Tears of the Broken (Dark Secrets)

by A. M. Hudson

  Why didn’t I just tell him I still read all the time? It would’ve been easier than having him wonder why I don’t anymore. “Why not?” I asked, curious about his reasons. Also curious as to why a seventeen-year-old boy would admit to reading Pride and Prejudice, of his own free will.

  “Well, let’s just say—” he grinned as he leaned against the wall near another brown door, “—I have better things to do with my time at the moment.”

  “Er, yeah me too,” I added and looked at the black plaque beside him. LIBRARY. The oddly placed room sat inconspicuously in the long wall of the first floor corridor. If David wasn’t with me, I might’ve passed it completely.

  “Don’t let looks deceive you. It’s actually quite well stocked.”

  We stepped inside the class-sized room, and shelves of books, practically touching the ceiling, greeted us with the rich smell of old pages. A group of study desks marked the centre of the brightly lit space and brand new computers lined the walls on one side. Well, it seems that for what the school lacks in style, it makes up for in supplies.

  My unfairly gorgeous tour guide stood motionless beside me, seeming to wait for me to decide where to sit, so I started off with a determined stride and, using my ankle, untucked a chair at the circle of study desks. The lone student I took the seat beside didn’t bother to look up as I dumped my bag down, unzipped it and stuffed my lesson plan inside. But then, he most likely didn’t hear me approach since the music coming from his earphones could probably be heard across the room. I wonder if, by having his earphones coming out from under his shirt, he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s listening to music or if maybe everyone wears their iPod’s in their shirts around here.

  David’s backpack ruffled on the table beside me and he smiled, making no effort to look away as I moved my gaze from the kid, to him. Why is he staring at me? Maybe he’s wondering why I’m staring at the kid with the earphones. “I went to a private school,” I whispered in my ‘library’ voice. “We were never allowed to bring iPod’s to school.”

  David smiled and lifted one shoulder slightly. “I kinda figured as much.”

  How could he figure as much? Is it that obvious that I’m private school fodder? I can’t think of anything I’ve said or done that would give it away.

  A heavy, rectangle textbook thudded on the table in front of me. “This one’s for you.” David tapped the book as we sat down. I slid it in front of me and traced the text on the cover with my fingertip. “You know,” David said, “you’re awfully quiet. I expected you to say more by now.”

  “We’re in a library,” I whispered, leaning closer, slightly covering my mouth.

  David laughed and looked around. “We don’t have teachers in here. No one cares if you talk.”

  I sat taller and slowly turned my head. He’s right. I didn’t even notice. There’s no desk and no old, grey-haired woman with large-rimmed glasses shushing us when we breathe. “Cool.” I grinned and opened my notepad and textbook.

  “Now,” David inclined toward me, “it’s your first day, so we can either fill you in on Mr. Benson’s class, or—” he looked at the student near us and paused.

  I leaned into David slightly, resting my cheek on the back of my hand. “I already prefer the or.” I can’t believe I just said that—aloud. How creepy.

  Leaning back in his chair, David placed his hands behind his head. “You know, I think I’m beginning to like you already, Ara-Rose.”

  Well that’s good, because I’m totally in love with you already. “It’s just Ara, by the way,” I said. The name is beginning to grow on me. New name. New me.

  The boy sat straight and looked at me with one eye slightly squinted, then folded his arms over his chest and looked down. “Okay, Ara. What’s your next class?”

  “Uh, hold on a sec.” I dug into my backpack and pulled out the lesson plan and map, then passed them to David.

  He placed the map on the table, but kept his fingers on it, studying my lesson plan with an impish grin.

  “Is it bad?” All the blood ran from my face as he handed it back to me.

  “You have music next, with me.” He shook his head. “I mean, with Mr. Grant, but I’m in your class.” His lip dented into his cheek on one side, showing the dimple. Melt.

  “Is he nice?” Right now I’m expecting a two-headed monster for a music professor, judging from the smirk on David’s face.

  “It’s okay, I’ll be there with you.” He eyes sparkled mischievously.

