I knew Lucky's eyes very well. They matched absolutely perfectly, both in that bright blue shade that looks almost fake. Lucky's are real. She has no money to waste on those colored contacts that they advertise in the beat-up magazines that we read. They're always beat up by the time we get them. Lucky likes to look at the celebrities and pretend that she is one. I'm not supposed to know that, but I read her journal last night. I shouldn't have, but I needed to know why she always gets that dreamy look in her eyes when we stop talking for a second.
Her eyes look like this pretty, big, blue marble that I had when I was little. My mom gave it to me. I remember my mom. After the accident, when they brought me here, I still had that marble in my hand. In fact, I met Lucky because of that marble. Some older kids had stolen it and beaten me up. I saw Lucky and looked into her eyes and felt like I had found my marble again. She was older than me and had been here longer than me. Her eyes turned warmer and she asked if I was okay.
Some days, her eyes are sad. It was a few months ago when Timmy Connors made fun of her at the school dance and she cried. Her eyes got all watery like a big blue ocean and then she cried. And just last night, when she performed in the talent show, they did that again. I thought she was good and I don't know why they booed her offstage.
It makes me sad to see her eyes like that. But today her eyes make me even sadder. Even as they sparkle in the light from the lamp by my bed, full of happiness and excitement and anticipation, they make me sad.
Lucky is leaving. So are her eyes.