Tears of the Broken (12 page)

She’s right. I’m selling out. No one’s ever been allowed to
call me just Ara before—except my best friend, Mike. I guess I’m
just so afraid of not fitting in that I’d change the one thing
about me that’s truly unique.

Everything to do with this place has changed who I am, why
not take away the last thing that really belongs to me.

The
repressed tears of the day welled up, nudging their ugly, unwanted
heads into my eyes. “I’ll be in my room. I have a lot of homework
to do.” I stood up and walked back out to the staircase—teen facade
suddenly in place again.

“
Okay,
Ara
dear,” Vicki called after me with a hint of
detest behind my new name.

She
has no idea how much she irritates me. I mean, now I need my dad’s
approval to change my own name? I feel like kicking
something.

In
the front entranceway, Sam zipped up his schoolbag then wandered
back into the TV room to the right of the front door. I wonder if
he came out this way to avoid interrupting the ‘light hearted’
discussion between Vicki and I, or to escape being caught up in
one.

“
Don’t tell Mum I’m in here, okay?” he said as he set himself
down in front of the TV.

I
half smiled, then threw my bag over my shoulder and thudded up the
stairs to my room. The door hit the wall as it swung open, but my
heated temper dropped to a smile with the sight of the dancing
rainbows my crystal-garnished windows cast over the lemon
walls.

Back
home, my old room faced west, and the setting sun used to cast
golden rays of blinding light through my window, igniting the whole
room ablaze with a warm, orange glow.

Here, my window faces east, so my dad bought me these “Plane
Mirrors” to reflect the afternoon sun into my room. He even let me
climb out my window—after I threw a tantrum about independence—and
position them carefully so they’d catch the light of the retiring
sun. Now I can still lie on my bed, like I used to every evening,
and watch the prancing spectrums on my walls as the light reaches
through my crystals.

It’s
just a little piece of magic from a childhood passed.

But,
one thing that doesn’t pass with childhood is homework.

I
slumped backward on my bed in the middle of the room and kicked off
my Skechers; one hit my dressing table across the room and the
other landed by my door, then, I dug my toes into the squishy
carpet and let out a long sigh. It’s over. The torturous first day
is over.

“
See?” I called across to the girl in the mirror. “It wasn’t
that bad.”

“
Mu-um!” Sam yelled obnoxiously from outside my door.
“Ara-Rose is talking to herself again.”

“
Shut up, Sam!” I sat up and ditched my pillow at the back of
my door. Er! He’s so irritating. If I wanna talk to myself, I
should damn well be allowed to. It doesn’t mean I’m crazy…waiting
for myself to talk back does, but let’s not go there.

As
his boisterous giggle faded down the hall, I huffed out the
frustration of the pest and looked across at my dresser, sitting
against the angled wall of my wardrobe. The girl isn’t there right
now—the only thing looking back at me is the reflection of the oak
tree out the back and the swaying, white rope swing that hangs from
it.

That’s where I should be—out there, on the swing where I
spent every day this summer since I came here, just rocking back
and forth, watching the kids across the road during football
practice—wishing my life were as easy as theirs. But it’s not, and
we mustn’t feel sorry for ourselves. At least, that’s what they
keep telling me, anyway. Doesn’t mean I don’t.

But,
at least today is finally over. All I wanted, all day, was to get
home so I could process this David thing; process how he said he
likes me. But I have to be careful not to read too far into that.
His version of like might be entirely different to mine.

And
what’s his deal, anyway? How is he possibly so unreal and so damn
smart, too? I didn’t realise he was intelligent until Society and
Environment class, when he corrected the teacher on the
Emancipation Proclamation. It wasn’t even on topic, but it took one
simple comment from a kid up the back, and our discussion on North
America turned into a full-blown slavery debate. David, rather
heatedly, put everyone in their place.

He
makes me want to pick up a book and read it. I can’t even begin to
be in his league if I’m a dumb spud, and let’s face it…aside from
English and Music studies…I’m a dumb spud.

With
a loud sigh, I picked up my bag and dropped it onto the desk under
the window, then pulled out my cold, wooden chair and sat
down—trying hard to ignore the waving leaves of the oak tree,
summoning me to their company.

Focus on homework, Ara, focus. David will like you if he
thinks you’re smart.

Wait! What am I saying? I slapped the back of my own wrist.
My God, I’ve gone mad with lust. I’ve actually gone stark-raving
mad. Since when do you base your worth on intelligence, Ara-Rose?
This boy has warped your sense of self-respect.

And
what would Mike say if he heard you talk this way? I tell you what
he’d say. He’d say you’re a damn fool. He’d slap you and tell you
that you’re a smart, funny girl, and any guy who doesn’t like you
for who you are isn’t worth the dirt he walks on.

God,
I so badly wanna call Mike. Dad even installed a phone in here for
me so I could talk to my friends back home, but I haven’t used it
yet.

I
sighed heavily and lifted my head off my hands. It won’t be easy to
talk to my best friend again. So much has happened these past
months and I’ve not spoken to him more than twice in that time—and
that was only because I happened to answer the house phone. It’s my
own fault, though. I refused his calls—one after the other, every
day, and it was only about a week ago that he stopped calling
altogether. Now, I
want
to talk to him, but I don’t know if I have the
right.

The
muggy feel of the summer enveloped my face and arms, making it hard
to breathe, even though Vicki had the air-conditioner on ‘North
Pole’. I ripped off the white cardigan I put over my dress at
morning tea and smiled when I saw a spot of chocolate milk on the
sleeve as I hung it over my chair. It must’ve splattered on there
when David unintentionally rescued me from having to talk about my
family. I’d like to thank him for that, but I think if I just walk
up and say, “Hey, David, thanks for knocking my milk over for me,”
he’ll think I’m weird, and then he’ll just walk away from me really
slowly, without turning his back.