  I folded my bottom lip between my teeth. The school day has barely started and already I just want to go home and crawl under my bed. Music class is going to be bad—I can feel it. But, I have to face this one way or another. Better to do it standing beside the most amazingly sweet and perfect guy I’ve ever met.

  “So? What instrument do you play?” I asked. I’ve found that I can sum up a lot about people by the kind of music they like, and more, by the instrument they choose to express themselves with.

  David sat back a little and drummed his fingers on the desk. “Well, I actually play all instruments. But this term I’m focusing on the guitar.”

  Damn. Well, that blows my prejudice out the window. “I would’ve figured you for a bass guy?”

  “Bass? And…what exactly would that say about me?” The heart-stealing smile he presented as he leaned on his elbow made me shiver—in a good way.

  “Cool? Confident?” I let out a soft breath before adding, “Sexy?” I shrugged as I said it, but as soon as the words slipped out, my cheeks burned and my throat tightened. Oops, now that was creepy.

  David stared at me for a second, his lip twitching as if stuck on a word. He lowered his shoulders with a breath, then straightened up again.

  “I’m sorry. Was that rude?” I asked. I’m such an idiot.

  “No. Not at all. Just…unexpected.” He stared forward, frowning slightly.

  I looked down at my books, unsure what to say. Is unexpected a good thing?

  “You just seem so shy and quiet, now. I hardly expect you to say anything, let alone something so—honest,” David said, looking at me with soft eyes.

  “I’m not really shy. I’m just quiet because I’m new. But you won’t be able to shut me up in a few weeks.” I laughed but stifled it quickly. As if that would be reassuring. And there I go again with the assumptions. Who says this guy will even talk to me after today. He’s only here because the teacher forced him to bring me up to scale. I kind of feel sorry for him now. I mean, some strange girl comes into the school, falls all over herself when she looks at you, and then expects you’ll still be talking to her weeks from now.

  He suppressed a smile, nodding his head softly. “Well, I look forward to seeing your more talkative side.”

  Is he serious? Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough the first time. Um, hello? I am totally infatuated with you and I just met you. My inner self pointed to my chest—shouting the words, psychopath. Crazy. You should run away, now!

  David chuckled quietly to himself. Did I miss something? What is he laughing at? Maybe my facial expressions are giving away some strange internal monologue or something. I knew I’d embarrass myself, I just knew it.

  Since there’s no rock to hide under in here, I’ll have to redirect my humiliating display with a question. “So, are the people here nice?” That’s a normal enough kind of question. I was going to say, “Hey let’s be rebels and ditch class—go somewhere quiet, where we can be alone, talk for hours and get to know each other,”—but that is way too creepy.

  After a deep breath, David nodded. “Yeah, mostly. You shouldn’t have a problem, though. Seems you’ve struck up a friendship with Emily Peirce?”

  “Is that good?” I hope it’s good. Emily seems nice. I’m just not very good at first impressions. I’d hate to think I’d ended up friends with the school bully.

  David coughed beside me, and when I looked at him, he looked away. “Uh—yes, it’s good. Emily’s very popular. She has special gi
ft for making people like her.” He smiled to himself—probably passing over a thought about Emily. A good one.

  “You like her, then?”

  “She’s very easy to be around. I think you two will be good friends.”

  Does that mean I’m easy to be around? And there I go again, looking for hidden meanings in words that aren’t there.

  “I’m sure you’ll make friends easily here, Ara. You’ve already made two today and school has only just begun.” He smiled warmly.

  That was nice of him—to say that. It’s so weird that only half an hour ago I was terrified to even step off the driveway, and now I’m here, alone with David, and he just called himself my friend—completely tarnishing all my first impressions about this once seemingly nightmarish brown building.

  “Well, thanks.” I shrugged, but couldn’t contain my smile.

  It was a strange sensation, but for the first time in over two months, I just smiled for real.

  Chapter Two

  “Why are they all staring at me?” I whispered to David as we strolled through the corridors to our next class—the dreaded music class.

