Pieces of a Mending Heart (4 page)

             
“Good morning, sunshine! I thought that was you I heard singing in the shower this morning,” Aunt Rachel said, winking.

             
I barely crack
a smile through my discomfiture
. Singing comes naturally to me
and I often do it without even realizing. PANG, the embarrassment spreads through my veins like liquid fire. Quickly reminding myself it is Rachel I stand before, I chase the feeling away by looking out the front window at the mountains. The sunlight casts a perfect view on their tips, making them
look like
a masterpiece.

             
“Couldn’t sleep late,” was all I reply. I wasn’t exactly a big talker, a trait that contribute
d to people’s opinions that I’m
a snob. That isn’
t true;
I just don’t waste words
.

             
A half-
hour later, Aunt Rachel, m
e, and my enormous backpack are
p
acked in the tiny car. It amazes me how at ease I feel
aroun
d my aunt
. Perhaps it’s the freeing
atmosphere, or her laidb
a
ck attitude, but whatever it is
I’m
grateful for it. I know the time will come when she talks to me about my past, my dreams, my hopes, fears, a
nd decisions, but
now is not that time.

             
“Good morning, Sherry. This is my niece, K
atherine Mary
Prince
. Today is her-”

             
Aunt Rachel ge
t
s
cut off by the bulbous, alarmingly loud red-headed woman behind the front desk in the principals’
office. “First day!” she shouts
, clasping her hands together in animation.
“Yes, my dear! We are so excited
to have you,” the woman says
, with just as much verve.

             
We go
through the formalities; the handing out of schedules, maps, locker combinations, and uniforms. Yes,
uniforms. The school has
a policy that the girls are
to wear dress slacks and a polo-shirt or a just-above-the-knee skirt. Being my
first day, I’m
allowed to dress in n
ormal, casual clothing. I force myself not to wince as I look
at the plain gray skirt and maroon polo. It could be worse.

             
Aunt Rachel gi
v
es me a
hug goodbye and,
with a pat to my backside, sends
me out the door o
f the office. Immediately, I’m
in view of several hun
gry sets of eyes. The school is
small, only two-hundred students in the entire institution
, and it seems like every eye i
s focused on me. No, not only me, but me and a terrifying looking boy standin
g a few feet to my left. I didn’t even see
him until the
prying
eyes
shifted to him.
His face is the only one I can see that isn’t focused on me.

             
I
nstantly
, I’m
struck by his beauty. Not a fake type of beauty either, but the kind of raw, natural loveliness that took your breath away.
Light
-blonde hair that i
s short enough
so that you could see his
eyebrows, his black leather jacket covering thick shoulders, and dark jeans that hug his legs just enough to make my heart sk
ip a beat. PANG, the lust flow
e
d
through me like I touched
a bug-zapper. Blushing, I look
down at my new black shoes, trying
to calm myself down.
How ridiculous, you’d think I’d never seen an attractive guy before.

             
In that moment, I hear
Mr. Beautiful suck
in an audible breath. I peek
up just in time to see his
light
blue eyes widen, then dart away from me. Seconds have passed, but they feel like minutes.

             
“Hey
there,” a friendly voice calls
out
from the crowd
. “You
must be Katherine.”

             
No, not Mr. Beautiful, but a Mr. I’m-attractive-because-I-try-too-hard. Tugging at the corners of my long-sleeve shi
rt, covering my scars, I answer
with a “Yes,
hi,
” which came out breathy, giving me that “new student” awkwardness I wanted so badly to avoid.

             
The boy smiles
, stepping closer to me. Averting my gaze elsewhere, I see Mr. Beautiful push through the crowd of students and into an open doorway. Before he fully enters, he turns back in my direction and catches my gaze, his eyes smiling. With a slightly open mouth, he smiles a barely-there smile before turning into the classroom.

             
“I’m Scott
Persico
,” said the bo
y in front of me. I assume he i
s attractive, in a way. Other girls would be fawning o
ver him, but not me. I prefer
Mr. Beautiful types
. The lust keeps flowing, and it tastes
like bitter pomegranate,
my least favorite fruit. This
i
sn’t the worst kind of emotion I was punished with, but it was certainly up there.

             
“Nice to meet you,” I say
, gingerly shaking his extended hand. Scott’s eyes lit up like the Montana sun when my hand t
ouches
his. I’m
used t
o being the center of attention
and I discover now how much I loathe it.

             
Scott releases my hand and reaches for my shoulder, but I instinctively step away from his advance. Realizing I probably look like a wounded puppy, I tilt my chin a little higher and stand up straighter, bringing my eyes to the same level as Scott’s.

             
He
seems to bristle at the change
and his face takes on a confused look. “I’m senior class president, if you need any help with anything at all, just come to me,” he says proudly, winking.

             
He actually winked.
Yeah, I’m liking Scott less and less by the minute; cockiness is unbecoming. The crowd
of people surrounding us seems
to dis
sipate as our conversation wanes
to incessant,
forced
chatter to fill the silence.

