Work In Progress by A. M. Bryker (if you liked this book TXT) 📕

Sigh. Another day to drag me down, I think as I crawl out of bed.

  This has been my thought every morning ever since the day I convinced myself that life wouldn't be getting any better. I can't remember how long ago that was. It doesn't matter anyway. 

  As I have so many times before, I remember how it used to be. I suppose this life is better than the one I could have had. 

  My dad had been a drug addict, and drank whenever he got the chance. No job. Sat around all the time. It was a wonder he was still alive. My mom worked two jobs to keep us going, but money was the only thing she cared about even before I was born. The two of them divorced, and Mom married some new rich guy, taking me with her. I was ten at the time. Soon after that, my dad died from drug overdose. I couldn't find it in myself to feel sad about his death. Neither could my mom. He had just been an inconvenience, and the one that helped bring my mom's second inconvenience into existence--me. 

  Yep. My mom hated me. So, it seemed, did her new husband, though he tried not to make it obvious to me.

  But I wasn't stupid. I could tell when I wasn't wanted, and I haven't been wanted since the day I was born. Some people want a new phone for their birthday? I crave affection. I don't know what it feels like to be genuinely hugged, kissed..or wanted. No one knows this, because no one cares. So I keep it to myself and put on the same tough act every day. I act like I don't want or need it. Ironically, the thing I want most is the thing I most avoid. I know I'd feel vulnerable, caring for someone who cared back.

  "Trinity!" My mom yells from downstairs. "If you don't want to miss the bus I'd suggest you get that butt out of bed."

  Rolling my eyes, I do what she suggests. This is about as much "affection" as I've gotten for as long as I can remember. I can't figure out why she's kept me all sixteen (almost seventeen) years of my life, why she didn't abort me or put me up for adoption when I was younger. 

  I head into the bathroom adjoining my bedroom. Because I didn't get up earlier, I don't have enough time to take a shower... Or don't I?

  Five minutes later, I'm out of the shower and drying my shoulder-length brown hair. I apply my mascara and heavy eyeliner, forgoing the concealer because there's nothing to conceal today. My last bruise faded away within the last week. 

  I gaze at myself in the mirror for a few moments. The stud piercing in my nose catches the light and sparkles. Glancing up into my blue eyes, I'm not surprised to see a sad, lonely look in them. 

  Shaking my head, I exit the bathroom. 

  After putting on black skinny jeans and a black tank top with a navy blue cardigan, I rummage through my makeup bin and find the navy blue lipstick to match my cardigan. 

  I glance at the clock and feel triumphant that I still have seven minutes to eat a small breakfast before going to school. 

  Slipping into my favorite boots, I run out my bedroom door and down the stairs to the kitchen, where I find Mom and her latest fling eating scrambled eggs and toast. 

  All three of us keep an awkward silence as I pour myself a bowl of cereal and begin eating hurriedly. In a few minutes, I'm finished and a horn sounds outside. 

  Wordlessly, I grab my book bag and rush out the front door, glad to be away from the house and the people in it. 

   At school, things go the way almost as I expect them to. Kids get out of my way, leave me alone, and stare as I walk by. There is usually at least one who will get in my face, but I either ignore them or teach them that they shouldn't do it again. I've never been violent enough to get in trouble--just enough to teach the idiot a lesson. 

  Today, however, feels a little different. I can't quite place what's off, and it bugs me. It's during my first class that I realize--no one has stood up to me this morning. 

  Glancing around the classroom, I discover something else. The desk next to mine is no longer vacant. Instead, an unfamiliar figure sits there confidently. 

  He looks seventeen, maybe. His hair is a shaggy black mess, but somehow it works perfectly for him. The green t-shirt and blue jeans he wears molds comfortably to his body. He leans back in his seat, and one would think that he's been here just as long as anyone else. 

  Never has the thought occurred to me that I'm staring until he looks over at me--his dark eyes full of life--and smiles shyly. My ears burn and I tear my gaze away. 

  Ooookay, I think. He's definitely different.... And so not my type.

  Throughout the rest of the class, I can almost feel him watching me. In my peripheral vision, I can see him catching glances. It's difficult not to squirm. 

  When class finally ends, I grab my bag and almost bolt for the door when I catch myself. Why was I running? I never run from people. It's a sign of cowardice, and I am not a coward. At least, that's what I tell myself.

  Lifting my chin, I stand from my seat more slowly than the other kids rushing out. That's what I always do. I'm hardly ever in a hurry. 

  I barely make it out the door when someone touches my arm. I know who it is before I turn my head. 

 Sure enough, standing behind me is the new guy in all his comfortableness. Raising an eyebrow and turning the rest of my body to face him, I wait for him to speak. 

  Seeming slightly uncomfortable, he says, "Um.. Hi. I'm Jack, and I'm a transfer from New York. I was wondering if you could help me find my next class."

