Half-Breed
Page 3
Chapter 3
I’m shaken to the core by a force and allowed to regain part of my shattered consciousness, dispelling the darkness from my vision and my connection with her.
“Hello?” a voice speaks, elongating the ‘O’ longer than is needed.
Again I’m shaken, nudged into a hard, cold panel that repels me back into an upright position. “Hello,” they say once more as if someone has hit repeat and is replaying the same verse of a song. “Anybody home?”
Dazed, as if a good night’s sleep has been interrupted, I turn to find Riley, my best and only mate since primary school, sitting beside me. “You alright?” he asks.
Staring back to the seat she’d occupied, I’m amazed to find it’s now empty, and begin to wonder whether she’d really been there in the first place.
“Mitch…” Riley says firmly. “Are you ok?”
It seems to be a running question for the morning. Am I really giving off such an uncomfortable or uneasy vibe?
“Yeah, yeah, fine.” I shoot back, shaking my head to clear away the foggy mess it’s become. “You happen to notice a girl getting off the bus when you got on?”
Raising an eyebrow, Riley shrugs. “Sure,” he confirms, sending my heart racing. “A few.”
“Dark hair. Shaved at the side.” I add, chewing at my bottom lip as I desperately try to pinpoint more features. “Um, big eyes.”
“Ok, ok,” he replies, pacifying me with his raised hands. “I get it, semi-goth girl with eyes.”
“She wasn’t a goth.”
“Either way, I didn’t see her,” he confirms.
His words hit me like a bus going full speed down the main road. That connection we shared was too intense not to be real. It was something I’ve never experienced in my life… ever. Even now I can still feel her presence, like a piece of her is in me and vice versa. Could it have been just another dream? A waking one?
“Why so sad Mitch?” asks Riley. “This a new girlfriend of yours, or have you passed the point of loneliness and decided to just make one up?” he adds with a snigger.
Being short and skinny, with curly chocolate coloured hair, Riley is masked by a ‘cute’ factor – something he has been referred to and has used to get out of trouble on many occasions. And this is only made worse by the fact he has the lightest blues eyes and freckles that sit just below them. Of course, this doesn’t sit well with him at all – no sixteen-year-old guy ever wants to be labelled as cute. He’ll even admit he’s “far from it,” and, “annoying, sarcastic and rude.” But one twinkle of those eyes and bam! All and any middle-aged women are caught under his spell.
“Does the none goth girl with big eyes have a name?” he adds, smugly.
I shrug. “How would I know her name?”
“You made her up.”
“And we’re done.” I shoot back.
Having had his annoyance feed for the day – much earlier than normal – Riley leans into his seat, rolling his head back onto the rest behind. He then proceeds to fill me in on his whole weekend, right down to the very last detail. “And then I woke up late this morning and had to race to the bus stop!” he adds. “It’s just gonna be one of those days, I can feel it.”
Rocking us all as it takes the last corner, the bus powers down the main road towards the college, bringing into view the old style clock tower that sits adjacent to the main campus, signalling it’s time to start moving. The whole complex as a whole is very old fashioned, with aged bricks and green vines growing up the main building. The tower itself has also succumbed to age through neglect, as it’s never worked from day one, even with today’s technology it still chooses not to tick. Somethings are just not meant to work, and this is one of them. Personally, I’ve always viewed it as a bit of an eyesore, one that gives me a bad feeling whenever I gaze upon it, and I’ve always hoped they’d just knock it down if only to enlarge the overly crowded car park.
Standing first, Riley begins to make his way to the front of the bus as I follow closely behind, swinging from one bar to the next. If only the student ahead had done the same, then they wouldn’t have been thrown forward when the bus came to an immediate halt, knocking the person in front, who in turn knocks the person stood before them, causing a domino effect through the line. Turning to me with his teeth bared, Riley tries his hardest to hold in a laugh, as I avoid all eye contact, knowing he’ll do something that’ll have me in stitches.
Doors open and a rush is made to exit the bus, as student after student piles out onto the pavement. “Do we really have to go in?” Riley groans, already knowing the answer.
