammer has just been lifted from my chest. "Spit it out kid." I scrunch my eyebrows at her. Her voice is scratchy, and tired. I am annoying her, I can tell. Not good, Sam, not good. Do not annoy., girls do not like annoying! It is a major turn off. Not a good sign. (I swear I can’t get my thoughts together enough not to make a complete fool of myself) "Sam. Sam, is my um, my name." I swear I've never been this nervous around anyone. My palms get clammy. and I rub them on my jeans. The girl raises her eyebrows, and I see that she is smarter than she lets on. She knows exactly how nervous she makes me, and when her lips turn upwards slightly I get chills on my arms. The girl enjoys my nervousness, and her attitude is one of a feral cat... I have no idea how to respond to that.  "So I decide try a less awkward route. "What's your name?" My voice sounds meek, and squirrel-like. I see the bus round the corner of the street, I don't have much time. "Erm, what's your name?" I ask again, in case she didn't hear me. Tapping her shoulder lightly. I try to get her attention. Gosh this is so awkward. I feel like tucking my tail in between my legs and running for the hills... that is if I had a tail. But I don't, so I just bite the inside of my check and pray that she responds. I don’t know what else to do. As the bus is pulling up to a stop she walks forward, just a single step, but enough to put me and my strange conversations behind her. No further words are spoken between us, and I plop down into a leather seat in the middle of the bus begging God to magically zap me home. Ten minutes since I started school in San Francisco, and it already sucks. Chapter 4: Alabaster Nope. Not going to happen. No. Nope, No! I am not going to be drawn in by some brown eyed, blonde haired stranger. I am still shaking his touch off of me. The little idiot. He just had to try and reach out to me. No, I have been and will be unreachable. Being reachable is, after all, what lets the alligator kill the zebra. If the zebra were out of reach, she wouldn’t be dead. And I have all the intentions of never being in reach. This is not going to change me. I am an unchangeable, unshakable storm of emotions who is still waiting. I am waiting for my chance to tear away everyone who has ever harmed me. I'm in the quiet part. The “Calm before the storm.” The part of the cycle of raging fury that makes people wonder just how bad the tremors will be, the part that makes everyone hold on for dear life because they know, they just know that when this hurricane hits, it’s going to wipe away everything they are, and everything they may ever be. As of right now I hold on to being content, because I love watching my storm grow. So, my storm and I sit brewing. We are an untamed force. But maybe, I could be tamed. Maybe if someone cared enough. But nobody does, and I feel like screaming because I'd like to be fixed. But if there is one thing I have learned, it is that nobody an fix themselves.  So it's just me, and my mental torrent of rain and I’m going crazy. Slowly getting pushed to be more insane by the little things in everyday life that don't bother normal people. But I have been told on several occasions, in very unkind ways that I'm not "Normal." Then I watch him. Sam. Oh crap! I hate him, I really and honestly do. He just waltzed into my life, and touched my shoulder. School rules say to cover your shoulder, and students say it’s stupid, but my shoulder feels like it’s flaming and if I'd been wearing a tank top my shoulder would have spontaneously combusted by now, of that I am positive. I’m trying to chill my emotions when I see her step onto the bus. Anna Kaitlyn Wright. The one person I loathe the most. She is perfect. Literally. Her hair, her body, her face. She is nice, and funny, and a good person all around. Most people think I am crazy for hating her. But, since I was crazy before hating her, I don't think it is that crazy. I have a good reason for hating Anna Kate too. I hate her because, I messed up our relationship. I am not perfect. And she apologized, after I had been the one to mess up, and I hate her for it. And I hate myself. There is no room in my heart for anything but hatred, and desire. I learned that a long time ago. And as soon as I decided to embrace it, I felt better than pretending to know how to love. I’m watching Anna Kate's eyes, and Bach is blaring in my headphones. From behind my aviator sunglasses I see her eyes land on someone who I have been watching. Nope. He's mine. Even if I have swore to myself I'd never make a connection with him, she is not allowed to have him. Nobody is. But, she walks up to him anyway despite my glares and silent screams directed straight at her, and slides in the seat right by him. My face flushes red. I hate myself so much right now. My brain and heart are fighting in a Logic vs. Lust fight. And I think Lust is winning. But, here comes logic with a back-up plan. I reach into my bag and open a ketchup packet. I aim, and then let loose. The red liquid splatters and oozes down her face and white shirt. "Ah!" She squeals. I bite back a smile, and lean my head down, pretending to be on my phone. Logic with the win. Or maybe, Lust had a part