  David grinned, wiping his thumb across his chin.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” I scowled at one of the girls, whose mouth hung open like a frog waiting for a fly. “They are staring.”

  “They’ll stop in a few weeks. They’re just fascinated by anything with colour. And you are—” he smiled at my yellow dress, “very colourful.”

  Colourful? I wish I could be smaller—small enough to fit inside a locker.

  “Dave—way to go, man.” A group of boys wearing the school football team jackets passed us and waved noisily at David.

  Hm, I wonder if there’s some hint of fact to my earlier near-assumption about David being a jock. He just doesn’t fit the stereotype, though. But then, I have only talked to him for an hour. I hardly know him at all.

  David nodded toward the boys and kept walking—close to me—with his arm almost against mine. If I just stumble and shift over an inch, we’d touch. I kinda hope someone shoves me and I have to fall into David to stop from landing face-first on the ground. At least pushing and shoving would be easier to deal with than all the staring and whispering. It’s getting old, fast. I mean, are they looking at me because I’m new or because I’m walking with David?

  David stopped at the end of a long, brightly-lit corridor, painted in a rich burgundy colour—so unlike the rest of this pallid school. “This is the auditorium.” He placed his palm flat on one of the double doors. As it swung open, my breath caught in my throat. “It’s much brighter in here when all the stage lights are on,” he said.

  “Are you kidding, this room is great.” My eyes followed the long columns of steeply inclined blue seats to where a stage, taller than me, commanded the entire front of the room like a widescreen LCD, but big enough to hold the performance of a Broadway musical. Heavy velvet curtains framed the sides of the stage, and the black floorboards thudded noisily under the footfalls of kids walking across it to position their instruments.

  Another small group of students gathered at the foot of the stage where they’d dragged tables and chairs into a small, disorderly cluster, and were sitting around on them, joking and laughing loudly.

  In the seconds it took for me to size up the group, my eyes swept past them and stopped on a long forgotten acquaintance of mine. “A piano?” I said with a wide smile, unable to peel my eyes away from the old upright.

  “You like it?” David asked. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to her.” When David let go of the auditorium door, it thudded loudly behind us. Everyone looked up, and the shambolic wailing of their instruments stopped abruptly, leaving a dense silence as we started down the aisle. “You ready for this?”

  “No, but I have little choice.” I tried to laugh off the nerves, but nothing came out.

  “It’s okay.” He grinned and slipped his hand through the strap of my backpack, resting it just under my shoulder blade. “I’ll take care of you.”

  He’s touching me. I can’t breathe. Didn’t anyone ever teach this guy about personal boundaries? I mean, it’s not like I want him to stop doing that, but where I come from, people just aren’t quite so…friendly. And it’s totally not helping with my nerves.

  As we neared the stage, some of the kids stood up and smiled at us, simultaneously causing me to shrink with the thought of the impending interrogation. Can’t they just ignore me—pretend I don’t exist?

  “Hey guys.” David nodded his greeting, keeping his hand safely on my back. “This is Ara.”

  I took a deep, shaky breath and waved, forcing myself to look friendly. But I probably looked more like a troll, with my face all contorted into a fake smile.

  “Ah, a fellow muso.” A tall, thin boy with sandy-blonde hair leaned his guitar against a desk and stood up. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ryan.” He shook my hand, grinning with a broad, honest smile. “And that’s Alana.” He gestured to a small, dark-haired girl with jet-black eyes, playing her violin quietly in the corner.

  “Hello.” I smiled at the girl, who nodded politely toward me, then almost shrank back into the shadows. Guess she’s as shy as I feel right now.

  “And that’s Fiona and Jess…” Ryan rattled off names as I nodded and smiled at the faces—forgetting their names instantly. They should all be called Bob—make things so much easier.

  “So?” Ryan asked, “What’s your poison?”

  I stared at him with my chin slightly lowered.

  David looked down at me and a smile crept into the corners of his lips. “He means what do you play?”

  Ryan nodded to confirm.

