Hello, Amy

By: alicecullengirl

NOTE: This is the new version of Chapter 1 (if you read it before June 2009). Only a few things have been changed, but ever since the story ended I’ve been wanting to clean it up and patch some holes. So enjoy. - ACG

1. Somebody’s Sick Trick

“Whose name is this?” A tall yet stocky woman stood behind my usual teacher’s desk. Her monumentally bushy eyebrows were furrowed as she scanned her substitute attendance sheet. Mr. Maynard had apparently come down with some kind of bug, and he was being temporarily replaced by Ms. (emphasis on the Ms.)Wendell.

She’d just passed through the Ls, so I assumed she, like so many others, was stumbling across my name. Embarrassingly, she attempted to sound it out, but ended up with A-mee-kay.

“It’s Amyca, like ‘Micah’ with an A in front of it.” I sighed, shaking my head at the stupid attempt to get this woman to understand. “You can just call me Amy.”

“Okay then, Ameeka—?”

“Really, Amy is fine.”

Ms. Wendell scratched something out with her pen, “Amy McKenna, then.” She then proceeded in drilling down the rest of her list while I tuned her out. I took a deep breath, leaning back in my seat when I was sure no one was looking, and carefully placed my hands on the bottom on the desk, palms up.

I exhaled when my fingers felt the familiar touch of the paper which had been lazily taped there. I ripped it off like a Band-aid and placed it on my desk, ripping the tape seal like a child rips the wrapping paper off their first Christmas present.

Another letter. Over the last week, each English class, someone had been leaving letters for me under the desk. But they weren’t quite letters of secret admiration or blackmail threats; they were just letters from somebody. The equivalent of small-talk in conversation, asking me how things were going, what I’d been up to lately and the like, along with a recounting of their day so far (with names and most places redacted, of course). It was almost like they were talking to themselves—well, technically, they were. They were innocent enough, except for the puzzling fact that they were written to me of all people, and that I had no idea who was putting them there. Something about the handwriting hinted that these letters were from a boy, though. I couldn’t say how, but it just seemed that way. I’d even nicknamed him Scratchy because of the manner in which the words seemed scratched on the paper by and angry person. Or a crazy person. I was excited and anxious to see what today’s letter would say, with full appreciation of the fact that it might very well be from a stalker or some pervert who watched me from afar with binoculars like in the movies.

I suppose that’s the downside to not having a made a single friend since I moved here. I’ve become a first-stage attention addict, craving any other human contact I can find. Which is not the safest thing, for obvious reasons.

I flattened the letter on my desk, wondering how many times it had been balled up, as the substitute called for sustained silent reading time. It seemed more like the woman was teaching rowdy grade-schoolers than high school juniors. Like maybe she was afraid we’d start jumping on our desks if we weren’t put to busywork immediately. The scratchy handwriting—that had become so endearing to me lately—made me smile as I read the lines:

Hello, Amy—

After getting so many of these letters from me, I’m guessing you didn’t hesitate to rip this one off the bottom of our desk. Not that I’m flattering myself, but I like to believe my magnetic demeanor can be felt even through notebook paper. I’ll bet Wendell wasn’t even halfway through her attendance list this time. Ha! Since we’ve got her today, you’re probably going to want to read slowly in hopes that this letter takes you through to the end of class, which I’m sure is just wishful thinking on both our parts. I’m seriously considering running the woman over with my car. Sorry I can’t give you a full account of my day this time. I’ve been completely out of it since I woke up this morning, so it would be a waste of time to recount the five minutes I can remember in which I bought a sandwich at lunch and then went promptly on to eat it. Write me back something hopeful. I kind of got detention from Wendell (don’t even ask), but I’ll try to get this seat so I can read the note you went out of your way to write back. I think Wendell is checking me out from her desk, so I’m going to go puke on her desk now. On second thought, I don’t want to be punished any further, so never mind. --Scratchy. (Nice nickname, by the way)

I smiled down at the crinkled paper, fishing a black pen out of my book bag. Scratchy had left me the whole back of the paper on which to write, so I didn’t hesitate to.

Hey—

Another mysterious letter from Scratchy, I see. Seeing as Wendell has us “silent reading” like Kindergarteners, I can’t see how you could have gotten detention so easily. But no complaints here. At least you’ll get my letter faster. I’ve decided that I’m going to give up trying to figure out who you are because you could easily be one of the thousand kids who sit in this room every day, and those numbers give me the worst kind of headache. But there are some ideas I have about you. You don’t have to admit to them either way, and you’ll probably end up sending me cryptic, one line letter saying I’LL NEVER TELL MUAHAHA after I tell you, but I might as well. So First: have a feeling that you are a boy, Second: I think you are older than I am, and Third: I’m certain that I don’t know you personally outside of school. And that is all. --Amy

P.S. Also. Do you know any more about me than my nickname? Like, what’s my real name? Talk to you soon. Well, not talk, but you know.

I wanted to laugh at the strangeness of writing personally to a boy I knew nothing about, but at the same time it was nice to see into someone else’s mind, even just for a little while. Still, it would be a lie to say that this wasn’t just a bit weird. I refolded the note and pulled back the tape, flattening it against the bottom of my desk before pulling out my copy of the latest Harry Potter book and skimming through the last chapter, tempted to put my feet up on my desk.

When class ended and reality flooded back to me, I jumped up from my seat to leave the classroom, but someone grabbed onto the back of my jacket and I tripped over my desk. Just glamorous. I looked, frustrated, into the eyes of the boy I immediately wished I hadn’t. I knew this kid by heart, from the blond hair to the blue eyes the color and consistency of ice, even his Aberzombie uniform was there: polo shirt with khakis shorts and flip-flops that look like they’d been abused before he even bought them. He was the sun and moon to all of the girls and boys in school, and that kind of made me hate him.

