Broken (2 page)

With the most depressing part of my routine
now done, my mind wandered forward. It seemed only a second later
that I was on the bus. I ignored the thought that mom would be mad
if she knew I'd skipped breakfast and hadn't brought any lunch. I
pulled out my old, unabridged copy of Les Misérables.

Every so often I'd try to make it through
Victor Hugo's weighty classic, but so far I'd never made it past
Marius' introduction. Having just finished up Pride and Prejudice
for the third time, I was once again due to try and make it through
the written inspiration to some of my favorite music.

I hardly noticed the slow journey into town,
instead caught up in a different time and place as Valjean's story
started to unfold.

All too soon, the bus pulled up to a
medium-sized, two-story brick building, and five kids my age stood
up to leave. I followed them, my heart beating a little faster with
each step. Other kids were trickling over to the door, either from
one of the other two buses, or from the smattering of cars in the
parking lot.

Before we'd even made it inside I'd realized
just how much I stuck out. Shorts seemed to be the order of the
day, knee-length khakis for the boys, and everything from mid-thigh
on up for the girls. The only people in jeans seemed to be the
debate-club types.

Silently groaning at my fashion faux pas, I
located a sign pointing towards the office, and slipped around a
couple of jocks who paused in their manly mock boxing match just
long enough to check out the new girl. I silently hoped they
slipped and hit each other in the nose.

I wandered down the white-walled corridor
until I found another sign and turned left. There was a tall
brunette already waiting, so I took a seat in one of the
hard-plastic chairs. The other girl had shorts on just like
everyone else, but hers were the shortest I'd seen yet. In
Minnesota you could always pick out the alpha females by the length
of their shorts, and this one seemed to think she was at the top of
the food chain. That or a complete slut, but with her tan skin and
perfect wavy hair, I figured it was probably the former. She didn't
look like she had to put out to get attention.

Two minutes later, a smiling blond secretary
came waddling out of what was probably the principal's office. I
spent the time wondering if I should try to make small talk; the
gorgeous girl spent it staring out the window.

The secretary took in the two of us, frowned
almost imperceptibly at the length of the shorts and then signed a
form for the other girl.

Determined to at least try and make friends,
I started to smile as she turned towards me on her way out, but the
expression died as soon as I met her flat green eyes. My heart
immediately started to race, but she was already gone, moving with
grace and confidence out of the suddenly too-small office.

I'd expected some degree of cliquishness from
such a small-town, but this was bad. I'd never seen her before, so
there wasn't any way it could be some kind of misunderstanding.

The secretary smoothed her blouse down over
an ample stomach and smiled at me. I told myself I was just
imagining that the smile never reached her eyes. She seemed to know
who I was, and after identifying herself as Mrs. Pendely proceeded
to quiz me about which classes I'd been in at my last school. She
stumbled a bit when I told her I hadn't enrolled in classes before
moving. I didn't offer any additional information, so she tried to
defuse the awkwardness by asking about electives.

I answered numbly, picking out classes nearly
at random. I already knew a school this size wouldn't have anything
truly interesting. I'd never been willing to dedicate the time
required to learn a musical instrument. I'm passable at drawing
scenery, but anything more complicated than a stick figure give me
fits, so art was out too. Unless possibly the teacher liked
Neolithic cave drawings.

By the time I surfaced from my musings, Mrs.
Pendely had printed my schedule out on an ancient piece of
machinery, handed me a map of the school, a locker assignment, and
dashed off a handwritten note to my first teacher.

I somehow found my first class before the
bell rang. Mrs. Sorenson, my biology teacher, was a skinny old
woman with curly white hair that looked like Greek paintings of
Medusa. She made me introduce myself to the class and then let me
slink over to my assigned seat.

I left the class even more depressed than I'd
been when I woke up. I'd kind of known I'd have an incredible
amount of material to catch up on from the first part of the
semester. I hadn't anticipated that every other student was going
to spend the class carefully ignoring me.

