Tears of the Broken

by A. M. Hudson

  “Well, why don’t we do a fundraiser?” I shrugged. “We could put on a concert and charge people to come—then, the money could go to Nathan’s mum for his hospital bills.”

  As if a light bulb had been switched on, they all looked up at me with a shimmering glint in their eyes. “Oh, my God, Ara.” Emily grabbed my forearm and started bouncing on her toes. “That’s such a good idea.”

  “Yeah, good one, Ara.” Ryan grinned.

  Even Alana mustered a half smile. “We could ask Miss Hawkins to help?”

  “The school principal?” I asked.

  “Yeah? She’s pretty tough, but if she sees a student showing initiative she’d jump over a fire to help,” Ryan said.

  Emily rocked back on her heels. “Well, it’s settled, then. I’ll have everyone meet us in the auditorium at lunch if they want in.” She went to walk away, then stopped. “Way to go, newbie.”

  My cheeks flushed with heat. Ducking my head a little, I looked at David and noticed a kind of smile I thought belonged only to me—the kind of tight-lipped grin you wear when you’re gritting your teeth underneath. “David?”

  He looked at me as he bent down to pick up his guitar case, his arched brows prompting my question.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  With a soft smile, the edgy concern lifted from his face and he nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.”

  While Miss Chester went on about our lesson, I drew pictures of eyes all over my notepad—sad eyes, smiling eyes, secretive eyes, but all of them David’s eyes—not that they really looked anything like his.

  When the big hand on the clock sat at three minutes to lunch, my eyes fixed on the classroom door. I wonder if David’s out there in the corridor yet. I mean, he’s walked me to every class today, just like yesterday, so there’s no reason he wouldn’t walk me to lunch, too, right? I tapped my pencil on my page anxiously. Hurry up, bell. I want to see him again.

  Almost as if it obeyed my command, the bell wailed loudly and the class broke into noisy shuffles as they disappeared out the door. It still amazes me how they all just get up and walk out without being dismissed. I tucked my books under my arm and pushed my chair under the desk.

  “Ara?”

  “Yes, Miss Chester?”

  “Can I talk to you, please?”

  I swallowed and looked out into the corridor—to freedom—to David, leaning on the locker with his hands in his pockets, looking down at his shoes. I hope he waits for me. “Is something wrong?” I picked at a bubble in the plastic cover on my textbook as I stood by her desk.

  “No, just wondering how you’re doing?” she said softly, busying her eyes on the papers in front of her.

  “Doing? Uh…I’m…fine.”

  “Just so you know—” She looked up at me with her pale lips forming a smile against her milk-white skin. “I’m a good friend of your dad’s. If you need to talk—at any time—I’m always available. Okay?”

  I smiled politely, hugging my books a little tighter. “Um, thanks.”

  “Okay, and, Ara?” she said as I turned away.

  “Yes.”

  “Try to pay more attention in my class.”

  “Okay.” I nodded and headed out to meet David, who stood up from his lean as I stepped into the corridor.

  “Everything all right?” he said.

  “Yeah. Fine. Why?”

  David took my books from me. “What did Miss Chester want?”

  Um, I can’t tell you because it will open the question door. “She just told me to pay more attention in class.”

  David smiled warmly, keeping his eyes on the path ahead. “I’m sure she did. So…you’re not focusing in class?”

  “Um, no. Not really.” I looked down at my feet as we came to the corridor of burgundy paint.

  “Why not?” David stopped me before I could walk into the auditorium.

  “Why not what?”

  “Why aren’t you concentrating?” He leaned a little closer, forcing me to back up against the wall, one slow step at a time.

  “I uh—”

  “Hey-you-two.” Emily popped up out of nowhere. “Ready to start our first official meeting for the benefit concert?”

  I stood up off the wall and ducked out from under David’s arm. “Yup, ready.”

  “Great. Did you get lunch, yet? Canteen lines are out the door today.” She nodded toward her tray of food. “Mr. Grant said we can eat lunch in the auditorium if we’re rehearsing.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “That’s great.” Gets us out of the heat.

  “Yeah, I know, hey. So, I’ll go reserve us a table near the stage. See you in a minute?”

  “Why don’t you go ahead, Ara,” David said, handing me his and my bag, “I’ll brave the canteen lines.”

  My fingers tightened around his backpack. I can’t believe I’m touching something that belongs to him. “Sure, thanks, David.”

  “No worries.” He turned away and I reached into my pocket, leaving the bags on the ground beside Emily.

  “David. Money.”

  “Keep it.” He held his palm against my outstretched hand.

  “No way. Take it.”

  “Ara?” He gave me a vehement glare.