Lee “Leave-Me-Alone” Harris was smirking at me. The universal sign of shit to come, especially when you are the one person in school he hasn’t ever taking a liking to. Or even bothered to treat decently.

“Who are you writing letters to, Freakette?” Did I mention how mature he is? I straightened myself up after he let go of my jacket, and I was turned around in my chair, sitting on my desk, facing him in the empty classroom.

“Your mother,” I rolled my eyes, wondering why he was wasting his time. The seconds ticked on and my skin began to crawl. “Don’t you have some schoolgirls to pimp out on people?”

He scowled at me, but then his eyes softened, recovering quickly. “Just because less than half the school even acknowledges you, don’t take it out on me.” Maybe less than that.

“Maybe if you didn’t act like you can do whatever you want whenever, I wouldn’t have to.” I didn’t need this. I shifted on my desk, moving to leave, when he took my arm and pulled me inches from his face. I could smell Dentyne on his breath. The aroma was harsh, pushing me away more than it pulled me in.

“But you see, I can do whatever I want,” he whispered in my ear. And then his lips were on mine and he was holding my face to his.

I’ll admit, that was a shock. I’d been kissed before, but not so - suddenly. I was oddly curious where this would go, and I didn’t move. Like I was watching the scene unfold rather than actively participating. Lee’s hands were hot against my skin, where mind were cold and clammy, gripping the desk. His hands left my face, dropped to my neck, and then to the buttons on my shirt.

“What the fuck?” I jerked away from him and fell back onto my desk, propped up only by my elbows. His hands were vices on my arms. I had lost all control in about three seconds, and Lee was smiling like an angel. It was a genuine smile, but his eyes were laughing. A passing witness would think he must have some secret affection for me, kissing me when he could be hanging out in more savory company. But I knew better. Sick minds aren’t reasonable, and Lee was definitely the sickest. “I thought I was the freakette,” I breathed, trying to remind him exactly why this should not be taking place, not just with us but ever, as I have always thought flamboyant displays of affection in school were more than just a little trashy. Especially in empty classrooms.

His didn’t answer for a while. He gave me a once-over, then a twice-over, until I wondered what he was looking for. There was no intensity in his face, like hovering over Amy McKenna was something he did every day after English and before sixth period. I noticed idly and lack of blood flow to my hands as they began to tingle. “You’re a total freak, sure, but you’re hot, too.”

I wondered if he was just being an ass. Average, sure. Pretty, maybe. But I was far from hot. I made sure of it. I was putting half of the Walmart employees’ kids through college.

He half-shrugged and then kissed me again. I glared like a five-year-old for the better part of five minutes. I wondered what you were supposed to do in this situation. I had the upper-body strength of a cancer patient. I wasn’t about to start smacking or anything. No, I’d seen Lee in action before, taunting freshmen and beating them up when they got on his bad side. I wasn’t exactly standing in line to get punched in the face by Lee Harris. Not that I was scared of him, but he could make a girl nervous.

Anyway, Lee was all about numbers. Everyone knew that. Every girl was a conquest to him. Another notch on his belt that he probably never looked twice at again. I was hoping for that. Maybe a bit of face time with Lee Harris was all I needed for him to ignore me the rest of my life like all his other girls.

That seemed like a fair enough trade to me. I figured the better I was, the farther he’d run. I’ll admit I helped him out just a little bit. I wanted him to see what he could have in a girl if he wasn’t so busy being a dick all the time.

I kissed back, and tasted and overwhelming amount of mint. It made my eyes water a little. I wondered if Dentyne had replaced all his meals or something. But it was fine, and kind of nice until the harmlessness started to wear out and Lee’s hands went back to my shirt.

I turned my cheek the other way and pushed him back with my free hand.

“What? You’re hot,” he repeated with the voice of a little kid caught stealing from the cookie jar. What? They just taste so good. Like that was his excuse.

“Well, now that you’ve gotten a free ride on Amy, you can text all your friends and that'll be that.” I jumped down from the desk, headed for the door and scowling because the break between classes was almost over.

“It’s not quite that simple, Amy.” Lee’s matter-of-fact voice spoke from right behind me and made me jump. “I still have fifth period English every day, and we still have a ten-minute break right after,”—he lowered his lips to my ear—“And I still have to sit behind you in agony the whole time.” What a creep. He straightened up and walked me out of the classroom as a group of seniors walked by. “So I don’t see how that changes anything.” He gave me a fake, borderline-friendly smile, chuckling, and patted me on the head. As if there’s anyone alive who likes being patted on the head. “I sort of own you for ten minutes a day, if you don’t mind.”

He winked, and I scowled. “I do mind. Very much so. If you hadn’t noticed, we kind of hate each other.”

“I never said I didn’t hate you, Amy. But unlike you, I can do anything I like, remember?” He dropped his voice. Is that what this was about? Was he mad because I'd challenged his limitless authority over everyone? “So you really don’t have a choice.”

He backed away casually, waving at me like an old friend, and then he turned and jogged over to the staircase where a few of his friends were going down to the science wing.

I wiped some of Lee’s spit from my bottom lip and walked dumbly up the opposite staircase. I nearly crashed into a wall when I remembered that I had last period history with him today. It was like I couldn’t get away from him. Maybe this was how he’d planned it. My subconscious had a field day thinking of all the odd things Lee might try while we were both sitting in the dark watching movies about American Revolution.

Hate Lee. Haaaate Lee. Or get your head checked. Review please. Flames welcome, totally. --alicecullengirl