What a shame we all became such fragile, broken things. —Paramore

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KATIE

DECEMBER // WEEK 3

I stood twenty feet above the ground on some precariously unstable platform watching a bunch of moronic boys chase after some stupid puck they considered to be "life itself." I moved the camera back and forth monotonously, trying to capture every precious detail as Mr. Crowley put it. Isabel was about to launch into one of her tangents pertaining to none other than, yes, Jacob Roswell; thankfully the final buzzer rang, reverberating through my entire being. Somehow, I managed to climb down from the platform without breaking every bone in my body or the stupid video camera. I left Isabel with some goodbye, something along the lines of: Text me later!. I wanted to give this godforsaken, way too expensive video camera to Mr. Crowley and get far away from this damned hockey rink. Some vaguely familiar guy wearing glasses with fire engine red hair passed me and saw me holding the video camera.

"So you're the girl who wanted to tape the Mansfield game so badly, huh?" he asked, stopping and folding his toothpick arms across his skinny chest.

"I didn't want to tape this game to begin with. I was forced!" I snapped at the stranger.

"Bradley Cranston," he stuck his hand out, dismissing my foul mood. "I'm in Mr. Pin's English class with you."

"Katie Hawthorne, nice to meet you, Bradley." I shook his hand somewhat reluctantly after shuffling the cumbersome camera to my other arm. "You were the guy that gave the clever answer today about the skull on the front of Hamlet," I recalled. I didn't make an effort to get to know many people in my classes. I just sat there, trying to get through the day.

"I take my Pin Points very seriously, and besides giving witty answers I also happen to be the guy who usually tapes the hockey games. Mr. Crowley said that some girl really wanted to tape the game tonight... I'm assuming that girl would be you." Bradley gave me a friendly smile and it was at that point that I noticed just how many freckles he really had. I thought about counting them all, but that would be staring which is frowned upon... and also extremely weird.

"I swear I didn't even want to take your job. I'm really sorry," I laughed. I looked Bradley over. He was tall and lanky, towering over me, like most people. In addition to his awkward height, he was pale and though his glasses were slightly too big for his narrow, long face, they kind of made him look like a cute nerd.

"Does this mean I get my job back for the game against Ashford next Tuesday?" he asked me with a grin.

"Of course. It's all yours, Bradley. Sorry for even taking it in the first place," I apologized though I'm not sure why because I had not done this job willingly.

"Don't worry about it. Just make sure it doesn't happen again." He tried to be stern with me, but it's impossible to be mad at me; I'm practically the size of a kitten and I look nothing but innocent.

"I hate hockey," I told him pointedly.

"Well it's probably best then that this isn't your new job," he shrugged as if saying he actually liked hockey. "But you're going to want to take that video camera to one of the coaches. They're usually waiting by the locker rooms."

I gave Bradley a grateful smile. "Thank, see you around," I replied before rushing off to find my pitiful excuse of a father.

I thought about the game on my way to the locker room. We won by two goals, and I have to say that it was kind of exciting. We were ahead by 1 with two minutes left to go in the third period. The other team pulled their goalie out and put an extra player on the ice in a last-ditch effort to tie it up. They almost scored but our goalie was on fire. The other team almost scored and I think I even gasped, but with ten seconds left, we scored, securing the win and the crowd went crazy. Isabel informed me that Jake had scored twice, even though I knew that already because I couldn't take my eyes off him the entire game. He was number 27, thank you again Isabel... At times, Isabel had to remind me to move the camera and stop staring at Jake.

I heard most of the hockey players before I saw them, which snapped me out of my mini-flashback. To say they were loud would be an understatement. They sounded more like Isabel's iPod that I borrowed whenever I went on a run, which was frequently. I'm convinced Isabel was deaf or something, seeing as two seconds after I hit "play" I'm ripping the headphones out of my ears and trying not to fall over. I turned the corner of the overly wide corridor and saw most of the hockey players walking out of the locker room. They were like skyscrapers compared to me. All the boys were rowdy, shouting, and jumping on top of each other. I vaguely remembered what victory felt like and I had to say, I missed it. I had no doubts in my mind that the boys were now going to some party to drink copious amounts of alcohol and sleep with at least half the female population in King High. The person I was unfortunately waiting for was the last person out of the locker room, leaving me to stand there awkwardly as all the hockey boys blundered by.

