FireFlies Chapter 1 part 2

Once the bell rang, Ollie made her way to her locker in silence. Her head was hung low; her straightened, brown hair fell in front of her face.

She heard the murmurs coming from the other girls; it was obvious they were talking about something. That something being her.

Once she got to her locker, she did the combination and swung the locker door open. She pulled out her History notebook and then her planner. As she closed it, her friend Cordelia stood there, a grim expression on her face.

Cordelia and Ollie had been best friends since grade school, when Ollie's mother yelled at Cordelia's mother for "bringing Cordelia up with bad manners"—because, apparently, Cordelia had thrown a crayon at Ollie's head. Since then, they had become fast friends, even if their mothers wouldn't talk to each other.

Now, Ollie couldn't even look at Delia the same way. Her naturally straight, platinum blonde hair was tucked behind her tiny ears and her crystal green eyes were daggers. It sucked having lockers next to each other.

Ollie's throat closed up as she tried to speak. The words were there, but they wouldn't flow. She cleared her throat, covering it with a cough. "H-hi." The words came out groggy.

"Hmph," Delia scoffed, turning around to open her own locker. She did the combination, and plucked the door open.

Ouch, Ollie thought to herself.

"D-did you study for the quiz?" Ollie inquired.

Delia slammed her locker shut, turning to face Ollie. "Why do you think you can stand up to face me after what you did? When will you get it in your head? I DON'T want to talk to you!" Her face red with color, Delia pushed past Ollie and walked away . . .

To her new friends.

History class was the worst of them all. It was the class where the socially popular jocks and their sluts hung around, talking loud and popping their bubble gum obnoxiously. It was the class where Mr. Ziegler had to hold the kids back several minutes after the bell, because they "weren't paying attention to the lesson". And most importantly, it was the class that Ollie shared with Matt.

Matt.

Just saying the name stabbed Ollie's heart with a knife.

She took her seat in the front of the class—which she absolutely hated—and opened her notes, to review the major points of World War I. The second she glanced up, Matt walked into the classroom.

The way he walked. The way his dimples indented his rosy, red cheeks when he smiled. The way he bit down on his lip when he got nervous. Everything about him . . . it drove Ollie up the wall.

She shifted in her seat and stared at her pencil. She put her binder away as Mr. Ziegler distributed the quiz.

Halfway through it, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She sucked in a breath, knowing exactly who it was. Jack Hopkins, Matt's best friend. "What?" she whispered, barely audible.

"I heard what happened."

No. If Jack knew, that meant everyone knew. And if everyone knew, that meant Ollie was dead. Literally.

"You do?" she said.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "You're such an idiot, you know that? No wonder Matt dumped you."

The tears were coming into her brown eyes, just of having flashbacks. How he would stroke her cheek with his thumb. How he would bring her body closer to his for warmth, or just to cuddle. How he would whisper in her ear, tell her she was beautiful.

Before she knew it, she made a run out of the classroom, crying like a giant baby that she was. She cried until she couldnt breathe. She ran until she collided with someone who had to get away, too.