idea #2 - new girl.

This is a story probably never to be written.

There she sat, eating lunch by herself. She had a peanut butter sandwich in one hand, a book in the other. I had always been curious about the new girl. She seemed like a normal person with a normal face and normal clothes…until you knew her personally.

I’d been hearing rumors that she was born into a psycho maniac family with a rock for a pet and a tent in the wilderness for a house. Others say she was in a terrible accident a few years ago and later vowed that she would never have any friends again. Both stories I couldn’t comprehend. If either of those events really occurred in her life, wouldn’t she be something other than your average Joe? Every day I examined her with curiosity. She never noticed that everyone was staring; she always walked to her next class standing tall with her shoulders wide. She always had her hair in a ponytail and a pencil in her ear. She wore the same jeans everyone else wore, sneakers that everyone else had, and a different color sweater on. She had hundreds of sweaters; she never wore the same one. That caught my attention even more.

Her name was Valerie, the prettiest name I’d ever heard. I sat next to her in science class, and I always watched her when she printed her name neatly on the “name” line on our assignments. Then she would stick the pencil back in her ear and look directly at the teacher, never at anyone else or anything. Never did she make eye contact with anyone except to the person talking to her. I had always been afraid to say anything, for she seemed to have the stare of a hawk. She didn’t have soft, gentle eyes; they were bitter and small. If she ever looked at me I would almost faint of anxiety. So, I kept to myself and never bothered to make conversation with her.

One day, she did look at me for the very first time. When she should really be focusing on the teacher, she turned her head and whispered to me, “What’s your name?” I froze, shocked by the sweet tone in her voice. Though her eyes didn’t look at all friendly, her voice comforted me.

After a few moments of no reply, she then asked, “Why don’t you ever talk to me? We do sit next to each other, after all.”

I finally managed to make my mouth move. “I’m Jillian. Jillian Crosby.” I held my hand out for her to shake it. She took it, obviously flattered that I finally spoke. That was when the teacher told us to quiet down. After that we never said anything ever again.

Now here she was, eating her sandwich with her nose stuffed in a book. She didn’t seem to mind that she was all alone and people were talking behind her back. She took tiny bites out of the bread and paused occasionally to turn the page in her book or take a sip from her water bottle. While my friends around me giggled about this strange new girl, I stared with awe and amazement. How could she not care about what others thought? For me, I felt that I always had to wear the perfect amount of makeup or just the right shirt to impress someone. It wasn’t until Mackenzie said something to me that I looked away.

Mackenzie was my best friend who had always lived next door to me since second grade. She and I climbed the trees in the park together, painted each other’s nails, rode bikes all the way across town together, hugged each other when one of us was down, and even smoked our first cigarette together. Of course, we coughed and gagged and promised we would never try that again.

“Jill, what do you think about that new girl Valerie?” Mackenzie asked, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re always staring at her; do you want to be her friend?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, taking a bite out of my pizza. “I just glance at her occasionally. Nothing wrong with that.”

My mind went blank right after I wrote that last sentence. So, what did you think of it so far? Even though it probably won't turn into a legitimate plot, it's a draft.

 ♥ Abigail ♥