"Yo, dude, we have a track team?" one of the guys said to his friend as he walked by me, noticing my Northshire High track jacket. The idea that he could even read was an indictment against our high school.

"She goes to our school? What is she, a freshman?" some other guy with dark brown hair asked his team, not even bothering to take a second look at me. Was he the guy I kissed last night? The guy I kissed last night didn't seem so arrogant.

"I thought you knew every single freshman girl by now Derek, you've slept with all of them, haven't you?" another guy with dark brown hair laughed before he clapped him on the shoulder. That voice sounded so familiar to me, and yet I couldn't place my finger on it even if it meant that Mr. Crowley would bring the King High track program back.

"Quiet down, Dangle Master! Just cause you scored twice doesn't mean you get to chirp hard!" Derek replied.

My charming father was last person out of the locker room, which infuriated me even more for reasons that will forever remain unknown. I stormed up to my father, seeing as that's what he was to me on a biological basis. "Coach," I called out curtly and waited for him to turn around. He was deep in conversation with another man, and kept walking. I was hurt for some odd reason and so wrong to think that he would ever give me the time day after walking out. He had a new life now and if leaving me behind was the price he had to pay to get that new life of his, I'm sure he would do it all over again in a heartbeat. I turned my back on him and started to walk out the front door to the parking lot. My shitty box with doors that was a poor excuse for a car awaited me.

"Katie," I heard the voice of someone who no longer cared about me call out. I didn't want to turn around but I knew that if I kept walking, it would result in being touched by him. Reluctantly, I stopped walking. It was like I was in one of those situations where you wanted to do something but were unsure of how things were going to turn out. I took in a deep breath and turned around to face my father. I would have acknowledged his presence but I wasn't quite sure what to call him; Dad didn't seem fitting and neither did Michael, his first name. Scumbag seemed very appropriate to me though. I waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to walk the three steps over to me so we could talk without shouting... but if you ask me, I'd rather not talk to him at all.

"Katie," he repeated my name again once he got over to where I was. He let out a sigh like he had just summited Mount Everest. He was truly a waste of life.

"Wow, you still know my name after all these years, shocker." I tried to sound surprised, not being in the most welcoming of moods tonight... but who would be when they're talking to someone who went back on every promise they ever made? I crossed my arms over and my chest, and rested most of my weight on my left hip.

"Don't be like that, sweetie," he tried to reason with me, reaching out towards me and I grimaced and stepped backwards.

"I'm not your sweetie." I gritted my teeth together and tried not to snap. I stared back at the man who promised he would never let me fall. I was four when he told me that. Eight years later, he shoved me to ground, and now he's here to nurse my bloody knees and broken heart—I don't think so. "Here's your stupid footage from tonight's game," I thrust the all-too expensive video camera into his arms, which curled reflexively around it, like that camera was the sole thing keeping him sane.

"Thank you for filming," he told me sincerely, or was I mistaking that for sheepishness?

"I didn't really have a choice," I muttered studying the cracks in the pavement, which resembled my life. I wished the cracks would open a little wider but I couldn't decide if I wanted them to swallow me or my father. I was so ready to be over and done with this conversation.

"I know," he replied and my head shot up to meet his gaze. "I wanted to see you tonight."

"Why?" I asked quickly, and I hoped my gaze burned a hole right through whatever was left of his pathetic soul.

"You don't talk much in my economics class and you sit in the back of the room," he said like it was a bad thing. I could care less about my participation grade in that class. Anything to avoid him. "And because—" he started, but I cut him off, not caring what he had to say.

"You know what, just save it. I don't wanna hear it." I put my hand up before turning away from the person who was now going to break my heart all over again, one piece at a time, just by talking to me. Father didn't follow me and for once, I was relieved.

I walked towards my small, lonely car when I heard the rumble of the truck coming up behind me. The truck slowed to a stop and I didn't really care who it was... that was, until I heard them speak. "Need a ride?" I heard a deep voice call out, sending chills down my spine, right to my toes. I thought of my polka dotted socks from that night. Did I dare look up to confirm that it was him or should I just keep walking? My curiosity got the better of me.

The truck stopped, growling lowly. I looked up and through the passenger window and saw those beautiful, icy blue eyes staring back at me. I swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words, and nodded. He leaned over the centre console and extended a long, muscular arm. The passenger door swung open leaving me staring into a dark abyss of nothing except uncertainty. I climbed up into his truck and reached out to close the door. I felt his hand right below my shoulder blades and temporarily lost control of my arms, which resulted in me almost tumbling out of the truck. The pavement was a long ways away and didn't look exactly welcoming tonight. His hand closed around the thin fabric of my shirt and gave a slight tug backwards.

