Their Broken Pieces by Jessica Gomez
Chapter Eight
Jasmine
Today has been the longest.
The excitement from earlier over returning to school has long since vanished. It seems there are a lot of people that were excited for me to return, but those same people couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “Sorry about your brother.” By the end of the day, they decided to just stop talking to me altogether.
I wish I could say that I minded, but it’s an enormous relief. Besides, I was never friends with any of the kids from school. They were my brother’s crowd, not mine. Without him, I’ll probably be a loner.
I finally arrive at my last class of the day—Biology. Andrew is in two of my other classes, and he has made certain that we sit next to each other. In a way, it’s nice to have his attention, but I’m staying guarded. He seems genuine, but that still doesn’t tempt me to break down my wall and be open with him, or anyone.
I walk into class seconds before the tardy bell rings and hand my schedule to the teacher. Most of my teachers want to know where I left off at home school. It turns out that I’m ahead of the senior curriculum by half a year. Most of the teachers seem to agree that if I can finish the second half of the curriculum now, I could graduate four months early. That is the highlight of my day.
The teacher is about three-quarters of the way through the same speech every other teacher has given me throughout the day when a warm tingle shoots up my spine. My heart skips a beat and pounds hard in my chest. Eyes are caressing my body, sensing them as if fingers were dancing along my spine.
I know who’s behind me without turning. His presence dominates the room, while electrifying and wrapping my body with an unfamiliar aching need, commanding my attention. As much as I fight it, I’m helpless as I turn to meet his stare.
Instantly, his eyes lock on and capture mine. They hold for a moment before breaking away to trace the length of my body, clear down to my shoes. People have checked me out before, but none of them have ever been as obvious as Alex. As his eyes travel, he pauses on my breasts, then my hips, and makes his way back up to pause on my lips for a second longer before meeting my eyes again.
The teacher’s voice breaks through the fog lingering in my brain.
“Have a seat at the desk in the back, Miss Heartly.” She smiles, noticing where my gaze lingers, oblivious to the silent burst of energy radiating between us. “Mr. Navarro, please take a seat next to Miss Heartly.”
What?
I make my way to the back of the room without tripping or falling on my face,and all toowell aware of his body heat drawing closer. With each step, my backside grows warmer, enticing me to curl into his warmth like a cat. This is not helping the oath I made to myself to stay away from him.
We take our seats and both of us try not to make eye contact. He clears his throat, but otherwise, remains silent.
I try hard to pay attention to what the teacher is talking about, but it’s useless… I’m lost. All I hear is Charlie Brown’s mom, “Wa, wa, wa, wa, wa.”
Every ounce of my attention is focused on Alex. Every movement, the smell of his cologne, the sound of his breathing. He has all of my senses heightened, in overdrive, with his proximity. I don’t remember him smelling this way—like a damp forest after the rain. Half a day with him and my resolution is crumbling, seconds from being thrown out the window to become a stalker.
After what feels like eons, the bell rings, signaling our dismissal for the day. I snatch my bag and head for the door as fast as I can, seconds from being home free, only to have him call out to me once I’m in the hall.
“Jasmine, wait up,”
Without thinking, my body reacts, and stops for his deep voice.
Traitor.
I meet his chocolate eyes and watch the gold flecks flair, but words stick like peanut butter in my mouth, allowing him to speak while I stare. His fingers comb through his magnificent hair, then squeeze the back of his neck. A nervous tell I remember from when we were friends.
“Listen,” he begins. “I know we haven’t talked in a long time, but I don’t want it to be weird between us.” He flinches slightly, signaling that even he knows what he just said sounded lame. “What I mean is… we used to be friends.”
His unsure, pleading voice is the furthest thing from a hard-core gang member. He just seems like my old friend, Alex. But the next words tumble from my mouth without my permission, stunning us both.
“Well, that was before your dad killed my brother.” A shocked breath escapes with my words. My face remains calm, but my eyes are wild. I can’t believe I said that. How could I say such a thing? He’s as much a victim of the accident as I am. He lost his father and sister in the wreck, too.
The look in his eyes tells me that I cut him.
“If that’s how you feel about it…” He nods with understanding and turns to head in the other direction, mumbling, “Esto es cómo es?” His sudden change to Spanish leaves me there clueless, and completely ashamed.
The further he gets, the harder my stomach rolls with nausea, as if his retreating form is stripping away a broken piece of my soul. But I remain silent. I don’t call out to him the way I’m longing to; it needs to be this way. Letting him into my world, as much as I fear I might want to, would only end badly.
Once I’m home, my harsh words are on repeat. The longer I dwell on them and his expression, the more guilt churns my insides. By two in the morning, I’ve berated myself enough to apologize. I can avoid him and not be an asshole. At least not about the accident.
Once realizing what a complete bitch I was today, I knew a good night’s sleep was a wash. I could only be thankful that today was one of those days my mom drank herself into a stupor, not waking the entire night.
After the shittastic first day back at school, I needed the night off.