I'd never really fit in, but this was
unbelievable. New students could always count on someone to offer
to be their friends. I'd seen it a dozen times before as people had
moved in. The really attractive people got drawn into the popular
circles, less cool people were offered a place with the punks, the
nerds, or at least with the drug users, who didn't care as much
what you looked or acted like as long as you were hooked on
something illegal.

I knew I had serious problems, but I didn't
think they were obvious to everyone that looked at me. English was
next, and odds were it would be a nearly exact repeat of Biology,
possibly minus the awkward introduction.

The thin, distinguished looking teacher
absently accepted my proffered form, starting a little when I
didn't leave. "Right then, I suppose you need a signature?" The
accent was so British I half-wanted to ask him how he ended up in
Sanctuary.

I nodded, scanning his desk while I waited.
Whethers, Mr. Whethers.

"Right then, I believe there is a vacancy
next to Ms. Samuels in the back."

People were still trickling into the room, so
at least I was spared the full gantlet, but the few gazes I met
were still unfriendly until I reached the last table.

The skinny-ish blond girl already at the
table smiled at me as I sat down. "Hi, I'm Britney."

I didn't know what to make of her. She looked
like the type who was always on the fringe of the popular crowd.
She was the girl who was the first to follow whatever fad happened
to be in, and the first to turn on someone if it would make her
just a tad more acceptable to her peers.

I mumbled a response, something that wasn't
rude, but which couldn't be mistaken as pleading for friendship.
Those kinds of girls loved to laugh at the 'poor, desperate,
friendless' types behind our backs.

"You must be Adri Paige. I hope people
haven't been too terrible to you."

"Adriana." I spent too much time correcting
my mom. It came out a little rude. I would have tried to smooth
things over but I was too busy trying to brace myself against the
panic attack I was sure was coming. My vision swam for a moment,
but all the practice compartmentalizing my mind seemed to be paying
off.

I looked up. Britney looked a little
crestfallen. She was probably deciding to ask for a different seat
assignment after class.

"Sorry about that. I don't really like it
when people shorten my name. Bad associations with nicknames and
all that."

Britney's smile was only a pale imitation of
the brilliant thing she'd flashed a few moments previously, but it
signaled a willingness to try and make small talk at least.

"How did you know my name?"

"Oh, that's easy. Sanctuary is the smallest
town on the face of the world. Anything out of the ordinary is
instantly gossip fodder. I'll bet half the town knew you and your
mom had purchased the old Syler house before the ink was dry on the
mortgage. The other half learned about it at church the next
day."

I tried to smile, but I found it more than a
little unnerving. Big city life hadn't been so intrusive. I hadn't
even known my neighbors growing up. In Minneapolis the people you
lived next to and the people you associated with were always kept
properly segregated.

I tuned back into what Britney was saying
just in time to answer a question with something safely
non-committal. She didn't seem to need much in the way of responses
to keep her talking. Probably for hours if she could get away with
it.

"I'm glad you feel the same. You'd think
they'd be a little more welcoming. Instead it's like they go out of
their way to make sure you know you don't really fit in. We've been
here a year, and I still can't get invited to any of the really
cool parties."

I'd never been invited to any parties, let
alone cool ones. I'd never felt the lack too strongly, but I smiled
and let Britney keep talking until Mr. Whethers realized it was
time to start class.

I quickly gathered we'd be reading Wuthering
Heights, a prospect that both elated and disappointed me. After
seeing how far behind I was already in Biology, it was nice to know
we'd be working on something I'd already been through twice. On the
other hand I hadn't liked the novel the first time I'd read it, and
when I'd gritted my teeth and sat down for a second attempt I'd
found I liked it even less. Maybe I just lacked the maturity to
appreciate Bronte's so-called masterpiece, but I couldn't stand
that her characters were almost all really nasty people.

I wondered what else we'd be reading. I could
always ask Britney, but the odds of her knowing anything useful
seemed pretty slim. When the bell finally released us from an
analysis of Heathcliff's early depravity, Britney asked what my
next class was.

