Shattered Soul

By Jennifer Snyder

http://jennifersnydersblog.blogspot.com

Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Snyder

Smashwords Edition

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to
peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names,
places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination.
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Life. Life’s a bitch and then you die. So, fuck the
world and let’s get high.

That was my motto.

I’m not sure where it came from or where I first
heard it. Hell, I could have read it off a bathroom stall somewhere
for all I know. My point is this, it doesn’t matter where it came
from; it stuck with me, becoming my answer, my solution, to
everything.

Until
she
came into my life, which was when
things began to change for me.

I remember the first moment I laid eyes on her. First
period, Algebra II with Mrs. Gilbert. I’d been sitting in class,
doodling on a crumbled piece of notebook paper with a borrowed pen,
biding my time until I could reach the water fountain in the hall.
The date was April nineteenth, and I’d wake-n-baked that morning,
testing out the potency of my new bag before celebrating on
four-twenty, the unofficial holiday of every stoner.

The classroom door had opened and I hadn’t bothered
to look up to see why. I’d been too consumed in making the swirls
of smoke rising from the burning joint I had been drawing look
realistic to care.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot.” Mrs. Gilbert had fretted.
“Class, we have a new student. This is Ali Carson; she comes to us
from Charleston, South Carolina. Please make her feel welcome.”

I picked that moment to glance up from my
all-important smoke swirls to check this new girl out and was
dumbfounded.

She was the closest thing to an angel I had ever
seen. I remember blinking a few times to see if she’d disappear,
and actually questioning myself on whether or not my new bag had
been laced with something which was just starting to take effect.
But, she hadn’t disappeared, and my bag hadn’t been laced with
anything.

She was real.

I stared at her for what seemed like an incredibly
long time, allowing my eyes to slowly drink her in.

“Hi,” she uttered with an awkward wave to no one in
particular.

Mrs. Gilbert had motioned for her to sit at the only
available desk, which was in the second row from the window, two
seats from the last desk, and kitty corner from mine. I watched her
as she walked, unable to remove my eyes from her angelic face.
Right before she had sat down, her eyes had flickered to mine as if
she could feel them on her, and she’d smiled faintly.

I had smiled in return, but a second too late, she’d
already sat and given her full attention to Mrs. Gilbert at the
front of the room.

Now, two and a half weeks later, Ali Carson still
consumes my mind like a thick cloud of smoke consumes the fresh air
in a clam-baked car. I struggle daily to find the courage to talk
to her, to do anything besides stare.

“She’s too good for you, man,” Trip, my best buddy
since fourth grade, muttered as we walked towards the smoking trees
for another cigarette before school.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mumbled
sarcastically, wondering why I’d even said anything at all about
her to him.

He put a hand on my shoulder and stood in front of
me. “I’m serious, man. As harsh as it might sound, you know it’s
true. I’m just savin’ you from wastin’ your time.” He paused,
digging in his over-sized pockets for his pack of Newports and a
lighter. “I mean, it’s only been a couple of weeks and already the
jocks have started to sink their claws into her. A few more weeks
and she won’t even look at dudes like us.”

A mental image of myself flashed through my mind,
shaggy brown hair, muddy brown eyes, baggy shorts with ripped
knees, and a faded black hoodie. In comparison to her, I resembled
scum.

We’d made it beneath the two large trees beside the
parking lot that weren’t technically on school grounds, the ones
all the smokers flocked to before and after school for a
cigarette.

“Can I bum one of those off you?” I asked, my hands
shoved in my pockets.

Trip tossed me the pack. “Sure thing.”

I pulled one out and the aroma of menthol coming off
them filled my nose, smelling delicious. It had been hours since my
last cigarette and I was nickin’ bad.

“Thanks, man.” I said, tossing the pack back to
him.

Once the smoothness of the cigarette touched my lips
I felt calmer. I cocked my head to the side, preparing to light it,
and noticed a four-door silver Honda civic parking a few spaces
away from me.

Ali Carson’s car.

I froze, the bright orange flame dancing an inch away
from the tip of my cigarette, and stared as she stepped out.

The first thing I saw was white Sketchers and smooth,
tanned legs. I lit my cigarette, inhaling the cool sensation of a
menthol in the morning as my eyes traveled upwards past her khaki
shorts and green sweater, in search of her face. I exhaled when I
found it.

The cloud of curling smoke from my lips blurred my
vision for a split second; once it cleared, I noticed her blue eyes
were on me. I watched her lips twist into a perfect little smile,
and this time, I made sure I smiled back. She clutched her books to
her chest and began walking towards the school, her slight smile
still in place. I exhaled and my smile grew.

She’d noticed me and smiled, that had to count for
something.

“Well, well. Don’t listen to me, man. What do I
know?” Trip said, a goofy grin on his face. “Maybe you’re not
S.O.L. after all.”

I laughed. “Whatever, man.”

But, deep down a strange sense of excitement uncoiled
within me and I couldn’t shake her image from my mind.

When I sauntered into first period, just before the
tardy bell rang, Ali was sitting at her desk, talking with Kinsley
Henderson, the captain of the cheerleading squad.

My excitement deflated as I continued to my seat.
Maybe Trip had been right, the jocks were starting to sink their
claws into her, and maybe she was too good for me.

