She glanced at her watch again. 3:29, almost time to leave. She shifted in her chair, involuntarily eyeing the clock on the wall. 'Only eleven minutes to go,' she thought.
She tried to pay attention to the teacher droning on, but her thoughts drifted away, back to her daydreams. Thoughts of those lost came back to her, and she remembered things done. She remembered all the times she cried alone in her room, knowing no one cared about her at all.
Her eyes drifted once again to the clock. It seemed no time had passed at all. There were important things to be done once she got home.
"Jack..." she whispered under her breath.
It was all his fault. She knew she probably would never have gone to private school if it wasn't for him. It wasn't until she met him that she felt the pain of losing someone she loved. She had never told Jack that she loved him, of course. As much as she wanted to tell him, she knew he would have run away from her.
The thought brought a smile to her face. 'Ah, but it was I who ran away, Jack,' she thought. How ironic. She remembered the cold nights out on the streets, as she searched in vain for somewhere to belong. She had hoped to run to the woods, and live off the land. She intended to go north to New Hampshire, or Maine, and leave ugly Boston behind her. But she had failed miserably, just as she failed at everything else. Apparently, people cared a lot more than she thought they did, or they just felt bad for not caring. They found her before she could hide, ad forced her to tell why she had run away.
Then they realized that her "environment" needed to be changed. So they sent her off to the hospital, with all the other suicidal and crazy people, and when she returned, they had most definitely changed her "environment."
Her room was no longer disorganized and messy, but clean and neat. All of her paintings that she had painted herself of sad things were taken down, and replaced with "positive" posters that were supposed to encourage her. They got rid of the myriad furniture of hers, and in it's place was shiny modern-style furniture that she could only rarely touch. Her bookshelf was full of self-help books that belonged to her mother, instead of her scary books and sad books that she used to weep over. And then they took her out of public school and shoved her into a strict Catholic private school, called Saint Agnes Prep.
'The school isn't too bad,' she thought as she gazed around the room. She had made a few friends, but they didn't really care and neither did she. They weren't close like her old friends had been. Her old friends knew everything, and used it against her.
She glanced at the clock, then at her watch. 3:32. Her thoughts turned back to Jack. They had been close, too. Or at least, she thought they had. But he never cared, and he just ripped her heart right out. She hoped that he still cared, at least, a little. She had daydreams where he begged for her to come back to him, and she turned him down. but that would never happen. He was happy with the way life was going for him, her friends told her so.
She gazed at the clock, willing it to move faster. Why did her teacher always keep them until the last minute? 3:33. She remembered an old superstition from when she was young that if you made a wish when all the digits on the clock were the same, then it would come true. She silently made a wish that she could do what must be done.
Then she allowed her mind to drift off with thoughts of Jack. Memories of good things, memories of bad things. Memories of the first time he kissed her, thoughts of the last time he said goodbye. She drifted off into another world, and it wasn't until the bell rang that she came back down to Earth. She gathered her papers and started walking to her car.
As she brushed her long brown hair out of her face with her fingers, she wondered what would happen if someone found her while she was in the middle of it. Unlocking her door, she decided that no one would be outside in this weather. She sat in her car and listened to the rain pattering on the roof of her car. It reminded her of when she was little, and the rain used to be her favorite thing in the world. Looking at her face in the rearview mirror, she wondered what was so wrong with her to make him not love her. She gazed at her sad blue eyes, then started up the car and began the long drive home, being careful in the rainy weather.
When she got home, she sat at her desk in her room. She pulled a notebook and pen out from her book-bag, and placed them on the desk. She began to write short letters, jotting the words down quickly. She wrote about twelve, for her family friends, and Jack. When she finished, she glanced at her watch.
"Perfect," she said with a grim smile as she noted that it was 4:35.
She neatly folded all the letters in half, and wrote names on the tops. She stood up and stacked the letters in a neat pile in the middle of her desk, then briskly walked out her door, then walked outside. She knew exactly where she was going, she had planned her route precisely.
Soon she was at the bank of a small pond. The pond was picture-perfect, and there was only one opening in the brush where one could get through to the water. This was where she stood.
She glanced at her watch one final time, and realized that it was 4:44.
'Well,' she thought, 'I guess I'll have one more go at that wishing thing... I wish... I wish that he will care.' She opened her eyes, Then waded out into the water. When she got waist-deep, she submerged herself and moved to the deepest part of the pond. For a moment she panicked, for she could not seem to keep herself under the water. Then she calmed herself down, and attempted to breathe in the water. She splashed violently, disrupting the picture-perfect little world.
Ten minutes later, the pond was still once more. It was still the picture-perfect little pond it had always been, except for one difference. In the middle of the pond floated a lifeless body. She was dead.
The funeral service was held three days later. Many people cried, but there was someone who did not look sad at all. He came with another girl, whom he did not try to comfort her at all. She glared at him for so blatantly not caring.
After the funeral, quite a few people went to her house to pay their respects and attempt to comfort her grieving parents.
Jack slowly descended the stairs, reaching the door to her room. As he opened the door, he wondered what he might find behind it. A group of bloodshot-eyed girls sat in a semicircle in the middle of her room. They all had pieces of paper in their hands. One slowly stood up, and walked slowly over to Jack. She handed jack a piece of paper similar to the ones the other girls were holding. By looking at the handwriting on the front, he could tell who wrote it. He quickly read the note, but stopped when he reached the poem. She never let anyone read her poems.
"There's a poem in it," he said blankly, breaking the eerie silence.
A sob escaped the throat of one girl, and another slowly looked up from her letter and spoke.
"Well, then, why don't you read it to us? It might help us figure out why she did it," she said as a tear slithered down her face.
Jack rolled his eyes and sighed with impatience. He knew they had deserted her in a time of need, like he had. And then he began to read:
"Goodbye dear Romeo,
not all love can be returned.
But these feeling I had for you,
was if my poor heart burned.
You never cared about me,
I was just there for the ride.
Oh, Romeo, Romeo.
You don't know how much I cried,
how much I prayed,
that you would come back.
But you never did.
You ran away from me, Jack.
And life goes on for some,
but not for me.
Now I die for you Romeo,
will you face Reality?
Have a good life without me,
have lots of fun?
There's no way to undo it,
I've done what must be done."
He folded the letter up, then stuck it in his back pocket. For the rest of his life, he avoided Death as best he could so he would not see the only girl who ever had and ever will truly love him. Some wishes don't come true; he didn't care.