Half-Breed

by Zachary Smith

  Chapter 2

  Scanning the room, I try to find anything that’ll confirm this is nothing more than one of Matthew’s stupid jokes, but even the clock above the table has moved on considerably.

  With his eyes narrowing in on me, Matthew asks again. “Are you ok Mitchell?”

  Unable to get my thoughts together, I hesitate an answer. “I’m fine.”

  Tightening my grip on my phone, I briskly swipe through the photo album I’d left open. “Was just checking through my new album,” I add, pretending to pay attention to the images on the screen.

  An uncomfortable silence follows, one that is so awkward, I have to delve into my rucksack, rummaging through my notebooks, in an attempt to avoid it. I can never tell whether Matthew can see through my lies, and think most of the time he just humours me, not wanting to make me feel uncomfortable, in a bid to spare my feelings.

  Turning his attention to the fridge, Matthew then begins ransacking it for any food he can lay his hands on, not only for his lunch but also one of many snacks he consumes throughout the day, to keep his large body running.

  “Anyways,” he says, leaning on the fridge door. “I’m getting a lift into college this morning. You need a ride?”

  My whole body stops, along with my trail of thought as I desperately try and think up some kind of excuse. Anything to get me out of a car ride with his friends. Matthew’s a popular guy, a rugby player, and with it comes the sporty friends. So the last thing they want to see is his – for lack of a better word – nerdy brother tagging along. Of course, the feeling is mutual, I have nothing to say to them, and would rather walk in the freezing cold rain than spend five minutes in a car listening to Patrick and/or Alec drone on.

  “Not today,” I lie. “I don’t have to be in my first class, so thought I’d hang around here for a bit… studying.”

  His eyes narrow in on me again. “Sure you’re ok?”

  I fake a quick laugh. “Yes. I’m fine.”

  It’s obvious he wants to say more, ask what’s bothering me. His mouth even jolts open for a split second before he abandons whatever he was going to say and dives back behind the fridge door, allowing me to breathe a quick sigh of relief.

  “Thanks for the offer, though,” I add, not wanting to appear rude.

  To which he throws me a nod, before stuffing various different foods into his bag, normally some kind of meat and a few yoghurt pots or fruit.

  A loud honking sound then travels through the house, catching me off guard, as it continues to blast and echo around the hallway much longer than is needed, but this is one of Matthew’s friends after all, and they like to be noticed. Grabbing his now full bag, Matthew swings it over his shoulder and stands in front of the mirror, pushing a stray hair back in place. “Sure you don’t need a ride?”

  “No,” I lie, again. “I’m good.

  “Catch ya later then.” He calls out, slamming the front door.

  And now all I can do is wait uncomfortably in the kitchen, clock-watching and impatiently foot tapping, as I listen out for the car, urging them to go already. Luckily they don’t waste any time in starting up the engine and roaring onto the main road before the sound becomes nothing more than a whisper fading into the distance.

  Leaving nothing else for me to do but grab my rucksack and sprint for the front door.

  The air is damp and feels heavy on my skin as it rushes past my face, chilling it. The ground is wet, but no puddles have formed from the night of showers. A typical January morning. Racing against the clock, I know I must have less than five minutes before my bus turns up and if I miss it I’ll be walking the whole way, or waiting an extra thirty minutes for the next one. Either way, I’ll definitely be late. I can already see Mrs Armstrong’s disapproving look as I walk into my first class with my head down, mouthing the words, ‘sorry I’m late,’ in front of a class full of sniggering students. The thought of it alone speeds my pace, making my rucksack bounce heavily behind me, shuffling my already unorganised work further.

  Startled by the sounds of a car horn, I almost choke on my own breath, and turn just in time to witness the car I’ve just run out in front of brake and skid. Our eyes meet, mine and the angry driver’s, so I throw him a quick wave of the hand in a way to signal an apology, only for him to curse me from behind the wheel. I know I should apologise further, at least stop, but the image of Mrs Armstrong’s disapproving face comes into view again, pushing me onwards.

  Relief flows through my exhausted body as the bus stop comes into sight, with people stood around it in waiting. Meaning I haven’t missed the bus, and can slow my pace, not to a walk, but a light jog, with the help of my fist jabbed into my side to dull a stitch.

  Arriving at the stop just as the bus pulls into the main road, I bundle with the other passengers to the door, in order to make a queue, gaining second place, much to the moans and grunts of the people behind me. Knowing I was the last person to the stop, I try and refrain from making eye contact with any of them, as I really should be at the back, but after a run like that, I’m in dire need of a seat. It’s busier than normal and I pass the many suits on their commute to work as I walk down the middle of the aisle. Towards the back is mainly college students, all hunched closely together, chattering about their ‘amazing’ weekends. This is a common sight for the morning bus, suits at the front and students at the back, with my place somewhere in the middle. And with my headphones in, I turn up the volume to drown out both crowds endless blabbering.

  Head resting against the window, I begin to lose myself in the music – an old soul singer – while playing with the condensation, doodling marks mindlessly. Hypnotised by the blur of buildings speeding past, combined with the gentle vibrations of the engine, my heavy eyes fight to stay open, and I feel like an infant resisting naptime, so I select a more upbeat song to try and keep myself from nodding off.

  Being no more than half the way through my journey to college, I’m hit by a sudden wave of panic, not a strong feeling like theirs a dire situation ahead of me, but more subtle, like I’ve left the front door open, or my computer switched on. Even more strangely so, it pulls at me, wanting my attention to the front of the bus. I try to fight it, hoping this stomach-churning moment will pass, only for it to grow stronger; like it knows I’m disobeying an order.

  I give in, unable to take the pain any longer and look in the direction it wants, only to be met by a dark – nearly black – haired girl facing my way. She’s noticed me, having already been staring as we made eye contact, but she doesn’t look away, even in the knowledge that I’ve caught her, she continues to look at me with her big dark bug-like eyes. She can’t be much older than me, maybe a year or two, if that, and her head is shaved on one side, with the rest of her hair sweeping over the top and dangling down the other side, passing her shoulders. Her face, pale and expressionless, is one that I feel like I’ve seen before, but cannot place. Slowly, she begins to smile, a creepy grin, one that’s awkward, like she’s never attempted such a thing before in her life.

  Disoriented, I lose track of my thoughts and become lost in her presence. Then it hits me, I’m sure she hasn’t blinked once since she’s been looking at me, but then, have I? A light ringing begins to resonate in my ears, a humming sound, the likes received after taking a knock to the head. And still, her eerie smiles remains, frozen on her stone-like face. How long we continue to stare, I’m unsure, as my surroundings become blackened, overlaid by a thick fog that has befallen upon the bus, blanking out everything that once was; leaving only her.

  It’s calming without thoughts or the presence of others. So I allow myself to become lost in the empty abyss of nothingness, a place I feel I’ve been before, where only she and I reside. And… I think I like it.