in that battle too. It is possible they were working together. Anna Kate stands up and as all the other kids on the bus laugh she frantically tries to wipe the staining condiments off. Sam looks like he is measuring out how to get away the quickest (which is what I was going for) while Anna Kate run/walks to the front of the bus. Randy, our bus driver, opens the door and she bounds off racing towards her house. I stifle a laugh, and lean my head back. As Randy goes on a rant trying to figure out who had done that, Sam looks around. His eyes fall on me, and I pretend I'm on my phone (I thank my glasses for the wonderful ability to stalk without being noticed) and watch him until he looks away. Alabaster vs. Anna Kate Alabaster: 1 Anna Kate: 0 Chapter 5: Sam What just happened? I am 100% sure that the Girl was the one to hit Anna Kate in the face with that ketchup, but like why? The Girl had said like four words to me, and completely brushed me off. Then she goes and hits Anna Kate, who was being really nice to me, with ketchup? I'm so confused. Sure, girls are weird. Everyone knows that. But this Girl, is like level 100 weird. I try to make eye contact with her, even though he is wearing sunglasses. She doesn't look at me, but I'm very good at seeing through people. For instance, I know that this Girl has a bad past, and though she has obviously tried to block out the stench of smoke, I can tell she has had a cigarette or two. But, what could drive someone who is so perfect, so exceedingly beautiful to slowly killing herself like that? I can see the pain in her eyes. She hides it well enough from people, but I would know how to see pain through the eyes, I do it every time I look in the mirror. I guess most folks would say I have a perfect life. I mean, my family is great. I go to church every Sunday. I make good enough grades. I mean, everything should be perfect for me. But all I can think about is Emmy. She was perfect. Blonde hair, good at everything she did. We were together from the very beginning of ninth grade, then she cheated on me. I found her making out with my best friend Shawn at my last school in Missouri, things didn't go well after that. Yeah, I know the whole speech about “Young love doesn’t last” was right and I should have listened, but we had been so good together. At least, I thought we had been. I guess I was just immature. I probably still am, chasing after someone new when I know what happens at the end of high school relationships. My relationship with Emmy had been poison. In the end it had crushed me. It had taken my heart and squeezed it into a pulp. No, it made my heart like pulp-less orange juice. Texture less, lifeless, and taste-less. Now I am a dull person. But, the Girl. Oh, I just couldn't get her out of my head. All of my thoughts are orbiting around her. She is everything. But no, I can't allow myself to be taken advantage of again. Not going to happen. Once, I could handle... maybe. But if she were to take my heart, and break it again, I'd break like a porcelain doll being dropped from a ten story building. And, that is not something that I can come back from a second time. We hit a bump and I bounce out of my daydream. My head turns around without me even thinking about it, and my eyes find her. Her head is tilted back, and her mouth is open slightly. Her headphones are in, and I can't see her eyes because of her sunglasses. I really wish I could call her something other than the Girl, but until I know her name I can’t. Anyways, the Girl sounds mysterious, and that makes me excited to learn more. Without really deciding to, I find myself sitting next to her. I can hear her music, and I'm shocked to hear classical instruments playing too loud in the black ear phones that are in her ears. I pull out my camera from my bag, and look through the lenses at her. Her face is outlined with a perfect ring of rain and mist through the bus window. I snap the picture then return my camera to my bag, excited to see the end result. I watch her sleep, and when I see the final turn towards the school I lean towards her. "Hey, we are about to be at the school. Wake u-" Then I am being pushed backwards against the bus seat. The bus has stopped by now, and there is so much ruckus, nobody notice that the girl is choking me. I can see her face go from hard and fierce, to shocked, and frustrated. She releases me, and sits back letting out an interesting string of curse words, that I dare not repeat, and slides her glasses to the top of her head. I want so badly to wipe away the dark make-up under her eyes, but I don't think that would be appreciated in this moment. "What on earth were you doing? Sam, you can't wake me up like that! Where I'm from if you wake someone from a deep sleep, and they aren't at home, you are either trying to kidnap them, steal their money, or murder them. Never, ever do that again!" Then, without a second glance she steps over me with her long legs, and walks towards the exit. I feel like an explosion just went off next to me. But, I react like a cartoon character, and shake it off, and I stumble after her, and my camera bag bangs against my leg. "Wait! Can't you at least tell me your name?" I touch her