             
“Well, the class bell will be ringing right about now. Where is your next class? I could walk you there, if you’d like,” Scott offers, sounding overconfident

             
I glance down at my schedule, feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable. “AP Government, room 102, Mrs. Hollis,” I say.

             
Scott’s face lights up again, brown eyes brightening. “You’re in AP Gov? So am I, second period! We could definitely study together sometime. I’m not in your class, but we get the same work so, if you want a study buddy, I’m free anytime,” he offers, voice tra
iling off, dripping with charm. What ever happened to boys playing hard to get?

Blushing, I say a quiet thank you and turn away from his smiling face. Walking into room 102, which is the room Mr. Beautiful walked in to, every pair of eyes falls upon my flushed face, causing
me to color even more. Everyone minus the one boy who made my heart race
watches me cross the room as I walk towards
the teachers’
desk.

             
Without looking up, the woman says, “Katherine
Prince
, I presume,” sounding bored. She holds out her
hand, still not looking up, so
I place my white sheet of paper in her palm. I’m supposed to have every teacher sign this piece of paper, confirming I attended their class today.

             
She signs it, hand
moving deftly and steadily, before handing
it back to me, finally meeting my eyes. Her dark eyes are small and framed with wire-rimmed glasses, giving her the classic “teacher from hell” look. My stomach drops with nervousness and my heart does a somersault.

             
Mrs. Hollis waves her thin hand in the air, motioning towards the classroom. “Well, take a seat wherever you please,” she says, sounding annoyed.

             
I scan the room for an empty chair. The only one left is in the very front of the room, directly in front of Mrs. Hollis’s desk and the chalkboard. I groan internally, a reflex reaction. Mr. Beautiful is sitting in the back right corner, looking at me with a strange intensity before catching my eye. Then, the corner of his mouth turns up slightly and, even at a distance, I see his blue eyes sparkle.

             
Something in me clicks, like a switch in my brain just got turned on. Without my consent, my hand raises and gives a steady wave to the blonde boy in the back. I didn’t even think about moving it; my hand seems to have a mind of its own. In response to my bold gesture, his smile brightens the room even more, shrouding the surrounding students into darkness. Mrs. Hollis clears her throat and sends a poi
nted look my way before gesturing
to the seat. The class snickers audibly.

             
My back seems to prickle, like tiny needles are being jabbed in and out at an incredibly high speed. The sensation is not painful, but rather endearing and frustrating at the same time. At first, I wonder if there’s something wrong with me, but my heart is singing. Pounding abnormally fast, I can hear it in my ears, drowning out the sound of Mrs. Hollis’s sharp voice. The hair on
the back of my neck is standing straight up, so rigidly that I can feel it moving with the breeze coming from the window.

             
Palms sweating, I not-so-subtly turn my head and glance at the dazzling boy
who is perplexing me so. I expect
him to be paying attention to the lecture, like every studious teenager in the room
with us. However, his eyes are fixated on me
, the intensity returning with each second our stares hold each other.

             
“Miss.
Prince
, may I have five minutes of your undivided attention?” I hear from behind me.

             
Snapped from my strange trance, I spin around in my chair so fast my
earring whips against my cheek and my chair raises off the ground a little.
Eyes wide, I feel my cheeks once again fill with blood, the embarrassment hitting me like a ton of bricks. Thank goodness embarrassment wasn’t part of my Punishment; otherwise I would be totally screwed.
What a wonderful first impression
, I think to myself.

             
“I’m sorry,” I mouth, fiddling with my fingers in my lap.

             
To my surprise, the frightening woman actually gives me a small, forgiving smile. “As I was saying,” she continues with her lecture until I feel like my ears will bleed and economics will pour out of my nostrils.

             
The bell rings, and I hesitate while packing my bag. Seeing the photograph of me and my brother in my wallet, my throat
closes tight around itself, invisible fingers latching onto one of my many weaknesses. What is he doing right this moment? Why hasn’t he answered my last letter? It’s been months since I’ve heard from him. I previously gave him my new address, so he has no excuse. I stare at the photograph for a moment, remem
bering the feeling of his heavy
arm around my shoulders.

             
The prickles are back, this time on my entire body. I know be
fore I look up who stands beside
me, as if my body is a compass and he is north. My heart p
umps faster with no provocation and I drag in a quick breath before my lungs cave in.

             
“Hi,” I hear. The sound pierces every pore on my skin, sending a pleasant vibration into every inch of my body. The voice is sexy and deep, but comforting in its surety.

             
I look up, eyes slowly meeting the blue ones that stare tentatively down at me. Although I noticed, I didn’t think about why he wasn’t dressed in a uniform. He didn’t receive as welcoming a greeting as I did, if he’s new.

             
Up close, I see how strikingly handsome his features are. The semi-short
light
blonde hair, piercing
eyes, and tanned, toned, perfectly clear skin make for a picturesque model of what a boy should look like. Add that to the calmness of his voice, and you’d think a Calvin Klein model walked out of a magazine.
His jaw is strong and defined
with a perfect nose
dotted with freckles.