1 Separated

When did the rain become a storm?

When did the clouds begin to form?

Yeah, we got knocked off course by a natural force

And we'll, we'll be swimming when it's gone

-Beautiful Goodbye, Maroon 5

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Staring into an endless void, I saw a forefinger dangerously pointing at me, somehow declaring that my doom. I tried to flush off the accusing image from my mind when I heard my name being called somewhere seemingly far away. With no intention to pay any more heed than required, I tried focusing to find the body the voice belonged to.

Fighting my inner turmoil to fall back into the deep void of my churning emotions, I focused further.

"Ms. Soul this is the first time I have seen you so distracted. I have been calling your name for the past five minutes now. Sit up, and pay attention."

Am I still in class? Mrs. Sutton, our history teacher somewhere in her 60s, had a book in her left hand and was peering at me over her reading glasses that rested quaintly on her crooked nose. The class was not-so-unusually quiet. I looked around. Most of the students were drowsy like always, and one of them even seemed to be snoring lightly. Some of the students ahead me had turned around to get a look. I guess this is the one class that could make me more gloomy than I already was. The walls seemed to be closing in, I needed to get out of here.

I swung my bag over my shoulder and with slow undecided steps, I approached the teacher's desk.

"I am not feeling well, I need to visit the nurse", I murmured.

I waited for the teacher to sign the pass and left immediately. I felt drained of all my energy while I left the classroom. Even walking seemed like a job. But instead of going in for the checkup, I chose to rather go to the washroom.

I took a sharp turn on my way and came face to face with the golden boy of our school.

Jason Woods

A typical middle-schooler, with an unusual sense of humor and probably the reason why he ended up in mischiefs, most of which he easily got out of due to his Dad's familiarity with the school board. And he was the captain of our school's under-15 basketball team.

His sandy brown fringes came down shadowing one of his stunning blue eyes while he ran a hand over one side of his face. It seemed he was returning from his football practice as sweat trickled down his hair and he seemed a bit out of breath.

And if we don't count the random encounters due to a group activity, I haven't talked to him ever.

I just stood there and stared at his gorgeous face. Finally when I realized what I have been doing, a good minute after, in embarrassment, I decided to murmur a sorry and just bee-line for the washroom, making it look like I wasn't just shamelessly gawking at him.

So as planned, I dodged him and was about to cross him on my way, when my wrist was harshly gripped and pulled back.

Shocked by the sudden action, I let out a whelp and snatched my hand back. I cradled the spot in order to lessen the pain and directed furious eyes towards the culprit who gave this soaring pain. Amazingly though he didn't even had the decency to look sorry. Instead he just stood there smirking. That was until he looked at my face. Understanding flashed over him, his eyes softened, and concern was written all over his face.

He suddenly raised one of his hands as if to touch my face and I retracted.

"W-What the hell do you think you are doing?", my voice came out shaky but clearly audible.

"Are you hurt?" Am I hurt? Seriously? What kind of question was that?

"Um hello!? Did you seriously not realize? You just twisted my wrist!" I glared at him with a furious stare pointing the now reddening bump on my wrist for emphasis. His eyes moved to the spot, and he immediately looked guilty.

"I mean, Did someone hurt you?", he asked looking back dead into my eyes.

"Are you hard on hearing? Besides why would I tell you even if someone did?" I was getting frustrated now and my previously pissed off mood wasn't helping at all. Yes he didn't deserve these rude words, but it was none of his concern either.

"And they say chivalry is dead", he shook his head dramatically making an innocent-hurt expression.

"What do you want Jason?", I asked tilting my head to one side trying to figure out what new mischief he was planning in his calculative mind.

"To have a decent conversation with this pretty girl", he said with a wink, his smirk back on.

"Better find someone else to play your pranks on, I have got things to do", with that said, I started walking fast. But I stopped after a few steps, "and while you are at it, do take a shower Woods, you stink!"

Why did I say that? He didn't stink. If anything, he seemed like he just had a shower. If I was to go by the slight smell of Vanilla that still lingered in the air. So where was I going again? Oh the washroom!

Dropping my backpack near the sinks, I looked up just to stand face-to-face with a wrecked looking girl. One look and all my thoughts came swirling back. The image that the mirror reflected was me at my worst. My eyes were slightly swollen, brown curls that managed to escape my ponytail flew in all directions. Tear stricken cheeks were pale and flushed. With just one look, it all became clear. The sudden change in Jason's behavior and his asking again and again if I was hurt. He knew I have been crying.

I am Jennifer Soul. I am an introverted student in the final year of my middle school. An event that engulfed me in these sorrowful emotions was a significant one. Everything changed the day-before yesterday.

Day before yesterday, that was when the news of Granny's death came. She lived two blocks away from us. Most of our family lived around, in Bridgeville. I was very close to her. On many days, I just went back to her place rather than going back home. All my friends were welcomed there anytime and all our get-together were complimented with her special creme-filled cupcakes. She used to enjoy sitting with us and listening to our school stories. She also shared many of her past experiences. It was our favorite pass-time. Loosing her was a tornado of emotions going down for me.

I kept sulking in my dark room behind closed curtains, trying to find solace in the silence and mourning my loss. And that's how I ended up skipping school, two-days straight.

But there was more bad news to come.

Granny health started getting poor since last year, so Dad asked her to move in. But she was sentimentally too attached to her house and didn't wanted to leave. So she refused just like she had in the past several times. Dad was offered a promotion and high yielding job opportunity in West Abana. He refused twice already due to Granny's health. But now as there was nothing keeping him here, he decided to take up the offer. I think he secretly wanted to get away from the memories too. He never showed, but we knew the amount of pain he was going through was a lot.

So now, my worst nightmares were coming true, we had to move by the next month, after my mid-school graduation, and my brother Matt's high-school graduation.

You might be thinking why is moving such a big deal? Well, Bridgeville has been the place I was born in, the place where I grew up. Every memory good or bad is linked to this place.

Bridgeville is a small town on the suburban countryside of a huge city named West Abana. It has a silent crime free neighborhood, A small stadium, and a population of 2000 people, where everyone knew about everyone's business. Two grocery stores, one big public library and two convenient stores provided a daily meeting place to people. And then there were some industries and offices that spotted the place. West Abana, our source for anything out of ordinary, was a three hours drive away, connected with only two ways, i.e.; a famous bridge in the north over a wide river and a rarely travelled road lined with trees on both sides, further North-West, but it was quite a round-about route.

With no colleges in Bridgeville, most students preferred to move to West Abana. And that was exactly what me and my friends had planned initially. But moving out so soon was never an idea even in my nightmares.

While I stood there, staring at my face and recalling the events of recent days, a set of fresh hot tear drops rolled down my face, with me making bare minimum effort to control them. Soon before I knew, I broke down into a sob. Barely a minute would have passed when I heard the sound of echoing footsteps coming towards the washroom. I rushed into one of the stalls as I heard the sound of door opening, all the while I tried to suppress my sobs.

It sounded like two girls entered. "Jennifer is such a mess today, I could never have thought that girl has any emotions at all."

It was definitely Samantha. Her high pitched overly sweet voice, and vileness was unmistakable.

"Fuck off, Sam, its none of your business." The girl who reprimanded Samantha, seemed extremely furious. And I am pretty sure why.