WHEN I WAKE, it is to the rough shaking of my mother's hands.

"Honey, what are you doing on the floor? Get up, you're going to be late for school," she chides, grabbing the photo out of my hands despite my horrified gasp. I instantly stand, making my head swim from the abruptness.

"Who is this?" My mother demands as she finally examines the photograph. Her question is met with silence as I stare back with wide doe eyes. 

"Eleanor, who is this boy?" she asks again, much more firmly. I shake my head in reply, and it is the honest truth since I do not even know who he is.

"You shouldn't take pictures of strangers, Eleanor. That's rude. I thought I raised you better than this," With a tired sigh, she crumples the picture before throwing it into the garbage bin. No!

Instantly, I drop to my knees and start pawing through the materials in the bin, mostly consisting of paper, ruined film, and the occasional banana peel.

"Eleanor, that's disgusting. Stop that." My mother wrinkles her nose in disgust and grabs my waist, hoisting me onto my feet and dragging me towards the closet. I peer back at the garbage bin, flashing images of the boy's face enters my mind. I try to fight back but she is too strong.

"Jesus, Eleanor, it's just a picture. You can take another one. Something appropriate this time," She rolls her eyes and continues to lock a grip on my arm as she rummages through the clothing in the closet and dressers. "Now, what do you want to wear? I think it's pretty chilly, so something warm." I let out a strangled noise at the back of my throat, slapping her hands away.

"What's gotten into you, Eleanor?" The way she pronounces my name is condescending. I examine the frown on her face, confused and oblivious to my sudden shift in mood. She still thinks of me as a child, as if I were only a baby. And suddenly I hate her, and I hate how she says my name, and I hate how she expects me to be perfect. Like her.

I grab some clothes randomly from atop my dresser and push past her, letting her feel the tension on my shoulders as I stalk away with blurry eyes.

↛

I am sitting on the school bus, fiddling with the hem of my gray, wool sweater and wondering what came over me. I am always tolerant of my mother and her expectant ways, her bossy attitude, her know-it-all sentences. It is not very often when I lose my temper and storm off like that.

My thoughts shift to the photo of the boy -- now crumpled and ruined inside the bin, its once-perfect edges now torn and frayed. My hold becomes a grip, and I stare out the window in hopes of forgetting past events. When I distract myself, I do not feel the pain, and eventually -- luckily -- I tend to forget.

The bus lurches to a stop and I hit my head on the seat in front of me. Rubbing my forehead with a wary sigh, I stay seated on the bus until the other kids leave and only then do I finally make my departure.

As soon as I step off, I am met with a cool breeze and the sound of laughter and voices of the kids around me. I walk past crowds, silent and observant as I listen to their conversations and their happiness.

"And like, Jenny totally hooked up with him-"

"Did you hear about the carnival down in West Borough?"

"Chemistry killed me. My mom flipped shit when she saw my grades-"

A shoulder bumps into my side roughly and I fall to the ground, my backpack spilling onto the concrete pavement. The impact makes me wince as I thought of my camera inside its flaps. There is a stinging sensation in my right knee which pains me when I struggle to stand up.

"Ooops, sorry." A voice that doesn't sound very apologetic made me glance up. Bryce has a smirk on his face, walking backwards with his arms extended, shaking his head. His friends clap him on the back, grinning and laughing at my misery. "Freak."

"Oh, screw off, Bryce." A new voice emerges from behind me; his voice is like velvet, low and soft; immediately soothing and calming. I blink, not recognizing the individual at once. I do not even try to recall his identity, too pained to think of anything else.

"Whatever, Hanover." Bryce snorts before jerking his chin in my direction. "The bell's about to ring anyway so she's your problem now. Oh, and don't be late to practice again. Tonight at five, okay?" Without waiting for a reply, he and his posse walk past the main entrance and into Mayview High.

Seconds later, the bell rings -- its shrill cries making me cringe as I realize I am tardy. Mother wouldn't agree to that.

As I attempt to get up, I see a hand stick itself in front of my face, inviting and soft. I don't think as I grab it, letting the other person haul me up because I am too worried about being late to class. The pain in my knee intensifies and I stagger back, nearly falling onto the ground again.

"Are you okay?" A voice asks me -- the kid from earlier. Bryce had referred to him as Hanover, though I doubt that was his first name. I shake my head in reply to his question, pointing at my knee. For some odd reason, I am concerned. Not about my well-being but by the boy's reaction of my lack of speech.

Shocking me, he doesn't point it out as he bends down and carefully rolls up my dark blue jeans. I shiver as tingles run through me when he accidentally brushes against the bare skin. As the pant leg rolls up to my knee, I realize that there was a red substance dripping down from the wound, making me cry out. And at once the anxiety hits me like a train.

"Mommy? Daddy?" I cried, my hands shaking from pain and fear. I was at the foot of the stairs, twitching in a growing pool of my own blood. I had received my first camera, and with a careless mistake, it ended up toppling down the stairs.

I thought I could retrieve it on my own- I didn't want to disturb Mommy and Daddy when they were having an "adult conversation." I started to make my way to the beginning of the descent down the stairs, but paused at the top as I realized how high up I was. I was nervous and took one huge step, but slipped on the newly waxed hardwood floor.

Then I was falling.

Next thing I knew, there were spots in my vision and a growing pain in the back of my head. All I could see was red. Red, red, red. I called out for my mom and dad- they were only in the other room. But they couldn't hear me over their arguments.

I was only six.

"Hey." His voice brings me back to reality and I shake my head, glancing up at him. But what I wasn't expecting was the messy black hair and those oh-so familiar green eyes which were frowning at me in concern. My breath catches in my throat and suddenly the painful flashbacks fade away.

I don't reply, of course, and he manages a small smile. "This is the second time I'm helping you with this." He chuckles slightly, shifting the weight of two backpacks on his shoulders -- one of them his, one of them mine. I blush -- a nervous tendency, and shake my head again, holding out my arm to regain my belongings.

He glances at my outstretched hand and rolls his eyes, murmuring, "I don't mind, really. What you should be worried about is your knee. Let's get you to the nurse, okay?" I could only nod. He is treating me so nicely, so kindly... so normally.

The boy grabs my waist suddenly and I jump, hearing him swear lightly under his breath as I knock him in the chin. I frown and shrug one arm in the universal language: I'm sorry.

As if reading my mind, he ensures, "Nah, it was my fault. Didn't mean to surprise you. I just don't think you can walk without some help." He is right of course, but I can't concentrate with his arm wrapped gently around my waist.

The two of us slowly make our way up the stairs leading into the school, and I wince every other step. With each wince, he apologizes though my pain is nowhere near his fault. This is my mystery boy: the kind boy who helped me in the hallway, the genuine boy who played for the little girl, and the only boy who has ever stood up for me.

We are in the school now, painstakingly making our way to the nurse's room at the end of the hall. I am a bit sad, knowing he would be leaving me as soon as we got there. But I don't even know his name.

Hesitantly, I peer at his profile, taking in his facial features -- the small creases around his mouth showed me that he liked to smile, there was an indent by his lips which proved he had a dimple, and the slight wrinkles on his forehead told me he worried a lot.

"Like what you see?" The boy laughs an airy chuckle, and I blush in return. I tear my gaze away and realize we are at the nurse's station. We stop underneath the sign, staring at each other for a few moments before he pulls away, embarrassed. "I should ah, start heading to class," I frown and he gives me a small smile. "See you around sometime."

The boy starts walking away, but quickly turns around, as if remembering something he forgot. "And by the way, my name's Chase."

↛

Dedicated to northbynorth. She made me fall in love with the name Elliot.