She was elated to find we were both headed to
Algebra. As we trailed the other students out of the class, I
wasn't so sure I was equally enthused. Nobody had said anything to
either of us. It was starting to look like Britney was receiving
just as much of a cold shoulder as I was. And she'd been here an
entire year.

It was bad enough not fitting in because you
preferred your own company over that of your peers. It sucked a lot
more when you didn't have a choice.

I tried to amuse myself by people watching
with the half of my mind that wasn't paying attention to Britney's
chatter as we went back to our lockers. We passed one of those
gorgeous, skinny red-heads who always look good without looking
like they spent much time in front of the mirror, then Britney
exchanged smiles with a couple of artificial blonds. I'd seen the
type before in Minnesota, girls who have a perfectly acceptable
figure, but who throw money into their wardrobes, makeovers and
accessories in an effort to achieve the cutting edge look, when
they'd be much better off just picking outfits that didn't try to
compete with the anorexic-looking beauty queens.

A surprisingly-adorable looking nerd in jeans
and a tee-shirt ducked out of our way, and I felt a pang of
sympathy. He was the kind of boy mom pointed out when she surfaced
from one of her projects. She hadn't ever managed to really pique
my interest in any boy, but I could see how a few years from now,
he'd probably be fairly popular among college girls.

Britney stopped before one of the top lockers
and started spinning the tumbler. She was still relating some story
about her old school, but suddenly I couldn't hear a word.

The crowd of students had drifted to the
sides of the hall, like worshipers making way for a pair of pagan
gods. Even so, there still wasn't quite room for them to walk side
by side. The girl was leading. Her dark, wavy hair and perfect skin
would've made her pretty in any crowd, but she also had perfectly
symmetrical features and one of those bodies that required hours
each day in the gym to maintain. I wanted to hate her. It didn't
make any sense, she could hardly be blamed for taking care of
herself, but it just didn't seem fair. Simply by being in the same
town as us, she automatically made every other girl in school feel
like bloated, heifers. Surely she was somehow cheating to be doing
so well in the subtle, nasty game in which every high school girl
ranked herself against every other female.

I probably would've spent the rest of the day
depressed, but once she was out of my line of sight I was able to
see the boy following her. He was perfect. Just looking at him
drove every other thought out of my mind.

If the girl that'd just walked by me without
acknowledging the existence of any of us lesser beings was every
boy's ideal physical specimen, the boy was every girls' dream. A
gorgeous fantasy breathed into life by some merciful goddess, one
who wanted to give us each a glimpse of what awaited good little
girls in the afterlife.

Skin the perfect shade of tan, not at all
artificial looking, disappeared into the collar of a thin,
light-blue button down shirt. The cut of his clothing hinted at
designer origins, but the garment was mostly notable for the way it
stretched over a pair of broad shoulders that looked like they'd
been chiseled from marble, or possibly cast in bronze.

My eyes made it as far as the equally
impressive chest before I forced them upwards. Anyone built like
that should be ugly to keep things in balance. Not him. His square
jaw and even features were nothing less than perfection. If he ever
chose to model, the editors of every major fashion magazine would
have pulled out all the stops to land the contract for his debut
appearance. The whole issue would have to be pictures of him
though. No amount of airbrushing would suffice to allow other men
to ever share the same magazine with him.

I expected to begin hyperventilating any
second, but my lungs seemed frozen. My body should have been
screaming for oxygen. Instead every part of me was screaming for
more of that divine face. He'd been looking to his left; I pried my
gaze away from his profile just long enough to take in a casual
tangle of dark, curly hair, and then he was turning towards me.

Vague, traitorous hopes that the other side
of his face was marred with a birthmark, or a series of ghastly
scars evaporated away as I took in eyes just a few shades darker
than the blue of his shirt. Somewhere a cosmic force was trying to
fix a pair of large, intangible scales. Scales, that'd been twisted
into a mangled mess and then torn into two pieces.