The Quiet

I followed her gaze to the other side of the room, where there were two windows. One was closed tightly. But the other was opening slowly. I could see some kind of shadow come over the bottom.

Someone was coming inside.


2. Clay Davenport

There were whispers about a new girl. People said she was hot, but in my experience that usually meant that she was average. So, naturally, I had to investigate for myself. That’s what I did, after class let out. I only saw her back at first, because she was walking, but then she stopped and turned.

Her brown hair was layered and angled, cut to just below her shoulder, and the tips were pure white. Her eyes, outlined with liner, were the color of slate. She stood in a pair of jeans, an Anberlin shirt, and an annoyed expression, her gazed locked on something across the hallway.

I looked in time to see two of my least favorite people — Terry Sharpe and Liam Callahan — fighting by the lockers. They were throwing the softest punches I’ve ever seen, and all the while, glancing at the new girl.

This pissed me off more than their constant need to make sure I got humiliated at least once a day. That I could handle. But this, this was intolerable. Not only were they being complete jackasses, but they were doing it to impress a girl that would never look their way.

I took a step forward, fully intent on telling the two of them to knock it off. Suddenly, someone decided to get in my way. They were just passing by, but it was enough as they slammed into my shoulder. I stumbled and hit something solid.

Terry Sharpe, who reminded me of a bear, turned around. He stared at me like I was a leper or something vile, then he reached out and grabbed my shirt. I didn’t have time to react before his fist made contact with my face.

There was no time for me to do anything, because before I knew what was happening, I was sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling. All I heard was the laughter of the students around me before I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I saw her face swimming in my vision.

Then she reached out, touched my face, and asked me if I was okay. My heart jumped when her fingers brushed my skin, and it took me a moment to form an answer.

It wouldn't be until later that I would find out how important this girl was to me, and how I would do anything not to lose her.

Even if it meant committing murder.

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