Mary always had problems remembering things. Maybe she had short term memory loss, or was it long term? Mary is on a hunt for friends in high school, but the friends she comes across aren't exactly the friends she had in mind.

[Yellow content due to some blood and disturbing descriptions readers discretion advised]


1. Samuel Christen

It’s hard to remember everything when all you have is fragments, but thats all my mind can seem to hold onto anymore. All I have is little detailed moments, and they have manage to scatter themselves and leave gaps. Some of them are sweet and small, others are just big pieces of scenery. Then there’s the pieces I’m unsure of. I remember dreams sometimes that are too clear and impossible to separate from reality. Others are easier, like how that boy shot himself in my bathroom covering the sink in blood, but the next day he’s leaning on the lockers in the hallway.  

 I’m sorry if this story is choppy because of it, but its the best I can do. I don’t remember much of what happened to me it’s more like I just know it did. So in my confusion I’ll try to tell you the real story, but it’s not as easy as you think.


I don’t know what is wrong with me, or even if something is wrong.

I met them back in freshmen year. I really didn't know what I was getting into ,or really that I was getting into anything, I was just on the desperate search for friends. It all started back in Geometry with Mr. Hubb. Mr. H had his grey hair combed back and his large square glasses kept falling to his noise; he looked like the stereotypical math teacher. I was stuck next to a preppy girl whose ponytail kept flying around, she talked in a high voice while playing flappy bird on her IPhone. The guy behind me was one of those kids who carries around dueling cards from various card games. The boy in front of me was kind of strange.

He wore a hooded jacket even though it was mid August. His smooth black hair clawed at his eyebrows. He looked like one of those white kids who tried to pretend they were black, but never once did he brag or even say anything those first few days of school. I think it was his eyes that really shocked me at first. They were dark blue around his pupil and iris, but the rest was a solid icy blue. Those eyes could give you a cold hard stare that'd pierce right through you, but never did he glare me down. Instead, anytime he looked at someone he looked like he was just reading. It wasn't judgmental nor did he only glance. It was like he could learn all your secrets by just looking at you. Honestly, it was a little creepy.

I tried to ignore him while scribbling down notes, but I'd catch him every now and then looking over his shoulder watching me. Every time I caught him watching me he didn't quickly glance away like a boy with a crush. He stared at my eyes with an almost confused and questioning glare before finally turning back around.

Finally, I built up the nerve to confront him and waited for him to turn around and glare. Mr. Hubb began his lecture, and we started taking notes, we went over the homework, and got our new assignment. Never once did the boy turn around. I was a bit bewildered. Did he figure me and all my secrets out already? A few more days pass and then a few more weeks. The boy still gazed at everyone in the room except me. Was I suddenly uninteresting?

I get that my black hair isn't the smoothest, and my brown eyes don't exactly stop people in their tracks, but there has to be more to why this boy was glaring at me besides how I look. Still, the days rolled by until one day I just couldn't handle this strange confusion anymore.

I sat behind the boy and waited until the last few minutes of class. Mr. Hubb gave us permission to speak. Immediately the words pushed their way out of my mouth, "What's with you and the staring?"

The boy glanced over towards me with a blank expression, and just stared for a few minutes. Finally he broke his still gaze with a satisfied smile, "Well," He started. His voice was higher than most guess, but at the same time still soft. "Usually when I stop staring at people they're just thankful that the creepy kid in class stopped staring at them. But some kids become anxious and worried when someone watches them for too long and then just suddenly stop as if they answered their own question. It makes certain kids nervous, certain kids who have a truth they don't want to be told, or certain kids who've crossed a very dark line." I was taken back by the answer. What secret did I have? What dark rumors could a freshmen possibly hold? 

I shook my head at him confused, "Why in the world would you want to know that?"

The boy pulled down his hood and put on an honest expression, "It's kind of a hobby with me and my friends."

"It's a hobby to dig at other peoples personal life?" I asked with concern in my voice. He laughed and shook his head, "No, it's a hobby to guess. We take it as inspiration for our . . . stories."

My curiosity pushed out another question, "Are you any good at guessing?"

The boy turned around completely in his chair and leaned towards me, "You are a very insecure girl."

"Like that's uncommon." I tried to sound convincing.

"I'm not done," He said while holding up a finger, "You're very insecure about your body in general. You're never comfortable where you sit, and you always have to keep moving. You find some way to hide your body even though you have clothes on. Did some one find you disgusting when they saw you naked?"

I felt my face turn bright red. My first year in gym was the first time someone saw me almost naked. I was an only child, and my parents found it inappropriate to speak of things like sex and women's bodies. I never knew girls were suppose to shave their legs or arm pits. So when I changed in front of the other girls for gym they called me disgusting and laughed, "Harry Mary." Ever since than I changed in bathroom stalls.

"Not to bad I guess." I said quietly with my face white as snow.

I saw the boys blue eyes soften, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embrace you. Tell you what I'll make it up to you. How about you come to our meeting after school I'm sure it'll make you feel better." The boy handed me a piece of paper with a room number on it. "What's your name?" He asked as I put the paper in my pocket.

"Mary Abell, and you?"

"Samuel Christen." He answered with a smile. Suddenly the bell rang and just like that Samuel Christen was gone. 

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