Once I finally managed to get the door closed, he let go of my shirt. "Thanks," I replied breathily, looking over at him. He put his truck into drive and I noticed fresh white bandages covering his right hand. They were mostly hidden by his long sleeved shirt that proudly stated: King High Hockey, East League Champions. Instinctively, I reached out to touch them, brushing his sleeve up slightly. I couldn't help it. His hand froze on the gear shifter, tense. "What did you do?" I asked quietly as I ran my fingers over the back of his hand. They were smooth and textured, like a fresh coat of paint.

"I got nicked by someone's skate. We both ended up on the ground and his blade got underneath my glove," he told me. I nodded as I retracted my hand from his and I could have sworn I heard him sigh. I made no mention of it though and let him finish putting his truck into gear. We left the parking lot in silence. I sunk back into the soft cloth that was the seat and for once, I didn't feel like my seatbelt was choking me. We passed through two traffic lights, a stop sign, and over a very bumpy speed bump before he spoke again. "You're the coach's daughter, right?" he asked me, unsure of the words that were flowing out of his mouth.

"Yeah, unfortunately," I replied curtly, hoping he wouldn't press any further. He didn't. "I'm Jake," he told me.

"I know," I answered him and I couldn't help smiling, not because I knew who he was, but because for once, Isabel's rambling and obsessing over Jacob Roswell actually came in handy.

He opened his mouth to say something when his phone rang, illuminating both our faces. I looked out the window when Jake tried to look at me, but not before I caught the name that flashed up on his screen: Avelina Castleton. "Why hello there, Avelina," Jake answered the phone with a smugness in his voice. My heart stopped in my chest as I strained to hear what they were talking about. I couldn't resist sneaking a glance at Jake, noticing his tussled locks of hair sticking up in every which direction. A street light briefly lit up Jake's face and in that transient moment, I saw the smirk drop from his face faster than Alex Martini's grade in Dr. McGillidy's history class. "What?" he stammered. YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS SHIT SHOWING HARD, JAKE! YOU NEED TO GET OVER HERE NOW! Those would be the precise words that I heard tumble out of Ava's mouth. "Be right over," his reply was curt and his gaze hardened as he hung up the phone. "Where do you live?" Jake asked me, his voice like steel.

"29 Everest Lane," I recited Isabel's address like it was my own, because in all reality, it was. There was no way in hell that Jacob Roswell was seeing where I lived. I would join the hockey team before that happened. Jake pulled into "my" driveway moment's later. "Umm, thanks for the ride, I guess." I told him once I had hopped down from his truck.

"Don't worry about it," he tried to shrug it off. His shoulders tensed as I turned away from him and walked up Isabel's pristine brick walkway. "Hey!" I heard him call out. I turned around to see the passenger window rolled down and him leaning towards it. I stopped and waited for him to continue. "What's your name?" he asked loudly.

"Don't worry about it," I shouted. The less you know the better. With that, I turned my back on Jacob Roswell and continued my walk into "my house." I felt my heart beat a little harder each step I took away from Jake. I willed myself to walk up all five stairs to her farmer's porch. I could feel his gaze on me as I bent down, like I had so many times before, and retrieved the key from underneath the welcome mat. I knew that if I looked back, the first thing I would see was his icy blue eyes. I forced myself to go through the motions of inserting the frosty key into the gold lock, twist to the right, remove, and finally replace the key. Begrudgingly, I walked into Isabel's warm house without looking back.

Even after I closed the door, a whole minute passed by before I heard the rumble of Jake's truck make its way down Isabel's street. I tilted my head back till it came into contact with the creme colored door and stared up at the stark white ceiling. A ceiling without water stains, cracks, or wires hanging from it was a happy ceiling. I breathed in the smell of the spiced pumpkin candle burning on the end table next to the door and slowly sank down to the ground. With my back still pressed up against the door, I breathed slowly because when I was with Jake, I found that breathing was quite impossible. My fingers ran over the burgundy rug I was sitting on, picking mindlessly at it. I closed my eyes and took it all in, trying to slow the rapid beating of my heart from my encounter with none other than the Jacob Roswell.