shoulder again, to get her attention. "And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." I immediately know I should not have said that. She whirls around to face me, her green eyes alight with fury. My knees buckle and I take a sudden step backwards. "I was not scared! Okay? Do you understand that, Sam? You can't scare me! And second, you don't need to know my name. And quit chasing after me like that!" She turns again with finality this time, and I sigh. This is not going the way I had planned it to. I run to catch up to her outside the bus on the side walk. "Wait! Give me one reason not to keep trying!" I can stop, if I have a valid reason. If she isn’t just playing hard to get. Her head tilts slightly towards me. Her mouth is in a small smile not showing her teeth and her lips just slightly curve upwards, it is barely even a smile. "Because Sam, if you keep chasing the clouds you may find yourself in a storm." She turns her head around, and leaves me standing in the quiet, wet stance of defeat as rain patters on top of my head. "I think I already have." I whispered to nobody. Chapter 6: Alabaster There are too many emotions. Anger, fear, pleasure, bliss, confusion, sadness, depression, hopelessness, joy, in my opinion this list could go on forever. I grip my fingers tightly around my t shirt to keep them from shaking too badly. I feel too many emotions at once. I always have. I can feel, and breathe every single emotion in one breath, and it is overwhelming. I can tell if someone feels sad, or happy, now doing something about someone I can tell is sad is another thing. I learned a long time ago to mind my own business. The less I interfere the less room I  have for mistakes. Like they say "No good deed goes unpunished." So, I've made it a solid point to do nothing that doesn't benefit me, it may seem selfish, but when I think about it if I want something in this horrible world then I have to be the one to take it. But, right now I'm feeling too many different swirls of feelings. I think that if I were to explode right now, I would burst of Emoticons. I feel angry. No, not angry. I. Am. Pissed. I know that I have an unhealthy amount of lust for Sam, and I want to slap myself for it. Stupid hormones, girls annoy the crap out of me. If I had the choice I would be a nun. Except, I don't do religion. I don’t know why I feel this way. Sam is handsome, sure. But he isn’t like Jensen Ackles level hot. He seems normal on the outside, but something about the tenderness he showed me in his touch gave me a glimpse at his personality. I have never been treated like an actual human... by anybody. And Sam, on one of my worse days in a while, treated me like someone willing to be known. See, most people care about surface area. But, I know that sometimes the ugliest people, are the prettiest on the outside. I don't give a crap about outside appearances. I am the scuba diver of people. I go deeper than looking at the surface of the water. Most people look at Australia oceans and believe they are the prettiest, nicest places, but if you go underneath it is deadly, just like with more than half of the people the world sets as idols. "Ms. Monroe!" A nasally voice snaps my attention away from my black hole of thoughts. I look up. Ms. Vazin stares at me through her bland black eyes. My heart turns cold on sight. I knew the minute I met her last year in my Science class that she was a horribly nasty person, and nothing she has done since then has changed any point of my perspective on her to be good. If anything, it has gotten worse. "What?" I treat this woman with the same respect I treat a dead mouse. Actually she deserves worse. She is the type of person that acts like she is so much better than everyone. Nobody, ever  has the right to do that. Even the greatest person to ever live does not have that right. Mrs. Vazin is verbally abusive. I hate that. She picks on people she considers "Lesser." I don't even stoop to that level, and I'm not exactly what most folks would consider perfect. "Move your jacket please." Mrs. Vazin spits out the please as if she had just drank a gallon of bad milk. Her hands move to her hips, and her teeth chew on her cheeks when I don't move my position. I am annoying her, and it brings a strong pleasure to me. "Why?" I ask, purposefully to grind her nerves, I can see that it is definitely working. Her fingers tap her hips. My one word questions are killing her, and it only makes me want to keep going. Ms. Vazin really doesn't understand the pleasure levels this hands right to me directly on a silver platter. "Because, he" She gestures behind her, and I see Sam looking sheepishly at me. He's taller than I remembered him. Stop it, Al! Ms. Vazin brushes a shaky hand through her curly black hair that seems to have been styled by someone who has electricity powers. It sticks up everywhere, and is quite the sight. I have a snarky comeback on my tongue when she replies with a shaky voice, "Needs to sit there, and he can't very well sit on you jacket." "Nah." Is the only thing I say. Then I pull my sunglasses over my eyes, and put my feet on top of my desk, stretching out. as if this place was my house. Ms. Vazin is fuming now. Her entire