The schools here are disturbing. Crime and gangs everywhere, and I swear these teachers did not go to the proper schooling to actually teach us. From the ages two to three I lived in a big city, but I hardly remember anything. Although, I do remember the distinct smell of hot dogs and urine in the streets. But, here I am again, at the age of thirteen, in a city. Me and my family lived in a town, not a small town, but definitely not a city.
After my parents divorced, which was quite recently, around two years, we moved back here again. My parents divorce didn’t hurt me at all. My mom married my dad for money, we all know that, and he was never at the house. Instead, he was at work. After my mom realized this is not the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, the lawyers started to come to the house and ask me questions. I don’t really remember the questions, but they were simple, meant to cause no harm.
“How old are you?”
“Do you like mom or dad better?”
I don’t know what happened after that, but soon me and mom were on the road to my new home. This awful city.
There are some good things about it though.
I’m sitting in my class right now. My teacher, and basically everyone else, is on there phone. I don’t bring my phone to school. My mom says it will get stolen, and for good reasons. Outside it is raining. It’s always raining. I don’t really like it. Unless, I’m inside and alone. Then, I can write and have my mind to myself. Writing is more of a hobby for me, nothing more, nothing less. I have always been a day dreamer, making up stories in my head. They make me happy, even though I know they won’t come true.
My thoughts, my hopefully beautiful thoughts, get interrupted by a young man who walks in. Yes, it is him. Axel. He is indeed the cutest boy I have ever seen in my life.
We met last year, when we were both in seventh grade. We had two classes together and we kinda of just hooked. But, after the semester ended, and we had different classes, we got split up. I wish we could have been friends after that. Or more than that. He is way out of my league, and has many more friends than me too. Only in my dreams do I date him, but he was kinda a jerk to me.
Whenever I would see him in the hall, he would have a girl at his hip-a different one every single time-and he would never look at me or even acknowledge me. Once he glanced at me, but he might have been looking at something else. And we weren’t that good enough friends, but still. He makes me feel guilty. Most of the girls I know, who know him, love him. So, I shouldn’t feel guilty about liking him. He can sometimes make me mad, too.
Once again, he doesn’t even look at me. Instead, his curly blonde and thick hair flips to the other side of his head and he starts walking to one of the boys in the back. They happen to be laughing back there, and I’ve learned to ignore them, but with him they laugh even louder. I hear them whispering about a boy, not in a nice way, who is sitting next to me.
I don’t get in the way. I think that will cause even more trouble. Here, I could get killed even if I did that.
For March, however, that task in a small one.
“Stop!” She screams at them. “You guys are a whole bunch of jerks! Leave Doc alone!” Is Doc he’s name? I have trouble remembering names.
Before March or the boys can get any more words out, the teacher talks. “Both of ‘ya! Stop talking or I’ll kill both you!” That seemed to shut the boys up, and March.
March is like the girl in elementary school who would go around pretending to kiss the boys and pull on girls hair. I wouldn’t want to be her enemy.
The rain soon stops after that, and the bell rings too. I decide to skip my next class. Skipping is a more of a common thing now, I guess. No, most of my friends and people I know don’t skip. But I find school to be a waste of my time.
And because that was sixth period, I can bike home. Biking home is not preferred, but it’s better than walking. All of the popular kids walk. I don’t know why. Either there parents are busy at work, too busy to pick them, just like my dad, or they choose to do that.
I wouldn’t like walking by the big and tall apartments. Knowing they could fall any second. The chances, unlikely. My mind will still go on and think that though.
I walk up to my bike. My bike is old, and it happens to get scratches, scrapes, bruises. Whatever you would like to call it. Although, those things are made by me, and I happened to memorize all of the things on my bike. Everything little thing. So, as I watch my bike now, seeing a scratch not made by me, makes me fill of curiosity. Has the school bullies finally caught on that this bike is indeed mine? Or was this a mere accident?
“Stay away from ‘em.” I hear, barely able to do so with the howling wind.
“Who?” I ask, clenching my fists.
“Axel. I see the way you look at him. Most people can’t, but I can. You hide your feelings well. I also see your screen, how you are typing all the time. Writing poems about him. I know you are. He’s mine, okay?” It’s a girls voice. I can hear it more clearly now. There getting closer.
“We never talk. I swear. I would never try to steal him away from anyone. It’s just a silly crush I have.” I say, undoing my bike chains.
“This is just in case you get any ideas.” They say, coming out of the corner. Christy. Axel’s ex-girlfriend.
“I understand,” I say, not really knowing, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hop on my bike and ride away as fast as I can. I hope I was not the only one who saw the knife in her hand.
The next morning, my mother made me toast and eggs. My mother usually sleeps in until the late afternoon, so it’s something different.
“Honey,” She says after I wash my plate off, “I have awful news.”
She nods her head to the television. Our old one, an antique she bought while she was with dad. It’s on the news channel, so I read the words at the bottom.
“BREAKING NEWS: TEENAGE BOY FOUND DEAD OUTSIDE APARTMENT.”
The boy on the television, is no other then Axel. His school photo and the crime scene picture. I sit on the couch, grasping for air. Just the thought of someone at my school being dead would make me cry, but Axel? I started bawling.
“They are letting the students have a day off. Tomorrow there will be a ceremony for him.” My mom said, then she left the room.
I know grief will attack me soon, but I won’t let it now. Maybe I can help this city just a bit and find who murdered my friend. First things first. Get the information I need.
I look at the television and search for the details I need.
“The victim was found with a knife in his stomach. The police think it was a local gang, or a mugging. They are also suspicious that someone from the school is guilty for the crime.”
Knife. School. It must be Christy who did it.
I bike to school, inhaling the fresh air. I know where Axel lives, and I’d rather not see all of the police cars and such, so I’m going to avoid that path.
Once I got to the school, I couldn’t see Christy anywhere. I spent all school day searching for her, and finally I came to the conclusion that she was not there.
Giving up on my lucid dreams, I walk outside. What I found was March, shaking on the ground. She had her legs crossed, and her hair was a mess. She was wearing her pajamas.
“March? Are you okay?” I ask, worried. “Is it about Axel?” It might have been too soon to say that.
“Yes.” Is all she says.
A sudden rush in my head causes me to trip on myself. I calm myself.
“Did you do it, March?”
“Christy was mad at him for breaking up with her. The relationship only lasted a week before Axel found a new girl. She asked me to help her, get revenge on him. The only thing I had to do was get her knife and threaten him with it, while wearing a mask. It got to close to his skin, and when it happened I just ran off.”
She wouldn’t stop shaking. I sat down and gave her a hug. She was a murderer. Of the boy who I loved.
I can finally let go of him, at last. He has been in my thoughts for so long, and imagining him laying in casket makes me want to cry. I haven’t accomplished my goal, of making this city a better place, but at least I know who did it.
“I won’t tell nobody. I promise.” I say, holding out my pinky. She nods and entwines her pinky finger with mine and we shake. A single tear rolls down her face, onto the concrete.
“C’mon, were going to be late for class.” She says.