  “Come on, girl.” Emily grabbed my arm and dragged me gently backward. “One thing I’ve learned about David is you don’t refuse him if he wants to spend money on you.”

  I turned my head and looked at her as David walked away. “How do you know that?”

  “David and I have been friends for a while—” She shrugged and watched after him. “We used to be closer, but…”

  “But?” I probed.

  “Nothing. We’re just not anymore—people grow apart.”

  With a heavy sigh, I grabbed our bags and headed into the auditorium behind Emily. “I can’t let him buy me lunch all the time—when’s it going to stop?”

  Emily giggled, walking ahead of me. “It’s not.”

  Chapter Six

  Flipping through the pages of my diary, I ran my fingers over each one that had David’s name written within the text. It’s only been three days since I met the guy and I already need a new diary. The last entry, before I started school, was dated over three months ago. Now, I write so much and so fast that I’ve stopped worrying about punctuation or legibility.

  Dear Diary,

  Wednesday sucked. I hardly saw David at all—aside from when he walked me to class—because at lunch and recess, Emily went all ‘dictator-control-freak’ and split us into groups. I don’t blame her, though—the responsibility for the auditorium falls on her shoulders, and no one was doing what they should be. It’s the football jocks’ faults. They’re doing a comedy skit—since they have no musical talent—and they had us all in stitches.

  But poor Emily was left doing everything for the benefit concert, and the only people who took her seriously were Spencer and Alana.

  So, consequently, David and I got separated to do ticket signs and set building. But his eyes stayed on me the whole time.

  Separating us all into groups didn’t work for long, anyway. After only ten minutes, everyone broke into a pencil throwing fight, and Emily stormed off in a huff, with Alana and I on her trail.

  I hope today is…

  “Ara?” Vicki opened my door.

  I swept my arm over my page and turned around to face her. “Yeah?”

  “It’s eight-thirty. You’re late for school.”

  “Oh.” I looked at my bedside clock. “Crud.”

  “David! You waited?”

  “Of course I did.” He laughed and watched me cross the road, still pulling my shoes on my feet. “Get stuck in the shower for too long, did we?”

  “No, I uh—” I placed my bag in his outstretched hand and panted out my panic. “My diary was begging me to write in it—I was compelled to obey.”

  “Oh, compelled, huh?” David nodded, smiling.

  “Yeah, you know how it goes with these things,” I joked. “If you don’t do
as the voices tell you, they just get louder.”

  David stopped walking. “You hear voices?”

  “What?” I frowned. “No. It was a joke…”

  “A joke?”

  “Yeah…you do know what a joke is, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do—just—”

  “Just when it comes from me it isn’t funny.” I nodded.

  “Not about hearing voices.”

  “Why?” He can’t possibly think I’m crazy, too—unless he’s been talking to my dad.

  “Because you faze out all the time. If you’re hearing voices as well, it might mean you have something wrong.”

  “Oh.” I dragged the word out, nodding my head, then shrugged. “Makes sense, I suppose.”

  “Did you eat breakfast?” he asked accusingly.

  “Yes, Dad,” I responded in the same tone.

  David just laughed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve noticed you get a little…tempestuous when you haven’t eaten enough.”

  “Tempestuous?”

  He nodded.

  Hm. “It isn’t my fault, you know. I have an ogre living in my belly. He makes me do the bad things.”

  “So…you faze out, hear voices, and blame your tempered out-bursts on a fictional creature living in…” he looked down at my stomach, “your belly.”

  “Precisely. The boy catches on quick.”

  “Well,” he shook his head, “one thing I can say about you, Miss Ara, is that never a moment goes by where I am not entertained.”

  “Is that…a good thing?”

  He chucked once. “Oui, jolie fille. It’s a good thing.”

  Emily leaned forward on her desk, eagerly engaged in Dad’s lecture on religious history. I hope she’s getting an A for all the extra listening she’s doing. Then again, her interest isn’t companionless—most of the class seems to be paying attention, today.

  My listening skills need some work, however. Then again, get David out of my head for five minutes and I might be able to function properly.

  “Now, who here believes in God?” Dad asked, holding his hand in the air. Stunned silence replied while he smiled at the gawking teens. “It’s not a trick question, people. Hands up if you believe there exists something bigger than yourself.”

  Come on, Dad—as if anyone’s going to risk popularity to answer that question. Emily’s hand shot up into the sky. “Oh, my God. You suck-up.” I elbowed her, but raised my hand, too—to save getting in trouble from Dad, later. A few other people raised their hands, but mostly, the class just laughed and pointed at us.

  “Okay. Now, hands up who believes Jesus walked on water.” Dad’s brows arched over his grin.