body shudders with rage. She points at me, and right as she is about to say something I'm sure I wouldn't like Sam interrupts. "I'll just sit back here." He takes his History books with him, and sits in the first available sit he can find, which is right next to Anna Kate. I feel my brain begin to burn. No! He is not allowed to do that. I mean, I don't want him, but that doesn't mean she can have him. And now Anna Kate is dressed in a perfect little sundress, and she looks amazing. This day really could get better. *** At some point of class I put my headphones in. I think it was after Anna Kate and Sam were paired together for our first class assignment for this year. I can't believe Ms. Vazin. No, wait, actually I can. Of all things for the She-Devil to do, she would put Sam with someone else. Someone she knows I hate. I can feel my body go rigid as I hear Anna Kate let out a fake laugh at something Sam said. I peek back at Sam. He is leaning over the evaluation test the Devil gave to us.  I didn't even look at it. When my headphones begin to lay an upbeat acoustic song I shake my head along with Aftertaste by Shawn Mendez.  I love this song, but it brings a lot of my emotions to the table. I feel like screaming it at my Ex, Daniel. I broke up with him last summer by walking up to him and leaning my face right next to his. Our lips had been inches apart, and I had whispered. "I put the Ex- in EX-traordinary." Then I had walked away. I actually still feel pretty good about that one. (He had cheated on me, while at the beach. I had been smoking a cigarette when I had seen him. There also might have been the rubbing of my cigarette on his face. "Alabaster!" A snappy voice says too loud in my ear. I immediately jerk back and throw a strong glare towards the Devil. Ms. Vazin has pulled my ear bud out, and that in itself was a deadly enough mistake but on top of that her and her bad breath rest a foot inside my personal bubble. I hear a sharp intake of breath two isles behind me. A curse word flies through my head. Sam, now knows my name. One more connection we didn't need. Also, I really hate it when I’m replaying a memory and someone interrupts my video. "Perfect," I hear him whisper. I can't help it. A small grin tugs at my lips, but I put up my walls just in time. I have learned (after many years) that it is better to be the wall builder than the one that tries to break the walls down. At least I had power when I am the builder. "What?" I snap again, I am beyond done with her and my voice shows it. "Will you please answer the question?" Evil pleasure glints in her eyes as she walks up to the white board. The Devil! She knew I wasn't paying attention. Public humiliation like this was not okay with me. I tap my foot up and down in rapid, angry beats. "Repeat the question." "What year was Benjamin Franklin born?" I look at her with my lips pursed. And I squeeze my nails into my hands, the cut on my left hand stings with the applied force. "I don't know." My voice is tight, and strained with horrible anger. She then proceeds to point her finger at me and pace. I can see the victory she feels in the way she stands. "There is a woman in this class that serves as a very good example... of what not to be. She shows us exactly what happens when you are a pothead, drunk, and don't care about where you end up in life. She is the perfect example of three words- retarded, moronic, and idiotic." She spits the words at me. Ms. Vazin goes quiet along with everyone else in the room. You could hear a cotton ball hit the floor. Then a loud clap goes through the air. A few people jump. CLAP, CLAP, CLAP! I am standing up slowly, keeping eye contact with her the whole time. My rage is unfathomable, and quiet. It scares even me. "Ms. Vazin, you are so brave to relieve yourself of that burden, but seeing I am not a therapist, I believe you may need to see someone who is a professional about your drug issue." My voice is seething with deadly poison. Then I walk out of class, leaving my jacket on the chair as an act of defiance, I'll buy a new one.  On my way out I stop at the door I walk dramatically slow on purpose and turn on my heels. They squeak on the floor. Then I lay my hands palm down in the air. I turn my wrists in a pretty circle, and as they come up with my palms to me, I use a certain finger on each hand, and point them directly at Ms. Vazin. Everyone stifles a laugh as I walk out, and my memory lies with a fresh picture of Mrs. Vasin’s horrified face. *** I sit in and alley and smile. All I can think is that this was a pretty good way to get a two week suspension on my first day as a senior in High School. Chapter 7: Sam Well. The Gir- no, Alabaster (Gosh I love her name) is pretty much the exact opposite of what I have ever seen in most others in the female species. Even Emmy was respectful. But, Alabaster seems to have had her limits shoved off a cliff when it comes to adults. Ms. Vazin leaves the room to find Alabaster, but since neither comes back, the rest of the class is just all of us teenagers being stupid. Anna Kate starts to really talk to me, and I smile. She is really nice. Nicer than I had expected her to be. "So, where are you all going to