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I entered this in a contest.
^^
Here, it's only 1,993 words. ^^
Freshmen
Every day around one o’clock found all of us outside, eating lunch on the table behind the gym, just me and sometimes a couple, sometimes almost all my friends, depending on the schedule. I was always the one sitting on the table, stealing fries here and there, scrawling away in my notebook or joining in to the rambling conversation. That day, the majority of them were there, Whitney, Derek, Sammi, Nicole, among others, all of us goofing off as usual. Lunch was a time for food, fun, and friends, no thinking allowed.
And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder when the new kid walked through the double doors, catching my eye at once.
There was nothing really startling about him, really. He was of average height, average size, more-than-average cuteness. Dark-haired and, by the looks of it, hazel-eyed, he fit in pretty well, but for some reason, I couldn’t help but stare. I knew he was new, you see. I didn’t know everyone by name yet, but it was a small enough class that I knew who was and who wasn’t, if you know what I mean. First appearances and stereotypes were specialties of the freshman class, shallow and petty as we were. Excluding myself, of course, and I guess my little posse of outcasts.
The new kid, whoever he was, sat at an empty table and picked at his chicken-and-mashed-potatoes lunch for a moment, until he finally grew bored and pulled out a thick book, pushing his lunch aside. I found myself watching him breathe, which was pretty much all he was doing now, until a thin-fingered, be-ringed hand brought me back to reality as it waved in front of my face.
“Hello-o-o? Kirby, stop tuning out, girl!” my best friend Whitney reprimanded me. I jolted out of my reverie, giving her my best you-are-evil-and-must-be-destroyed glare.
“I…wasn’t,” I lied, “I was just…um…”
“You were outta here, girl. Whatcha lookin’ at?”
She followed my half-glance to Him, and at once, a catlike and very assuming glance was cast in my direction. “Oh-h, new kid, huh? Is that what you’ve been staring at for the last five minutes?”
“Not that long, but seriously, look at him.”
We gave Him our best head-cocked, scrutinizing single-girl glance.
“Not bad, not bad at all.”
“Aw, come on, Whit, I didn’t mean he was a possibility or something. As if, right?”
“Could happen, Kirbs. I dunno, he’s got the book thing going…I think you found your soul mate.”
“Nah, and anyway, come on, this is me we’re talking about.”
“Ri-i-ight, I forgot about the chicken thing.”
“No one said my perfect guy would be a vegetarian too. For all I know, he’s an elf.”
“I resent that,” Whitney complained. “You know, it’s weird…why didn’t he come a month ago and just be fishes with the rest of us? Why now?”
“Well, why don’t we go ask?” I said, as if it were obvious, and without waiting for consent, restraint, or backup, I leapt down from the table and made my cheery way over to his table. I guess I was weird by all accounts.
“Hi!” I said, sitting across from him. “Mind if I sit here?”
He looked up, around, in every direction but at me, as if wondering who I was talking to. Finally realizing that yes, the vivid little blonde was addressing him, he nodded. A look that read I don’t want to know what kind of joke this is was on his face as I made myself at home.
“What’s up?” I asked casually.
He looked reluctant to answer, but finally he did, with the standard “nothing much.” I decided I liked his voice, quiet as it was.
“Oh, right,” I reminded myself, holding out a hand. “I’m Kirby Emerson, and welcome to Nowhereville, Texas.”
He took it, unfamiliar with the gesture. “Evan Hawkins.”
“Where’re you from?”
“Keaton.”
“Where’s that?”
He shrugged. I raised my eyebrows but did not comment, pulling my notebook out of nowhere—ta da!—and writing busily. You see, this was a tactical play; if he wanted to get back to his book, I would ignore him. If he wanted to talk, I’d answer. It was all up to him. I was good, y’know.
“What’re you writing?” he said at last, a stab at conversation. I noticed he didn’t have an accent, kind of rare in my town.
“A novel,” I answered vaguely. The question was no sweat, I got it all the time, and the same went for the one that was sure to follow.
“What about?”
“Elf kids with swords,” I replied; the abridged version, obviously. If that didn’t get him off the subject, nothing would. Not that I didn’t want to babble about it; I was a writer, I could talk all day about my book if anyone would listen. But no scaring people.
“Like Lord of the Rings?”
His reaction surprised me so much, I couldn’t really think of anything to say.
“Um…sort of. Less of the old language though, and more fluffiness.”
“Fluffiness?”
I sensed a smirk coming on and waylaid it. “Everyone says the first half a dozen chapters are so cute. I don’t get it, but then, I know what happens next.” Insert evil grin.
“How’s the plot go?” he inquired; a mistake, as it happened. I needed no further invitation to babble, and did so at once. To his credit, he followed it pretty well. This rather one-sided conversation continued until Whitney sensed my would-be plight and came to rescue me from the awkwardness, as long-time friends do. In truth, she was probably Evan’s heroine at that moment.
“Heya, Kirby,y ¿cómo estás, el chico nuevo?”