The
phone kept looking at me; I stuffed my nails between my teeth and
chomped—trying to distract myself from picking it up. The truth is,
I have no right to call my best friend because I don’t want to call
him to see how he’s doing, I only want to call so he can make me
feel better about this David situation.

But
I need someone to talk to. I mean, I’ve heard of love at first
sight before, but this is ridiculous. I’m not like this. I don’t go
head over heels like this, and I don’t ever rate myself based on a
guy’s opinion.

Well, that’s not entirely true, since it only takes a group
of guys to laugh when I’m standing near them and I suddenly feel
the urge to check if I have something on the back of my
dress.

But
I’d like to think I have more self-worth than I actually do. All
those great women in history that Dad’s always talking about are
who I’m supposed to model myself on. But internally, I feel small
when a guy snickers at me or calls me a dork. Granted, I feel just
as bad when a girl does, too, but, all things aside, I
want
David to like
me—like,
my
version of like—and I’m scaring myself with the thoughts I’m
having. I feel unstable. I need a friend to tell me I’m not going
crazy—or maybe that I am.

With
a sigh, I looked at my last connection to my old life. “Go on,” the
phone teased.

“
Oh,
fine,” I huffed, grabbed the handset and dialled a familiar number.
It only rang twice before it picked up.

“
Hello?” The husky, yet smooth voice on the other end made my
heart jump a little.

“
Hey, Mike.”

“
Ara?”

“
Yeah. It’s me.”

“
Hey, kid. How you doin’?” His voice pitched high on the
end.

“
Um—” I traced my fingertip over the grains of wood on my
desk, “I’m good.”

“
How’d your first day go?” The soprano singer fled his throat
and left a blasé tone behind. He’s trying to sound unconcerned, but
he can’t hide his desperation to know how I ‘coped’ at school
behind forced disinterest.

“
How
did you know I was starting school?”

“
I
spoke to your dad on Saturday.”

“
Oh.
Okay.”

“
So…” he said leadingly, “How was it?”

“
Um,
well, it was good, actually.”

“
Really?” He breathed out. “That’s great. I’ve been worried
about you all night. I couldn’t sleep.”

“
Oh
yeah, I keep forgetting about the time difference thing.” I slapped
my forehead with the palm of my hand—trying to log the info in
there permanently.

“
So,
did you make any friends?” Mike asked gently.

“
I
did.” I grinned, then Mike got the run down on all the happenings
of the day; Emily, Alana, how cool Ryan is—a tiny bit about
David—and a massively overdramatised recap on music class with Mr.
Grant.

“
No
joke? What an ass.” Mike laughed. “I wish I’d been there. I
would’ve played chopsticks and deliberately done a bad job of
it.”

“
I
know you would. I was thinking about that while I was playing.” I
chuckled. “I really missed you today.”

Mike
went quiet. “I miss you all the time.”

I
wish he wouldn’t say that. It makes this all so much harder. “So,
tell me what you’ve been up to the last few months. We haven’t
really talked much about, you know, normal stuff.”

He
sighed heavily, probably running a hand through his sandy blonde
hair and rolling his head back. “Nothing’s really normal now,
Ara.”

“
Come on, Mike?”

“
Sorry. I shouldn’ta said that. Okay, well, I’m still working
on my entrance into the Tactical Response Group. I’ve got one more
interview to go and I’m pretty much in.”

“
You’re kidding me? Mike, that’s so awesome. I can’t believe
you’ve finally done it.”

“
Well, don’t jinx it? I haven’t made it yet.”

“
Yeah right. You’re like, super fit and super smart. You were
in when you were born and you know it.”

“
Yeah. I know. Hey, listen, I was thinking…once I make it in
I’ve got a few weeks before training begins. Can I come over and
see you?” he asked delicately.

“
Are
you kidding?” I stood up, practically squealing. “Of course you
can. I would love that. There’s so much I wanna show you, and I
really want to talk to you about this guy, and—” I paused. Oops. I
hadn’t planned to talk to him about that, yet.

“
What guy?” Mike’s voice trailed up. I pictured his face, the
way the corners of his lips would turn up under his rough,
sandy-brown stubble.

“
Well, I really need your advice, actually?” I slumped back
down in my chair.

“
Sure, I’m good for it. What’s the deal, kid?”

“
Well, his name’s David.”

“
The
one who showed you around today?”

Does
he not miss anything? I barely even mentioned David. “Yeah, except
I left everything out. He didn’t just show me around, Mike, he
like, I don’t know, he stayed with me
all
day, and he didn’t really make a
secret of the fact that he likes me.” My brow rose. “He’s, um,
well, he’s. I really like him.”

“
What’s the problem, then?”

“
After one day?” I looked out at the corner of the school’s
front car park, just visible from my window. Thinking about
everything that went on today, a long sigh escaped my lips. “Is
that normal?”

“
How
long did it take you to fall completely in love with Leopold?” he
asked, referring to my favourite movie.

“
That’s different.”

“
How?”

“
Because Leopold’s not real. David is, and I’m not some
character in a love story.”

“
Ara?” Mike paused. “You’ve always been like this.”

“
What?” I asked, defensive.

“
Whenever—” he cleared his throat,
“—
whenever
a guy
likes you, shows the tiniest bit of interest in you, you run the
other way. They’re not all bad, they’re not all going to break your
heart or suddenly wake up one morning and realise that you’re not
that special.”

Hu!
I gasped silently. Mike hit the nail right on the head. That’s
exactly how I feel—I just didn’t realise it. How can he be so damn
switched on? “You know me better than I thought,” I whispered with
my eyes closed.