church?" She asks, leaning forward onto her elbows. Her brown eyes make me feel warm, and relaxed, opposite of Alabaster. We have been talking about being Christians, and Anna Kate has given me some ideas to get a good foundation here in San Francisco. "Nowhere yet. You know, we've never actually been to the city before. My parents just thought it would be cool to move out here. They researched an apartment that was big enough, found the one we are in now, and we packed up and moved." We have always travelled a lot, my parents wanted to see everything in the world, and they would drag me and my siblings along. I’m not complaining, but it is hard to be in high school and move to places where I didn’t know anybody. "That is so cool! But, as for churches, this Sunday go to the church on the corner of Hope St. and 16th South. It’s Hope St. Independent Church. It is amazing. I'll even save you a seat, so you have friends there. And, if your family wants, you all could come over to my house afterwards. We always have a barbecue for the beginning of the semester. A bunch of the people from San Hill will be there, and you can make some good friends." I can tell she is hinting that Alabaster would not be a good friend, and I can’t really say how I feel about her Passive Aggressive- ness. The bell rings, and I stand up. Anna Kate does too, but her sunflower yellow dress catches on her desk. Right before she walks away I grab at it. "Wait!" My voice is urgent enough for her to stop. The snag comes loose, and Anna Kate flashes me a smile. I feel like a hero, and a dork at the same time. "Thanks. Hey, what class do you have next?" I reach into my back pocket and pull out my schedule examining the different classes that have been assigned to me. "Um, Creative Writing with Mr. Brewell." Anna Kate nods, and I feel a touch of hope that maybe this class will be better than homeroom. "He's literally the coolest teacher ever. Come on, Alex has that next. He's a good friend of mine, so you should like him" Her voice floats easily with pleasure. I swear that smile never leaves her lips. Anna Kate leads me outside and to a locker two hallways down. A tall boy with ash blonde hair, and blue eyes is stuffing some papers in his locker. He isn't very tall, maybe an inch shorter than me, and I'm 6'1. "Yo! AK, what up girl?" He high fives the Forever Happy Girl, and then turns to me. I have the strange feeling that he is putting on a show of being a surfer, because from what I have seen San Francisco is not full of surfers.  A crooked grin hangs on Alex’s face, and stands out because of his tan skin. He shakes my hand, firmer than I had thought he would. "Nice to meet ya! I'm Alex." "Sam, and you too." My voice comes out more monotone than I had expected. Alex and Anna Kate break into a blooming conversation about how their group is heading out Friday as soon as school is out to go surfing an hour up the coast. "You should come Sam! We have about fifteen people go once a month. We all head up and rent two rooms, one for girls, one for boys. We have a Bible study Saturday morning on the beach while we cook breakfast. Then we just hang out the rest of the time. We come back Saturday night after we all go see a movie that everyone agrees on. What do you say? It's fifty dollars apiece (To cover food, and rent, and the movie)" "Yeah, I'm sure my parents will be happy that I'm hanging out with all of ya'll." The warning bell rings, and Anna Kate asks Alex to show me to the class. Of course, He agrees, and we walk to the classroom. I find a seat next to Alex, and Mr. Brewell walks into the room. He has thick greying hair, behind thin glasses are warm hazel eyes. He wears a big sweater and worn out jeans. When he talks it is a low, humbling rumble, and I know immediately that I am going to love this class. Chapter 8: Alabaster “Ow.” I hear myself mutter as I bite down once more on the inside of my lip. I haven’t stopped beating myself up since Mr. Harp, our assistant principle told me I had a two week suspension. It had originally been a week suspension, but after a few choice words to Mr. Harp, it was two weeks. “Excuse me.” Another person pushes past me as I remain planted in the middle of the busy sidewalk. I can’t make myself move. I have stopped here, and maybe I will stay here for a while. Maybe even forever, that sounds fine to me. I look up at the sign I had memorized twenty minutes ago. “Haircuts $20.00 off a color and cut.” My body weight shifts back onto my heels. To do, or not to do? Oh the glorious theme of life. To do- would mean change. I have never experienced change like this day. To not do- well, I might go crazy if I spend one more day with the same looks I have today, I won’t last long. I huff. Too much time has been wasted on this piece of sidewalk. So I start forward, unfocused on any one direction. But, I end up in the shop anyways. An overweight lady with her bundle of blonde hair in a stack of curls on her head looks at me warily from behind the granite counter. When I sauntered in here I hadn’t expected it to be so fancy. “Name?” her voice is sweet, but restrained. I understand because I must look like a murderer. “Alabaster Monroe.” Her eyebrows go up, but her