  I express my dissatisfaction and annoyance by looking up to the ceiling as I place a hand on my hip and hold out my other hand for his schedule. As he gives it to me, our fingers brush, and my heart skips a beat. Stupid heart.

  Shaking it off, I read his paper. I'm shocked to find that his classes are the same as mine. 

  I look up at him and back down at the schedule a couple times before sighing. "Looks like yours are mine. You can follow me, but I won't wait for you."

  Jack beams. "Thanks." 

  As soon as I have my back to him, I roll my eyes. 

 Throughout the rest of the day, I am followed by Jack. The only times alone I have are when I go into the girls' bathroom.

  I can't seem to get him off my heels. No matter what I say, he just brushes it right off. Nothing fazes him or dampens his good mood. In a way, I admire his persistence, but it's beginning to grate. He's too happy. It makes me envious. Why can't I ever be that carefree? Oh yeah. My life sucks, that's why.

   When school is finally over, I make a beeline for the front door, hoping that I can make it out before Jack can catch up to me. I walk outside and my face is instantly hit with the kind of chilled spring air that comes with Maine. 

  Just then I remember the errand I need to run on the way home that my mom had mentioned yesterday. I wish I had brought my jacket. I curse myself under my breath. 

  "Now, what's that kind of language for?"

  I jump and whip around to find Jack standing beside me, looking nice and warm in his leather jacket. His smile lights up his whole face and my breath catches in my throat. I have to hold back a cough.

  "You know," he says, leaning toward me conspiratorially, "rumor has it that you've never been seen to smile, ever. I find it hard to believe."

  "Why is that?" I ask, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. Not that I really care, I'm just  little bit curious, that's all.

  Jack shrugs. "You just seem like the kind of person who should be cracking jokes and making people laugh."

  Certain he's mocking me, I just roll my eyes and retort, "Whatever."

  I start walking in the direction of home, holding my arms tightly against my body to ward off the cold. A frown is plastered to my face and doesn't feel like leaving anytime soon, as is per ususal.

  "Hey, wait," Jack calls, and I hear him running after me. 

  I don't break my stride. It's too cold to stand in one place. Besides, I'm sure he can catch up with me. He didn't seem to have had any problem with it during the day. 

  Unsurprisingly, a few moments later his hand touches my shoulder and he appears next to me. 

  "You walk fast," he declares. Then he asks, "Want my jacket? I noticed that you didn't bring one today."

  Without realizing it, my pace slows at his words. He noticed? Why would he care?

  I remember that he's new. That must be the reason. No one who knows me would ever do what he's doing right now. 

  My frown deepens. "What about you? If I wear your jacket you won't have one."

  Jack laughs and replies, "I knew you weren't heartless." He unzips his jacket. "See? I have a sweater. I'll be fine without my jacket."

  Sliding it off his shoulders, he holds the jacket out to me. "You know you want to," he teases. 

  I stop. He's right: I do want to. But I'm not accustomed to people being nice to me. For all I know, he could be setting me up for some joke. 

  I raise my eyes to meet his. They are an amazing dark green color. As far as I can tell, he's being genuine. 

  Deciding to take my chances, I grab the jacket and put it on. Jack's body had warmed the inside, and it feels heavenly. My numb fingers start to warm up and buzz in satisfaction. 

  "Thanks," I say, looking up at him. 

  "No problem," he responds with a smile. "So where are you headed?"

  I resume walking, and reply, "On an errand for my mom and then home."

  He makes a sound of understanding and nods. "Mind if I accompany you?"

  Giving him a small glare of irritation, I respond, "Why would you do that?"

  Jack grins down at me cheerfully as he answers. "Because my place is somewhat in the same direction. I could slow down or speed up to give you some space, but what fun is that?"

  Shrugging, I mumble, "Whatever."

  Taking that as a positive answer, he continues to accompany me. We walk in silence for a little while. It isn't until after I pick up Mom's item that Jack speaks up. 

  "So, why don't you smile?"

  "There's no reason to."

  "No reason to smile?" He sounds incredulous. "There's always a reason to smile."

  At that, I just shrug.

  "When was the last time you smiled?" He asks after a few more minutes of silence. 

  Another shrug. 

  I'm really not accustomed to being interrogated in this manner. No one ever has the guts to, except maybe one person. I think I'd much prefer Jack than them, even if he is a little eccentric.

  We're almost to my house when Jack smacks his forehead and exclaims, "I can't believe myself!"

  Raising an eyebrow at his outburst, I wait for an explanation. 

  "Normally, when I first meet someone--especially a girl--I get their name," he says, sounding almost distressed. "I guess I was just so distracted that it slipped my mind."

  He wants my name. After this whole entire day of following me around, not once did he consider to ask? That's just sad.

  Gazing at me