I stood by my seat, slapped my notebook across the
desk and patted my pockets for the pencil I’d found on the floor
yesterday.

“Need a pencil?” A soft voice asked me from a few
desks away.

I looked up, it was her. “Yeah, please.”

“Here,” she smiled, handing me one. “I always keep a
few extras, you never know when you might need another.”

I chuckled as I took it from her. “Yeah, for some
loser like me who can’t manage to keep hold of one. Thanks.”

“You’re not a loser,” she insisted, her eyes
lingering on mine for a moment before shifting towards Mrs. Gilbert
at the front of the room.

I sat back in my seat and bounced the pencil on its
eraser end a few times, amazed I’d talked to her without choking on
my words.

Throughout the remainder of class, my eyes kept
finding their way back to her. I gazed at her while struggling to
come up with witty things to say once I returned her pencil. I
studied her long blonde hair pinned neatly away from her face, her
hand propping her head up thoughtfully as her eyes remained
forward, the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.

When the bell finally rang, I was still in a daze. I
gathered my things as quickly as possible, hoping to be able to use
the pencil as an excuse to speak to her one last time before she
left for her next class; we didn’t share any others.

I stood and walked to her desk, pencil in hand, but
Kinsley got to her before I could. I stopped a few steps away and
began nervously slapping her pencil across the palm of my hand,
waiting.

“So, have you thought about trying out yet?” Kinsley
pried, obviously trying to recruit her.

“Umm, I don’t think it’s for me.” Ali muttered and
relief washed over me in waves, because if she became a
cheerleader, then I really didn’t stand a chance. But, she’d said
no.

“Oh. Ok, well if you change your mind let me know,”
Kinsley said with a snotty smile on her face as she walked
away.

I noticed Ali roll her eyes and frown after her. I
took that moment as my opportunity to return the pencil.

“Don’t let her get under your skin.” I muttered,
taking the few remaining steps forward. “Here’s your pencil
back.”

“Keep it, you might need it next period. And, she
doesn’t get under my skin, much,” she grinned.

I chuckled. “Thanks. My name’s Seth by the way, Seth
Bradson.” I introduced myself, hoping she cared to know my
name.

“I know,” she said in a playful tone, shifting her
books in her arms. Then, she walked away, eyeing me.

I laid in bed that night, in the dump I call home,
replaying her playful ‘I know’ in my mind as I hit my bowl in the
sanctuary of my room.

Headlights flashed across my walls, my brother was
home. The front door opening and slamming shut confirmed it.

“Calvin, honey, you’re home,” my mother slurred,
stirring from her drunken sleep on the couch.

“Yea, ma. Here, let me help you to your bed,” my
brother’s strained voice answered her.

Seconds later, I heard his heavy footsteps in the
hall and my bedroom door burst open. Calvin stood in the doorway,
anger flaring in his eyes as he glared at me.

“Next time she’s passed out on the couch like that, I
expect you to help her to her room. Got it?”

One thing about Calvin I tried to always remember:
never hesitate when answering a question from him.

“Yeah, got it,” I mumbled quickly, hoping he’d close
my door and be gone.

“Give me that,” he demanded, marching to my bed, his
hand extended and waiting for me to place my bowl within.

I handed it over to him reluctantly. Flickers of
anger lashed away at my insides while I watched him fish through
his pockets for a lighter.

“Got something in the living room for you if you want
it,” he grinned.

“No thanks.” I knew what he was offering, crystal
meth, his drug of choice.

Calvin is a drug dealer, and one of the dumbest
kinds, the kind who can’t keep their own nose out of their sale
pile. Obviously, he’d just come back from re-upping or else he
wouldn’t have offered.

“Suit yourself,” he said, blowing his smoke in my
face before walking out of my room with my bowl still in his
hand.

Minutes ticked away. I sat in my room, stoned,
twiddling my thumbs and listening to them laugh, snort, and
sniffle. Telling myself repeatedly that I didn’t want what he’d
offered, that I’d be all right without it, and that I didn’t need
it, especially if I was planning on talking to Ali anytime
tomorrow. I hoped that specific thought would have been enough to
push my fiendish want down, but it wasn’t.

I needed my bowl.

I needed it so I could cloud my mind up and block all
those thoughts out. But, it was out there with them.

Deciding I couldn’t take it anymore, I stood and
stumbled my way down the hall towards the smoke filled living room
at the end. I prayed silently as I walked to whomever might be
listening at that moment for such things there wouldn’t be one
already chopped out and sitting on our glass coffee table. Because
if there was, and Calvin asked me again, I knew I wouldn’t be able
to turn it down then. But, as long as I didn’t see it, I figured
I’d be fine.

“What’s up, little man?” Brent, one of my brother’s
friends, asked. He snorted and wiped his nose with the back of his
hand.

My hands twitched at my sides as I glanced at all
their paraphernalia spread across the table. I tore my eyes away
from it, telling myself again I didn’t want it, I didn’t need it
like a mantra repeating in my head.

I swallowed hard before answering. “Nothing, man,
came to get my bowl back.”

“What’s with you?” Calvin asked, his eyes skimming
over me in a skeptical way. “You sick or something?”

I feared Calvin would wonder why I’d turned down his
offer, it probably was the first time in my life I’d ever turned
anything down from him.