The Silent One
By: Rheina Zysiks

If one were to see me in the school halls, you would notice but not care. There are things worse in high school society than being invisible. At least when you are not seen the eyes of judgment are not scrutinizing your every move, mistakes, and failures. Lucky are those how are invisible and could go through high school unscathed.

But unfortunately, I am not one of those. Many know me, judgments have been made, and my role as 'the silent one' is set in stone. Although not completely on my own island of solitude from my peers, I am somewhat a 723, or loser from those lacking in slang proficiency, but by far not a loner. I do have those so-called friends or as I like to refer to them as mere consorts of fellow classmates who understand my lack of social outgoingness and leave me be.

It was a cruel chance of fate that my family moved to the middle of nowhere leaving me without the security of my loving relatives. Being the fourth child of five and the only girl, I never learned to like Barbie, or pink. From an early age sports, cars, and blue surrounded me. My mother from the beginning hated me, probably because I reminded her too much of herself, and after the birth of my youngest brother she left. No traces were left behind, and my womanhood was never to be. So to survive in the world of boys I had to become one: sarcastic, prideful, cynical, and ready to protect myself if needed. But for some odd reason, once I left the house I took the role of 'the silent one'. A boy named Walter coined the term first in freshman year of high school: 'the silent one' although the role was given to me since to this day I have yet to find out why I am silent at school. Maybe one day when I am lying on a therapy sofa the man behind the thick glass lens and clipboard will finally give me the answers I want, but until then I can merely speculate that I am just a weirdo.

I think it's been long enough of my rambling that you should at least know who is behind the madness, so let me start with an introduction... My name is Alena Lame. Ah yes, joke as you may, I have heard most already. From the very beginning I was cursed with surname so easily to be made fun of by peers so I adjusted. As the adage says: sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. But of course there is an exception, make fun of me in front of my brothers and you will soon find yourself in a situation where you are on the floor trying to breathe.

The air was cold, yet the sun was shining. For most the weather would leave you stupefied with a look of confusion spread upon your face, but for me this weather was nothing more than ordinary. You see I am from California, where the weather can be odd and the people are even odder.

"Miss. Lame," a voice, unfortunately belonging to a Miss De Marzo, interrupted my train of thought. I always hated Miss De Marzo. She seems more competent to be an older sister than a teacher, which is not saying much because I doubt she would do well in either. She always talked, she never had a moment without a random topic, and she had this tiny high-pitched voice, which resembles that of the stereotypical cheerleader, not to mention her inability to stay on subject. However, Miss De Marzo wasn't by far the worst teacher I have ever had but she ranked in the top. Despite the class being an easy A - anyone with the intellectual age of 10 could pass the class with no difficulty - I have learned nothing. I would much rather have hard teacher that has challenges at every turn than an easy teacher that would teach nothing and cause me to become nothing more than I already am, but that doesn't matter to the school counselors who are nothing more than high-paid dead weight.

Being brought back to reality I was disheartened to realize that I was supposed to do something, the look in Miss de Marzo's eyes told me so.

"Well?" Miss De Marzo looked utterly annoyed.

I stayed quiet. Silence, from my own personal experience, is a way to get out of an even bigger situation.

Miss De Marzo huffed and called another name. Like most people, silence was boring and so you had to move to another subject. "Luke."

I turned to the direction of the only boy - that I knew of - that had the name Luke. I almost laughed when I saw him. He had been sleeping; the drooling down his mouth was proof of that. His eyes were wide with anxiety. I always found it amusing when anyone wakes up from sleep; they always look at every direction with suspicion.

The annoyance in Miss De Marzo's eyes was all too apparent. "That's it everyone be quiet. I am not teaching anymore today." Miss De Marzo went to her desk in annoyance and instantly picking up her phone, probably to call her boyfriend and whine. Seriously, I can't understand how men could put with women like Miss De Marzo.

I sighed. Men, in my personal point of view, were stupid, especially the one's that fell head first for a woman to be more exact. Her brother’s were all stupid.

I almost jumped out of my seat when I felt a poking on my back. I sighed and turned around to face Delaney. He was just another playboy with an English twist, being that he came from England not too long ago. With jet black hair and these eyes that changed with whatever he was wearing not to mention the body of a regular teen heartthrob, he was the type of guy that a girl normally dates but could have a serious relationship with. Although being very attractive there wasn't much more to him. But if there was I have yet to see it.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked.

"My all too petty existence," I responded sarcastically. I wanted to turn back because I had nothing more to say. I didn't like talking, if people knew too much it could be used against you. I have seen it happen and since then decided not to open myself up.

"Did you get the Family Guy DVD's yet?"

Ah, so there was a reason for his need to poke my side. I shook my head. "Cole lent it to a friend," I replied. That was a lie. I had yet to talk to my brother Cole, not from lack of want but because he moved out and my father cut all ties to him meaning I couldn't talk to him either. Cole is my oldest brother. He is twenty and married because of wedlock. For most families around that would be normal but for my father and his traditional views that was unacceptable. So he disowned my brother. That was two months ago. "Don't you do anything else than waste away your life in front of a TV to watch a cartoon?"

Delaney pouted slightly. "So cruel!" he joked.

I rolled my eyes. He had not a single serious bone in his body. "An average person wastes one third of his or her life in bed, and you want to waste more time in front of a box, getting fat, and only getting up to go to the bathroom. It's unbelievable. I rarely sleep and being as my father thinks a TV is the devil's advocate, I don't waste time."

"And what do you do?"

"I paint. I exercise. I read--"

"I get the point..."

I smirked. "That's good. So for now on you should do something productive."

"Alright then. I am going to stop wasting time and spend more time on partying!"

I rolled my eyes, "You are useless Del."

He only grinned. "I try to be. You see, if people think you are incapable of doing a certain task than they take it upon themselves to do the task for you."

I raised an eyebrow in suspicion. The Delaney I knew didn't speak like that. "Where did you get that line?"

He chuckled lightly, "I saw it on TV."

I shook my head and turned back in my seat before he could say more.

Suddenly I felt a warm breath trickling on the side of my neck. The eerie feeling made me uneasy.

“And anyways I don’t get fat.”

I took a fairly deep breath as the warmth left my side. I turned to face him.

His eyes were green now with a grin so evident. “I am all muscle,” he added.

Suddenly I caught my eye on the past. My heart skipped. Who was he? And what was he doing here?

The first time I met him it was my first year in a Catholic private school. Rarely do I remember the past for the main reason was that it was far too painful to relive. But the day my life turned for the worst was that day, and for some reason I cannot seem to forget it.

He still had the same black eyes that when narrowed down in your direction would make you feel worthless. He seemed to grow up just the way I imagined. Ian Scott, the badass…