Evan gave her a what-did-you-call-me? look, and I sighed and explained.
“Whit, no Spanish, can’t you see he speaks Latin?”
“French.”
“Yeah, that. She’s asking you about your childhood, Evan.”
“Kirby, you liar.”
“Ha ha. New kid, best friend. Best friend, new kid. Whitney, Evan. Now we know each other. Anyway, Ev, what were you saying?”
He frowned at the nickname, but continued right where he left off, and the three of us spent the rest of lunch babbling in the traditional teenage aimless conversation.
I found out several things about Evan Hawkins in the next few weeks. For one thing, he was smart. Hence, the huge books he carried around everywhere, the advanced classes, and band, which I assure you is ten times more fun than it looks, especially after Evan came along. He was a sax, and the only people in band who can’t find the mouth hole for a tuba are in percussion. (Though I have no room to talk.)
For another thing, it was very easy to stalk him. Not that I would, but I kind of…did anyway; he was in nearly all of my classes, though he did far better in them than I, and I found out that he lived right by me, though I hadn’t gone over there. I decided that he would make a very good guy friend, even a best guy friend (what an honor, since I didn’t have any at all) and so followed him around and bugged him shamelessly until he would go over to my house to study, go to the mall with me, et cetera, et cetera. However, he was pretty bad at girly stuff, like shopping and that chocolate hormone thing and of course, the number one girl hobby in the history of ever: man-hunting. (Though again, I have no room to talk.)
We had a lot in common, that was something. I guess it was because I was such a tomboy. He played the piano like I did, only…ten times better, and played various video games that I was obsessed with (though again, way better), and a ton of other stuff.
And one last thing I noticed, the obvious one, was that he didn’t like to talk about where he was before. In fact, I never heard him mention anything about his personal life. I’d ask him about his family, house, status (was he single or not? I had to know sometime,) and he would just…shrug it off. I suspected drama. And I intended to find it out and somehow make myself involved. Hey, who knew? It might help.
But Evan had his own very slow pace, so I would have to wait and see what he told me on his own.
It was Friday, and band was almost over. I was ready to go home and…sleep, eat, whatever you do on Fridays; anything and everything. I was scrawling away in my notebook again, and oddly, eager as I was to get home, I was so absorbed that I didn’t even hear the bell ring, or everyone thunder out. The sound that brought me to reality was a quiet, slow tune playing from the piano.
I looked. It was Evan, looking—probably—more content than I had ever seen him as his fingers flew across the keys. I was entranced, listening spellbound until the music ended. The song still echoing in my head, I poked my head over the bass drum.
“Hey, Evan.”
He nearly jumped a foot in the air. I do that, sometimes. “Oh…hey, Kirby.”
“What song is that?”
He shrugged. I sighed insufferably; that was always his answer. He followed me outside into the pouring November rain, where we sat on a bench and waited.
“Your people late too?”
He nodded. I heaved another sigh.
“It’s Friday,” I whined. “I want to go home…”
Strangely, he didn’t share my sentiments. “If you say so.”
I knew there was something up, but I egged him on nonetheless. “What, don’t you want to go home and sleep, or something?”
His eyes were turned to the ground as he answered, “No.”
Okay, that was it. No more leaving Kirby in the dark, you silly boy.
“What’s up, huh? Rain getting you down?”
“No.”
“Life in general?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Go on, spill. It helps.”
“I’m fine.”
“Nooooo…”
“Yeah I am.”
“Sure, you’re totally not in denial,” I said sarcastically.
“Shut up.”
“Ouch, Evan, that hurts. C’mon…we’re friends, can’t I help?”
He shook his head, still avoiding my eyes. “Not unless you can bring back the dead.”
It was a very sobering statement. Silence reigned for several minutes, and then…
“What happened?”
He shook his head again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Evan…really…is…is that why you came here?”
He looked at me, his eyes hard. “Do you really want to know?”
Wondering what in the world I was getting into, I nodded, and he told me.
In June of that year, he and his mom, dad, little sister, and girlfriend took a trip to Galveston Island, about an hour east of my town. They had fun visiting the new water park, a few restaurants, et cetera. When they drove back home, it was late, and there weren’t many cars on the road. He was asleep in the backseat when a truck passed by, veered off course, and slammed into the side of their car. He and his sister were the only ones that made it out alive. She was still in our hospital, though he had been let out around the middle of September, and was living with a foster family on my street.
By the time he finished telling me all of this, he was on the verge of tears.
Silence followed his tale. And then, I found my voice.
“I’m really sorry, Evan,” I said quietly, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. He shrugged it off.
“Don’t be, it won’t do anything.”
I persisted, placing my arm across his shoulders again and giving him a one-armed hug. “Hey, look…if you ever need somewhere to go…well, you know where my house is, okay? Just come by whenever you like, I’ll be there.”
He smiled, genuinely, for the first time. “Thanks, Kirby.”
I returned his smile. “Hey, what are friends for?”
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