Chapter Two

"Chase, I need you to take this box of condiments to the back. You can have your break then," Tim loudly says on the other side of the room.
A break. Finally.
"Will do."
Work seems to go much slower on Thursday's, probably because Friday was the next day. I hate Thursday's.
After I retrieve the box of condiments and place them in the storage room securely, I order some food and take my sketchbook out of my backpack. I need to finish the drawing before I drive myself crazy.
I start to turn the pages towards the page I left off from, but all of the pages are filled with words.
Huh. That's weird. I never write in my sketchbook.
Wait a second . . .
This isn't even my handwriting. I write sloppy, like most guys do, and this is most definitely not a guy's handwriting.
I turn to the first page, hoping I might see a name to tell me whose this belongs to.
Nothing. Just a lot of words.
Should I read it?
Before I could even answer my question, I did anyway.
"This is the first time I've gotten a journal and actually stuck with it, so I'm really going to try to stick with this.
He called me last night. It's crazy to think that after eight months of not speaking to each other, I thought I was totally over him, and now I see how wrong I am.
He seemed so different, so surreal and sure of everything. He's somebody I used to know so well. I can't handle seeing him after the summer ends. All I do is think about how it used to be and how easy it was back when we were best friends. I know that's all he saw it as, but I didn't. I never saw him as just my friend. I don't even care to be called just his friend. I just want to be his anything. I miss us."
Who is this? Obviously it's a girl. But how did it end up in my backpack? I know Caroline dropped everything in class, my sketchbook included, or what I thought was my sketchbook, so maybe it's hers. But she's never struck me as a girl that would write about something like this. In fact, I can't see her writing anything on her own time.
So she's off the list, but still a suspect.
I try to remember if I saw anyone have a sketchbook that looked like mine in Mrs. Jones' class today. Or any day for that matter.
However, everything is blank. I can't think of anything. So I decide to read some more. 
"Day 2:
Mirror of broken glass:
Thinking about
How I'm so in doubt;
His promises never lasted.
And when I pray,
I start to shake
Because my heart has flattened.

And how come when I sing,
The melody is bittersweet?
Everything I've held dear
Is gone.

What can I do?
This can't be right.
I see his face when I close my eyes.
What do I do now?
I'm starting to break down.
I can't control my mind.

I spot him today
From a world away;
He'd ne'er know I'm breaking.
He says goodbye
To his friends for the night
As I give him a smile I'm faking.

And how come when I try
To get him out of my mind
Failure shoots me in the eye?
I can't do this.

How do you let go of the past?
I stare at the mirror of broken glass.
What do I do now?
My hearts yet to be found.
How long will this last?

What do you do when you want what's wrong?
It's like I'm singing to a different song
Everything I've held dear is gone.
I can't do this."