The morning is like every other Monday morning. My first class with Mrs Armstrong, which I was just in time for, drags on while she stands at the front, mumbling her way through a presentation. I take a seat towards the back of the room to hide from her line of sight, as she has a tendency to pick on students. And I’m sure I see the pleasure in those beady eyes of hers when an unsuspecting victim struggles to answer a torrent of impossible questions. My second class is no better, running over by fifteen minutes as the tutor, Mr Cay, rambles on for basically the whole lesson, then expects us to write up said lesson in the remaining five minutes he gives us. Somehow he’s even surprised when we don’t finish on time. After which I have some spare time to waste before lunch, so I head to the computer room to touch up my coursework, sort my unorganised folders and browse the internet aimlessly.
Busy as always, the canteen boasts its normal influx of students for a Monday lunchtime. Even with a large number of table and chairs stationed throughout the grease smelling room, there’s still never enough space for us all, leading to students having to double up on chairs, all so they can sit together in their clicks and discuss plans for the weekend coming. As usual, I sit alone amongst the sea of people and noise, waiting on Riley, who’s late – which is a regular occurrence.
Overly stretching to get a better view of the door, my hopes are fulfilled as Riley strolls in to save me from the sneers of others, angered by the very thought that I alone should take up a whole table to myself. Slumping into the seat opposite, he lets out a loud sigh and throws his bag on the chair beside him. “Is it really only Monday?” he fumes, planting his head into his palms.
I don’t answer him, he’s obviously had a bad start to the week, and I too don’t want to admit it’s only Monday. But whatever was bothering him soon fades away quickly as he rummages through his bag and pulls out a large sandwich, releasing the strong smell of tuna the second he breaks the foil wrapping, sending my stomach churning as it hits my nose. “Not eating Mitch?” he asks, with a mouth full of food.
With a lack of appetite, I’d completely forgotten about food and the thought of it now makes me feel somewhat queasy. Which would explain the filthy looks I’ve been getting, as not only have I taken up a full table, but I’ve not even attempt to eat during the busiest time. “Nah,” I reply. “I’m not really that hungry.”
“More for me then,” he says, reaching into my bag and pulling out the baguette I’d prepared the night before.
And in his haste he leaves the flap of my rucksack wide open, exposing my sketch pad resting atop my notebooks. Lunging across the table the second it catches his eyes, he grabs the pad before I have time to stop him. In a panic, I launch myself from my seat in a futile attempt to reclaim it from his grasp, only for him to slap my hands away with ease.
“Mitch! These are really good,” he beams, sounding surprised as he flips through the pages. “Why haven’t you shown me any of your latest sketches?”
I’ve never willingly shown him any of my previous ones. He’s always sneakily looked through my pad while I’ve left it unattended, or, like today, grabbed it in full view of me, knowing I won’t make a scene in such a public place. I wouldn’t mind so much, but sketching is merely a hobby I do in my spare time, something to switch my mind off for a few hours, to escape the outside world. The finished product being for my eyes only, not the eyes of others.
“Thanks!” I snap. “Now can you hand me my pad back,” I add, through gritted teeth.
Slamming the pad shut, he throws it my way. “It’s called a compliment.” He retorts. “Look it up.” Then he returns to his sandwich, sulkily so.
With his blue eyes stationary, Riley drifts in and out of a daydream, blissfully unaware of the overcrowded room full of many glares pointed our way. Unfortunately for me, I’m only too aware and begin to feel uncomfortable, so much so I retreat to my mobile, head down facing the screen in an attempt to block them out. Only for it to rise again by the sound of my name. “Mitchell!” a voice hollers across the canteen.
Jerking my head around, I find Matthew jumping up and down, waving his hands above his head and booming his voice across the room. Crowds of students look at him, some displeased by the crazy fool making a scene while they try to hold a conversation with their peers. I want to look away, make out he means some other Mitchell, but everyone has already zoned in on me, causing my face to turn a dark shade of lobster-red.
