Page 2 of The Other Half

I look over to see who just spoke to me, and I realize I’ve never met this girl before, or even seen her around. I’ve known almost everyone at this school since I was in kindergarten, and we very rarely get new students. Living in a small, mountain town means that just about everyone knows everyone.

I flick my eyes from her face down her body. She’s wearing Doc Martens with a bright pink skirt, and her shirt has a rainbow on it. Not exactly my taste in clothing, but I’m kind of impressed. Most people here wouldn’t be brave enough to wear something like that out of the house. Her facial expression doesn’t exude the level of confidence that her outfit suggests though. She reminds me of a mouse, small and timid, with delicate features.

She’s cute, in a goody two-shoes sort of way. Her sandy colored hair hangs right above her shoulders. It doesn’t look like she’s wearing any makeup, but her eyes are strikingly pretty. They’re a dark shade of green that reminds me of a deep, mossy forest. And they hold some kind of emotion in them that’s hard to read. Fear, maybe?

“Thanks.” I grab the pencil from her and she smiles nervously.

I suddenly realize that I’m staring at her a beat longer than what’s socially acceptable and twist my head back to the front of the classroom. For some reason, I spend the rest of class thinking about those eyes.

* * *

I plop down my tray onto the gray lunch table that I’ve been sitting at for the last three years. I’m so fucking ready to be done with this place. I feel like I haven’t gained anything from being here, and all it does at this point is depress me to see the same faces day in and day out.

“Okay, what is she wearing?” Amber announces to the entire table, covering her mouth while she laughs. All of us ignore her except for her equally vapid friend, Kaylee.

“Who is she?” Kaylee asks, her head twisted around to no doubt gawk at someone without any decorum.

I sigh. “Who gives a fuck?” I say under my breath. I have no idea who they’re talking about, but I can’t believe we’re almost adults and they’re still acting this way. I’ve never been interested in high school drama.

“You haven’t seen the new girl yet?” Amber switches her seat to the one next to me. She points at the back of someone’s head. “That’s her.”

I grab her arm and pull it down. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to point? And also, why would I care?”

“Because we haven’t gotten a new student, like, since we were freshmen. It’s just surprising. Where did she come from?”

I glance back at the person she was pointing at, suddenly remembering the new girl I met in art class. Well, I don’t know if we really ‘met’, but I saw her at least. “I have a class with her. She seems nice.” I take a bite of my food, purposely not divulging any more information. Not that I have any. We hardly exchanged three words.

“Nice?” I sense a slight tone of jealousy in her voice and I can’t help but laugh. We’ve had this on again off again thing since last year, but it’s never progressed past anything physical. Still, she gets jealous when I call a girl nice? It’s almost laughable.

I shrug. “Yeah. What else do you want me to say?” My eyes follow as the mysterious new girl gets up from her seat and tosses her uneaten lunch in the trash. She sits back down at the table where she’s completely alone. I almost feel sorry for her, I know it can’t be easy making new friends in a place like this. Most of the kids here are assholes.

“She looks weird.” Example A.

“I think she looks…” my voice drifts off, unsure of where I was going with this comment. “Interesting.”

Amber gasps in mock offense, but then lays her hand on my thigh. “Don’t go running around on me with the new girl, Ollie.” She smiles sweetly, acting as if she wasn’t just being a total bitch for no reason.

I grab her hand and squeeze it, but not in an adoring way. As much as I don’t mind having somewhere to stick my dick, she gets on my fucking nerves more often than not. And lately, it’s just getting worse. Sometimes I wonder if I should just cut it off entirely. It’s not like there aren’t other girls that would be down for a roll in the hay.

At the moment, though, I’m not in the mood to listen to her whining. So I press a chaste kiss on her cheek and pretend to smile.

Chapter 3

Oakley

As I unlock the front door, I can feel the tension inside my house already. When I step inside I hear my mother’s jaded voice, she’s always the one trying to keep the peace, compromising. She’s learned not to protest, because when she did she’d end up battered and bruised. The image of her beautiful face marred by a black ring around her eye flashes through my mind, and I try my best to push it away as I move through the house, away from their staggering voices. I assume they’re in his office, so I head the other direction to the kitchen.

“God damn it, Denise,” I hear his slurred voice yell, echoing through the house. “I’ve had enough of this same shit from you every day!” His stomps grow louder, moving through the house like a thunderstorm. He nearly runs into me as he continues his tirade into the kitchen. He swings the refrigerator door open violently, causing some of the contents inside to rattle and nearly fall out. “When did you get home?” he grumbles.

“Just now. I took the bus, because Mom said she couldn’t pick me up today.”

“If you’d learn how to drive you wouldn’t have to rely on your mother to do everything for you. You know I’d buy you whatever car you want, so what the hell is the problem?” he spits as he pulls a Sam Adams from the bottom drawer of the fridge. I can tell he’s already been drunk for hours, his sweat reeks of gin.

I guess he had the day off because instead of his usual suit and tie he’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans. His hair looks unkempt and he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow. He’s a handsome man when he puts effort into his appearance, but he clearly hasn’t today.

“I’m going to soon, Dad. I promise.” There’s no use in trying to explain myself to him, I’ve learned that the best thing to do is just agree with him, especially if he’s already drunk. Even when he’s stone-cold sober, Daniel Matthews is a cold and callous man. When he’s drunk, though, he becomes violent on top of it. And for whatever reason, I still desire his admiration, even though I haven’t felt it in a long time.

When I was younger I mentioned to him on several occasions how his drinking habit affects me. I told him that it scares me, how I don’t want it to affect his health, how I feel like he becomes someone else when he drinks just a little too much. But none of my complaints made an impact, instead his drinking has only gotten heavier over the years. He says he needs it to cope with his leg pain.

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