I read more and more. Some are poems, some appear to be songs, and others are just her thoughts written down. I note how detail-oriented she is and how thoughtful and caring this mystery girl seems to portray.
I hardly notice Ben walk in with some witty smirk on his face. "Do you know what time it is?" he asked me.
I quickly reach for my phone in my pocket to check the time. I forgot on weekdays we only get 20 minute breaks instead of 30. But now that I see the time, I realize it wouldn't matter which day it was because I have been back here twenty minutes later than I'm supposed to be.
Geez. Have I really been on break for forty minutes?
I cursed under my breath. "Does Tim know?" I was clearing my trash now, but fully aware of the sketchbook, or should I say journal, in my left hand.
"Not yet. But he will if you're not behind the register for Cory in a few minutes. He's been asking for a break for an hour now."
I was almost running now. I finally get to Cory, apologize, and begin the rest of my shift. Taking orders, handling money, and reassuring customers that their food isn't ready yet but we're hurrying as fast as we can. Some people just can't be patient when it comes to food.
I get home at almost midnight since I have to close. The person who is intended to help me bails because he has a project due tomorrow. And of course, with him being Cory, I owe him after giving him a late break so I don't complain.
I don't have time to read anymore of the journal, so at school the next day I do my best to discern any girls' expressions.
I tend to mainly focus on their eyes and mouth. Any drowsiness? Puffy eyes? Worry lines on their forehead? Frantic, on instinct motives?
I become very paranoid in Mrs. Jones' class. Tiffany Day asks for a sheet paper; is it because she lost her journal? Frances Mercer seems very quiet. Oh wait, she is everyday. Kandace Kingsley waves at me. Does she know? Is it her journal she knows I took? Riley Davis isn't in class. Maybe she was too embarrassed to come to school this morning. Oh. She just left to go to the bathroom. Emma Watson asks Josh a question, but she seems worried. Then again, it's probably her not getting math again.
Wait. Emma Watson . . .
Yesterday her stuff was knocked everywhere. Could it be? Did hers accidentally get mistaken for mine?
But how?
I mean, they look identical.
I glance at Emma. She's smiling at Josh like he said something funny. I try listening on their conversation; maybe she will say something to confirm my accusation.
". . so funny. You should be there next time we go. You would laugh so hard," Josh tells her.
She stops laughing but her sweet smile doesn't fade. "I don't go to parties," she playfully says to him, lightly hitting him on the arm. "You know that."
I didn't. By the girls she hangs out with, I always have assumed she joins them on Friday nights.
"Oh come on!" Josh shouts but in a whisper tone. "You've never been to a party? Not even with Ivy?"
Ivy Sanchez is, no doubt, the prettiest girl in school. Flawless. At least that's what every guy claims her to be.
"Ivy and I view things differently," she admits.
But honestly, I must say I sometimes disagree. She's not the number one, at least in my opinion.
"And how is that?" Josh challenges.
"I'm a Christian. I choose not to put myself in bad situations. Ivy doesn't agree with me in that area."
I mean, of course she's attractive. More than attractive.  But most definitely not my type.
"But you're best friends." It sounds like a question but an assumed statement at the same time.
"Not as close as we used to be, but yes, she's my best friend."
I tend to like girls who aren't so used up. Who don't try to get attention through their body, or the people they surround themselves with. Anything like that really.
"So what do you do on the weekends then?" Typical Josh. Always thinking partying is the only fun thing to do.
"I don't know. Different things. I do have fun, you know." she laughs. "Ivy isn't my only friend."
"Whatever you say," Josh brushes off.
Well, that gives me nothing. But if I can somehow find out if she dated anyone a few months ago, as the girl was writing about in her journal, then that could help me connect some dots.
I don't know why I never really paid much attention to Emma Watson until now. To be honest, she's actually rather pretty. I guess she's just always seemed to intimidate me or something. I never had a class with her until this one.
I'm pretty sure the reason is because, if I'm not mistaken, she always takes honors classes. Except math of course. I don't take those smart classes, even though I've always wished I could.
I take a second glance at her. She appears to be concentrating on some stupid math problem, as usual. Her hair today is pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, not hiding her wild curls. She hardly straightens it anymore. I think she only does on special occasions. Or at least that I've noted.
In middle school I was on her "team"--as they call it-- just not any classes. What a shame. But I do remember seeing her at lunch sometimes. Always with straight hair. Perhaps she got a perm in high school?
I think she notices me staring because when she looks up at me her face gives a funny expression, almost as if she's suddenly embarrassed that someone is looking at her. But then I realize it's probably because I'm creeping her out.
Her eyes happen to be greenish-brown, not blue, as I'd thought. She has light brown freckles on her nose, running down her defined cheekbones and then fade. Her nose is rather pointy, but not big; it's proportioned. And her light Carmel-brown hair gives her face a natural glow, even though she's more on the pasty side. Perhaps that's the reason guys prefer Ivy over her: Ivy looks more "Hollywood" type. Olive-skin toned. Dark hair and eyes. Perfect white pearl teeth. But so fake looking. So original. Nothing out of the ordinary since so many girls try everything to have this look.
Finally, Emma has enough and looks me in the eyes. Her nose crinkles, and she smiles but remains serious. I wonder how she manages to maintain that expression. "Can I help you Chase?" She kind of giggles.
My eyes fall to my desk.
"Um, no . . . Yes. I mean, maybe. I guess so." I'm such a freak.
Her lips curl up into a wide smile. "Okay, then what?" she challenges me.
I can see Josh giving me a one eyebrow kind of expression in the corner of my eye as I make a complete idiot out of myself.
She raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to respond.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I ask, "Do you get number twelve?"