Leading his two best friends, Patrick and Alec, Matthew manoeuvres himself between groups, trying his hardest to tread carefully. Knowing we have mere seconds before he lands upon us, I cough loudly to grab Riley’s attention, but he’s too lost in a trance to notice, completely unaware of the impending trouble coming our way. Normally we’d pretend we were just about to leave, offering them the table before making a swift exit, but Riley’s barely made a start on my sandwich, so they’ll know we’re lying.
Taking a seat beside me, Matthew sits first, while Patrick and Alec sit either side of a hardened faced Riley, with Alec moving Riley’s bag from the chair to the sticky floor in the process. “Mitchy!” Alec cheers, looking me up and down. “Where you been hiding?”
I can’t help but want to laugh at him, swamping the chair with his huge muscles trapped within a tight t-shirt and shorts, easily the largest of the three.
“Nowhere in particular,” I reply. “Just the usual –”
“Dude, did you see Lily checking me out throughout first period?” interrupts Patrick.
Of course, Patrick is talking about some girl, it’s his usual topic of choice, which I’ve always summed up to him being the smallest of the three, although still pretty stocky by my standards. And with olive skin paired with green eyes, he’s most definitely the vainest; as I’ve already caught him checking himself out in the window’s reflection numerous times since he’s sat down.
And as they continue to talk through Riley – as if he weren’t there – about this girl named Lily, I notice Matthew – who’s normally very much the talker – has hardly said a word. Caught staring into space, he seems trapped in thought. “Matthew?” I murmur, to avoid any input from Patrick and Alec. “You seem a bit quiet today?” I question.
He blinks, as if I’ve just pulled him out of a daydream, then nods unconvincingly. “I’m just a little tired,” – he hesitates – “guess mum was right, I need to chill out a little with the gym sessions.”
Unsatisfied by his response, I want to push for more, but decide against it for now as it’s obviously none of my business. And besides, he’s already been pulled into the conversation with Patrick and Alec, who’ve begun discussing all things rugby.
Finishing his final bite, Riley glares at me from between the bulging biceps and mass of muscles. With a quick flick of his eyes towards the exit, I excuse myself from the table, saying my goodbyes to them all. “Catch ya later,” says Matthew, while Patrick and Alec say nothing. Either they haven’t noticed I’ve stood up, or they choose to ignore it; the latter being more likely.
And even when Riley tries to squeeze by to get his bag, they continue to talk, with Alec barely moving his bulky legs, so Riley has to suck in his already skinny frame, as he mumbles what I think is “excuse me,” while shuffling through the minimal space he’s been given.
Flustered, Riley breathes a sigh of relief as he motors towards the exit at a pace I struggle to keep up with. “How does your brother put up with those guys?” he fumes.
I shrug. “Dunno. Maybe we both just have really bad taste in friends?” I then grin, exposing my dimples.
“Don’t I know it,” replies Riley, before throwing me a perplexed look. “Hey!”
He might be cute, but he’s definitely not the smartest.
Having had my final class cancelled due to the tutor being ill, it means I’m able to catch the bus home with Riley. And considering my waking dreams only seem to happen when I’m left to my own devices, I’m somewhat pleased.
Having arrived just as a bus left, we both take a place at the stop, knowing we have a twenty-minute wait ahead of us. Which Riley decides to fill with a rant about his career choice, stating he’s not even sure he wants to be a chef anymore, and that he panicked when picking a course. “Did you not feel the same pressure?” he asks.
“Of course,” I reply. “We’re still young, yet we’re asked what we want to be when we grow up.”
“And you picked computer illustration because you want to be a…” he rolls his hands, wanting me to finish his sentence.
“How should I know.” I retort. “I like computers, I like art, so it kind of felt like the right area.”
“I guess we all have to start somewhere,” I add. “Like everyone else before us.”
Looking right through me, Riley sits rigidly on the plastic bench with his eyes bulging out of his head, much like they were at lunchtime. So instantly, I begin to think the worst, searching our surroundings for the first sights of Patrick and/or Alec, while also looking out for our quickest escape route. But to my relief, I see Aimee walking our way, but the same cannot be said for Riley, as he’s had a crush on her since they were placed in the same meet and greet group during fresher’s week.
