1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Allen Rev 2

Name: Kathleen S. Allen
Genre: YA dark contemporary
Title: SHATTERED-REV 2


I don’t do well in crowds.

The shoving and jostling, sends me into panic mode. I should be able to get through this, no one else is panicking about their first day of high school. Old friends embrace one another, lockers bang, laughter rings out but it all fades to a distant echo as my heart speeds up and my palms sweat. Eager to get away from the crowd, I spot an open door up ahead.

Please don’t let me pass out.

The bubble of panic lodges in my throat and swells. Footsteps echo behind me. Through the door is the sweet scent of rain.

Holding my bag in front of me like a shield, I rush out. My gaze darts searching for a place to hide. The rain-soaked air cools the hot bubble. The bell rings for first hour and I breathe easier.

Welcome to the first day of high school, Zoey. Congratulations, you made it a whole ten minutes.

Careful not to get too wet, I duck under the eaves to watch the rainwater gush from the ends of the half-broken gutter pipe onto the dirt making muddy puddles at my feet. Glass panoramic windows afford me a view into the school. But if I can see in, my classmates can see out. I catch the gaze of a girl staring at me and I duck to scoot around a corner.

I jump when I encounter a boy who smiles the kind of smile I wish I could keep in my pocket. I blink, caught in its brilliance. Frozen deer-girl, blinking stupidly at this boy. His smile deepens and his bright blue eyes mesmerize me.

The overhang doesn’t afford much shelter. A sharp crack of thunder in the distance draws my attention. I don’t notice him reaching for me until he already has the strap of my leather satchel in his hand, tugging on it. I’m tempted to give it to him, all he’ll find in it is an empty wallet with the picture of a girl I like to imagine is my sister and my book of Poe poetry. Still, I’m not sure why he’d want it, so I tug back. He pulls harder, jerking me closer to him.

My gaze drifts to the ground wondering what this boy wants. Lifting my eyes to his, he smiles.

“Stay out of sight,” he says. “Or they’ll find us.” His soft, soothing voice surrounds me like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. I long to cocoon myself inside his words. My grip tightens on the strap of my bag and he finally lets go. I stagger backwards and press myself against the wall of reddened-bricks. And my heart beats so loud I’m sure he can hear it, but he gives no sign he can.

His tall, lanky frame lounges against the building. “I like the rain, too. It doesn’t rain much here so we have to enjoy it when it does.”

I press my back into the rough texture of the cool bricks and relax my hold on the strap.

The rain pummels the overhang and gathers into fat red drips at the edge. “It was night and the rain fell; and, falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood. And I stand in the morass among the tall lilies, and the rain fell upon my head-and the lilies sighed one unto the other in the solemnity of their desolation.’”

“Edgar Allan Poe,” he says. “And the red is from paint on the roof.” He inspects me as if he’s never seen a Poe-spouting girl before. “Do you write it or read it?”

“Both,” I say.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. Instead, he runs a hand through dark curly hair too long to be considered fashionable, unless he’s in a rock band. His gaze sweeps from the top of my head to my muddy Doc Marten’s and back up again to rest on my eyes.

I blink and his grin expands. “Freshman?”

“Yes.”

“From?”

“New York.”

I’ve already shared more than I usually do. Does he know about me? Do I have a scarlet letter emblazoned on me like Hester Prynne? Yes, I’m the same girl you saw in the news, I’m that Zoey Walker. Maybe I should’ve changed my name along with my address. My hands shake more than usual as I wait for the question everyone asks: what was it like to be kidnapped and held prisoner for six months? But instead, his eyes turn back to the now-muddy parking lot. My shoulders relax.

He doesn’t know about me.

The scent of the rain seeps through my skin and I want to keep it there as a memory for future rain-starved days. His cool gaze is on me again. His intense stare rattles me and my eyes dart to the left side, but there’s only another building, another brick wall. A nook carved prison just big enough for a small goth girl. I search his face as he scrutinizes me.

“Hold still.”

He reaches out a hand to my hair. I freeze and close my eyes, anticipating the first touch of his long fingers. I shiver breathless as he swipes at the top of my hair. A finger flicks at my cheek.

“Got it,” he says. I open my eyes blurry with visions and he shows me a tiny insect. “This critter was in your hair.” He puts the bug in the grass and it skitters away grateful for a stay of execution.

“You didn't kill it.”

He steps back and leans against the wall again.“Why should I? It’s not its fault your hair got in its way---.” He smiles. “---I’m Rowan.”

He expects me to say my name but I remain silent. When you know a person’s name, you have control over them. And no one has control over me.

Not anymore.

He leans one foot on the wall. My hand aches with longing. One touch. One touch and I’ll be lost. I make a sound halfway between a gasp and a moan. His gaze is kind on mine.

“You okay?”

I try to keep it inside but I have to get out of here or I won’t be responsible for my actions. This can’t be happening again.

I promised.

He turns toward me, blocking me in. I reach out a hand wanting to feel his skin against my palm. Needing to feel it. But before I connect, the door opens. We tip our heads to the side like dogs listening for their master’s voice. A youngish teacher with black-framed glasses too big for her face peers at us from around the corner of the building.

“I thought I saw someone come out here. Back inside, both of you. The bell for first hour already rang.” Her nasal, high-pitched voice grates on my nerves.

The rain plasters her hair to her head. Her curls droop like her expression. Little does she know she’s my savior. Breathing a sigh, I nod.

Rowan shrugs. He takes his time extracting himself from his position against the building. In a leisurely stride he walks to the door. I rush past him to stand in the hallway, breathing hard to focus on calming down.

“Get to class.”

She reaches up to smooth her wet hairdo and makes a face. Her brown and white flower-print dress hangs on her frame. She pushes her too heavy glasses up with one finger. “Well, why aren’t you going?”

Neither one of us moves. She sighs and holds out a palm to me. “Schedule.”

I reach into the top of my right boot and pull out the folded piece of soggy paper and hand it to her. She holds it between two fingers as if it’s contaminated and squints at it. “Library is down the hall, Miss Walker. Find it.” She gives the schedule back and I refold it and stuff it back inside my boot.

I’m not sure if I’ve been dismissed or not. I hesitate and glance at Rowan. His crooked grin shows his amusement.