  Everyone in the class started laughing. My dad, with his hand up, nodded, then started writing on the board: “Myths and legends—Religious History.” He read the words out, pointing to each one as he said it, then popped the lid on his marker with a thud from his open palm. “Who can tell me what that suggests we might be discussing?”

  Emily put her hand up.

  “Yes, Emily?” Dad pointed the marker at her.

  “It means, like you mentioned last week, that nearly everything we know about religion is based purely on some story, or like, ‘Chinese whisper’ that’s been passed down from one generation to the next. No cold, hard facts.” Emily tucked her hands into her chest and leaned over the desk again, smiling triumphantly.

  “Right?” Dad wrote What is real? on the board, and tapped the writing. “Now, I’m not saying Jesus never actually walked on water, but what I am saying is that, like young Emily just said, nearly every story you’ve ever been told has been written by someone else. We don’t know the facts for ourselves—but there is a fact behind every story. Now, it’s my job to inspire freethinking, not encourage atheism—so, having said that—” He wrote something else on the whiteboard.

  Assignment.

  “—For the next few weeks you’ll be researching the origin of a myth or a legend,” he shook his head, “doesn’t have to be religious, but if you sift through any myth and go deep enough, you’ll usually find some religious connection, like most things in life. So, find a myth, research the legends around it and make a report based on your opinion whether or not it could have some truth behind it, and what it originally had to do with religious beliefs.” He looked around at all the students. “Because, let’s face it, if Jesus walked on water then there’s a damn sure bet there’s a Santa Clause, right?”

  The class broke into laughter.

  “So? Mr. Thompson?” a girl up the back of the class asked. “Does that mean you’re admitting Jesus didn’t walk on water?”

  “No.” My dad leaned his butt against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “It means I’m admitting there’s a Santa Clause.”

  The class roared with laughter again.

  “Maybe he wasn’t lying when I was a little girl and he said he believed in Santa,” I whispered to Emily.

  She started laughing. “I can so picture your dad saying that, too.”

  “I’ll bet you can.” I grimaced.

  “So, find the myth and decide the truth from your own perspective. That’s all everybody. Have a good day,” he called out over the bell.

  As we walked out of class, the rest of the students talked animatedly about Dad’s unusual lecture. “I can imagine him trying to explain to Sam why he doesn’t have any presents,” Emily joked, “Gee, Sam,” she lowered her voice to sound like my dad, “I’m terribly sorry, but when Santa came last night he filled his sack with your presents instead, and…er…and the china and the silverware and the jewellery.”

  I folded over in a fit of teary giggles. “Oh, my God, Emily. That’s so spot on. I mean, his belief was unyielding…” With an abrupt jolt, my cheek hit a warm, firm chest, and a boy stumbled back an inch, catching me in his arms.

  “Ara?”

  “David.” I touched my hand to my collarbone. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I…” My words petered out as I rolled my face upward to see his sparkling green gaze. Holy crap! I’m in his arms, finally.

  David looked down at me and smiled, keeping his strong grip around my shoulder. “I knew you’d fall for me eventually.”

  If only he knew.

  My dad popped his head out of the class and looked at us. “Not on school grounds please, you two.” Then, he screwed up the piece of paper he was holding and tossed it over his shoulder into the bin beside his desk—without taking his eyes off us.

  Emily’s eyelids fluttered. “He’s so cool.”

  “Ew?” I winced.

  David laughed at her.

  Reluctantly, I stepped away from the warmth of David’s chest and smiled. His arm lingered closely for a second before he dropped it to his side. I wish I could tell him I want him to pull me back in and hold me—to wrap his arms around me, steal me from this place—lie with me for hours so we can talk about nothing.

  I like the thought of being alone with him. I want to kiss his perfect dark-pink lips, so badly, and run my fingertip over the sharp, crescent-moon dimple in his cheek. If we were alone, the moment that I fell into his arms would’ve happened in slow motion, except he would’ve swept me off my feet and pressed his lips to mine before propping me against the wall and running his hands…

  “Earth to Ara?” Emily’s voice broke through my fantasy and David looked away from me as I snapped back to the reality of a noisy corridor. “Welcome back,” she joked.

  A wash of cold blood rushed through me at the sight of David’s horror-widened gaze. The muscles in my cheeks dropped and one quick breath expanded my lungs. If he didn’t know I liked him before, he definitely knows it now. I can feel the expression of secret, lustful thoughts still etched onto my lips, and I know my eyes have this funny way of shining—no, radiating—every emotion I have inside, like a translucent diary.

  David cleared his throat and grew seemingly taller as he slowly rolled his shoulders back, then stal
ked 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?