fingers type my name into the name expensive laptop at her fingertips. “What do you want done today, sweetie?” My back teeth grind together. I hate nick-names. Her eyes catch mine, and she seems to feel my radiation of aggravation. “Alabaster.” She quickly changes her words. “The cut and color deal you have.” She nods, and I read the name on her tag. Kelly. I shuffle my feet, uncomfortable with the social pressure of the situation. “Alright, sit right over there, and I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” I do as told, and sit on the cushioned leather couch. Nothing special happens until I see him. My body tightens. Not now, really, really, really not now. But here he is. Sauntering down the street is Sam. Why he has to turn up everywhere I am, I have no clue. My entire body tells me to go seek him out. Follow him, talk to him, and love him. But my logic screams no! The more attachments I make, the harder it will be. He is just going to walk past the salon, and then I’ll be able to breath. But, no because nothing with me, Alabaster Lyn Monroe, is ever that simple. So he comes into the shop. And I pray he won’t see me. And at first he doesn’t. Sam just walks in, his back turned to me, talking to Kelly about how he just needs a small trim. But when Kelly resumes cutting a bald man’s beard and Sam turns to sit down he stops in his tracks. His face doesn’t move, but his eyes light up. And it makes my heart scream. “Alabaster.” He plays my name on his tongue like it’s a sweet melody of piano lyric. Inside I’m melting, but on the outside I remain an ice block. This is no time to be weak. “What happened to you after first period?” I try not to be mad. He is innocent when it comes to bad people, and there is not much I can do to change that. “I had to go home.” He must notice that I am not willing to exaggerate because he nods, quickly trying to cover up his mistake. “So, what are you doing this weekend?” His face is cautious, like he is trying to disable a bomb without blowing himself up. I guess I was the bomb, and I knew I would blow up eventually because I had no button to disengage me. “Why?” It’s a fair question on my part. Why should I answer him, without knowing his intentions first? I mean, I have no thought in my head that he wants from me what most guys do because Sam just, well he isn’t like that, and I could see it the first time I met him. But, I’m not going to sign up for something that I would rather not do, like go on a date, or to the movies. “Oh, because some people want me to go up to the beach with them, and they said I could invite a friend-” “I am not your friend, Sam.” My arms are crossed. I am not going anywhere as Sam’s “friend.” He seems to know that, but I’ll give him points for trying. “I know- I mean, I want you to be-” He is stuttering, well that’s good. I make him nervous. “Why? What part of this,” I motion towards myself. “Makes you want to be my friend?” Sam shifts. In an instant he goes from cautious and acting like a small child to sad and firm. His body stands right above me, and he reaches down, grabbing my left wrist.   By now I should’ve shoved him away from me. But, his eyes show me a new side to him. Dangerous. Sam, you are dangerously smart. That is it. Danger. I can see myself in his brown eyes, and for a moment I see Alabaster differently. I look scared, like a cornered animal. I see myself the way Sam sees me, and it is unnerving. “It’s okay.” He mouths, and my head tilts to the side. Why would he say that? I’m fine, I’m- no I’m not fine. That is a lie I cannot even tell myself. Then he has my arm extended towards him, his touch lighting me on fire. Sam puts his free hand on my wrist, and pushes the bracelets away. I don’t move as he unbuckles them, and sets them on the chair next to me. Then he unbuttons my sleeve, and rolls it up my arm. I don’t move. Not an inch, because his touch has cooled down, and it soothes over the heat that I have always poured onto that arm. “Because, Alabaster, you need a friend.” And then he walks away, and leaves me sitting, by myself with my sleeve rolled up, revealing much more to people than I have ever done. But, I’m the only person here. “Alabaster? Time for your cut.” I hear Kelly, and I somehow make it to the salon chair. I have rolled down my sleeve, and replaced the bracelets, but I feel naked. Sam has just seen something that only my eyes have seen, and I feel utterly exposed. “Alright, what do you want?” I bite my lip. I have no clue what I want and I’m not thinking about my haircut. “Um, above my shoulders, and redo my black.” “Okay, yeah, I see the brown starting to bleed through. Why don’t you let it come all the way out?” I frown at her. I hate being normal, and brown is so normal. “No.” Kelly just shrugs and gets to work, she takes off three inches to get it just above my shoulders, and then sets to work dying it. “So, who was that fine young fella talking to you out there?” She asks as another slap of goop goes onto my head to color it. My spine goes rigid. “Nobody.” “Sorry to say this dear, but everybody is somebody. And you obviously know that body. So, who was he?” I try to glare at her, but Kelly’s eyes are focused on my mess of hair. “Just a guy