Unaware of our presence, Aimee mouths along to the song playing through her headphones. “Why today.” Whispers Riley. “Can’t we just make a run for it?”
But it’s too late, with her wandering eyes, Aimee clocks us and immediately greets us. “Hi guys!” she cries, with an over dramatic wave.
Leaping to the bench, Aimee sits beside Riley, who beams a semi-awkward, yet happy smile. I can see the attraction, she’s petite, has black short hair and her skin is a beautiful light brown, which matches the colour of her almond shaped eyes.
Knowing Riley won’t say a word, I step in to break the awkward silence. “How’s it going?” I ask.
Caught mid-stretch, Aimee lets out a high pitched sigh. “Great! I’ve got gymnastics’ training in a bit.”
This would explain her athlete build and perky attitude, a trait I’ve always liked about her… in small doses. For she has a tendency to overexcite herself, becoming somewhat unruly and in all honesty, quite annoying.
She continues. “You know how it is, practise, practise, practise!”
I have no idea. Sports and I are a no-go. But it’s always nice to hear about all the medals she’s won, as she continues to explain about her upcoming competitions, in a bid to get Riley’s attention.
Having now become awkward by his silence, I decide to take matters into my own hands. “Oh cool,” I say, slyly nudging him. “You’ll have to let us know the next time you compete, Riley and I will come along. Right, Riley!?”
Brought back by the sound of his name, Riley flinches slightly before answering. “Yeah.” He mutters with red cheeks.
“Awesome!” she shrieks, clapping her hands together in celebration.
We then spend the next few minutes talking about college, having swayed the conversation that way in a hope that Riley would’ve joined in, although he just continues to give us one-word answers here and there until Aimee’s mum turns up. She looks like Aimee, only an older version, and her hair is longer with streaks of grey throughout. Speaking in English with a Filipino twang, she calls to Aimee, who understands the switch in languages with ease, even answer
ing in a mix of both.
“Hello, Mrs Day,” I call out, to which she smiles and waves out the open car window.
“Well, I’ll see you guys soon,” says Aimee, as she gets in the passenger seat.
And as the car pulls away, I watch Riley’s sad eyes follow. Once again he knows he’s missed another opportunity to speak with her. “So,” I say. “That was awkward.”
Turning to me slowly with a glare, Riley purses his lips. “Don’t.” He fumes through gritted teeth. “Just don’t.”
Although we love to wind each other up, there are times in which I know I should never push him, this being one of those times. So we return to the awkward silence as I try and think up something to say, a subject change to take his mind off her. Mentioning our favourite TV show seems to do the trick and gets him talking again, albeit sulkily. Finally, luck comes my way in the form of a bus turning up early, meaning I don’t have to nurse Riley’s sullen mood much longer.
Having spent the best part of the evening locked away in my bedroom sketching some photos I’d taken from around Shellbourne, I unknowingly skip dinner, having been so engrossed in my work. Although still not hungry, I know I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so force feed myself half a bowl of instant noodles before feeling sick.
An echo of footsteps trails through the house, as they make their way up the stairs. I guess it’s probably mum coming home late from work, only to be confirmed when she slides her head around the door, giving the illusion she has no body. “Sketching?” she asks in a husky voice.
Swiftly shutting my pad, I answer. “Just a few to pass the time.”
She doesn’t ask to look, she knows not to. “Think I’m going straight to bed.” She yawns. “Matthew home?”
“No, not yet, think he’s probably out with Patrick and Alec,” I reply.
“Ok, well don’t stay up too late, you know how you can get.” She says while retreating to her room.
Of course I know how I can get, I’ve never been allowed to forget.
Deciding on one more sketch before bed, something different instead of another landscape, I lean back into my chair and spin slowly. Ideas are in the few this evening with only one that stands out in my mind, allowing room for no others, and before I know it my pencil is moving across the page, as I translate the image from my memory to paper.
A good hour passes before I’m finished, and as I hold up my sketch, I stare deeply into her round eyes, already feeling the same strange pull I did when we first met.
Who are you?