  “Um. Piano,” I said.

  “Nice.” Ryan nodded again. “Well, that’s Big Bertha.” He pointed to the brown piano. “She’s old and large and always in the way—but she’s in tune.”

  “Big Bertha?” I scratched my head, looking at David.

  “We have a name for everything around here,” David said.

  A loud clap resonated through the auditorium then, and my heart jumped into my throat. Mr. Grant, I assume, stood motionless near the entranceway at the back of the room. “I hear we have a new student, today,” his stern voice echoed off the walls as he stalked toward us, becoming smaller as he neared. With a voice so booming, I’d have imagined him to be tall—but he’s amusingly short and round. I tightened my lips to hide the tickling hilarity of his ponytail, gathered at the nape of his neck, tugging heavily on the few straining blonde hairs that clasped for dear life around the edges of his bald spot. Stylish.

  David slid his hand out from under my backpack and smiled as Mr. Grant waltzed over and studied my face with a raised brow. “Miss Thompson, I presume?” His accusing glare burrowed into my soul while his harsh tone screamed pretentious butt-head.

  My self-amusement over his appearance turned into fear and dried my throat. As if I’m not nervous enough already, now I’m being singled out as well. Maybe I can hide under Bertha. “Yes, sir,” I said softly, dying to look away from his icy stare.

  “And what will you be playing for us today, Miss Thompson?”

  “Uh. Playing?” Did I hear him right? Surely he doesn’t expect me to play for him, today?

  “We expect a performance from all our students on the first day, Miss Thompson.” He grinned, cupping his hands together as he looked around the class.

  He is evil. Two-headed monster was a kind assumption for this guy. I nodded once to myself. Right, nice of someone to warn me about this. I’m totally unprepared.

  Everyone in the class waited for me to respond, or maybe to run away crying. A few of them even laughed among themselves. I wonder if this is why David didn’t tell me about our next class. Oh, but, wait, he’s here with me, so that makes it all better, right? By the way—that was sarcasm.

  Mr. Grant stood back from his lean toward me, and I looked at David, who just smiled and tipped his head forward in a slight nod. He knew this was coming! But I have
to admit, seeing his face does make it better. A little. Mind you, it hasn’t helped the fact that I’m standing in front of the whole class, with my mouth gaping, completely unable to find the power to speak—or move, for that matter.

  “If you please, Miss Thompson. Or would you like some sheet music?” Mr. Grant offered me a seat at the piano with an arrogant grin across his tight lips.

  Trying to stall, I shuffled out of the straps of my backpack and went to dump it on the ground.

  “I’ll take this for you.” David grabbed it and flung it over his shoulder.

  “Uh, thanks,” I said. Okay, what now? I have no more distractions. Guess I’m gonna have to play. Well, either that or burst into tears. But there’s no way I’m going to let this know-it-all music professor make me cry in front of all these kids. I’m sure he’s reduced many a student to tears in the past, and it’s time somebody taught him a lesson. If there’s one thing I hate in this world more than anything, it’s people using their talents or skills, or worse, knowledge, to make other people feel small. And that’s exactly what Mr. Grant’s doing to me. And it worked. I do feel small.

  Everyone watched. I hesitated beside David, secretly picturing myself running away, swiping the tears from my cheeks as I escape from this nightmare, slamming the doors behind me.

  But, instead, I exuded confidence for the first time today and positioned myself on the piano stool. David rested his elbows on the top of the piano and smiled at me. I did not smile back.

  Thanks for the heads-up, David. I wish he’d told me this would happen—then I could’ve left before class started. Mr. Grant, standing uncomfortably close, watched me lift the cover from the keys and reposition my stool so I could reach the foot pedals, then he held out a stack of papers. “Your sheet music.”

  “I’ll be fine without that, thank you, Mr. Grant,” I stated calmly and politely. Really, I want to take them from his puny little hands and clonk him over the head. Instead, I traced the black and white keys for a second, drawing a tight breath through my teeth. This is the first time I’ve touched a piano in two months. This could end badly.