Imaginary Amity

16-year-old Carrie Evans is haunted from the memories of her past she's been trying to forget ever since she moved states. But can she run from them forever?

It’s funny how you hold on to the things that hurt the most, the memories that keep you from moving on. Which forever leaves you on the verge of tears, forcing you to never forget. My heart still stops every now and then, remembering the moment we found out she died. My wrist still holds the scars that will never, ever heal. The scars that slice open your body and expose every bit of you. Your kindness, your personality and the evil, the dark, dark side. The side of you that ruins the image, ruins the personality, ruins you. 

The dark side you would never be able to get rid of. 

I sketch a circle with my pencil and start colouring it in. Pressing down on the pencil, I dig it into the paper-"harder, harder-"until it snaps and I sit there, distracted. 

“Carrie, stop chewing on your pencil,” Miss Saunders snaps. 

I fight the urge to roll my eyes and drop the pencil, but not before flushing a little. She glares at me for a second, then whips around and starts walking towards the front again. 

As a blind person could see, Miss Saunders hates me. She doesn't even try to hide it. Ever since I first stepped foot into this classroom, she has taken an oath to make my life miserable. 

I stare straight ahead, bored and notice Georgie slip her hand backwards on my desk and drop a square of paper on top of my empty notebook. 

Grasping the note, I quietly flick it open, making sure that Miss Saunders can't see me.  

‘guess what tina told me??’ she's written in her bold, an quite frankly, ugly handwriting. It’s so scribbled and cramped, I definitely prefer my neat, cursive style.  

Blinking a few times, I focus on the piece of paper again, turning it over to find more writing. ‘theres a new guy! from East High!'  

I raise my eyebrows at that. East High? It's a football school. Strictly for athletic people only. Glancing at Georgie's back, I quickly fix the grammar and punctuation. Yep. I'm 'that kind of person.' In my defence, it's impossible to read with grammar like that! 

As I re-read the note, I can't help shaking my head. Before getting into all that drama, girls should ask themselves, what's the point? What's hooking up with a random guy ever going to get them in life? Distracting them and lowering their grades, getting their heart broken... 

Plus, there's no love in high school. It's just a bunch of guys messing around, making bets on who can seduce the most girls, who can turn two best friends into enemies, fighting over one guy and who can make some poor girl's life the worst by breaking her heart. I've learnt that the hard way. 

As I slowly lift my eyes off the paper, I find everyone looking at me. What? 

Frozen in my seat, I sit stiffly as Ms Saunders turns around. 

“Carrie, you wouldn't happen to be passing notes, would you?” She has a predatory grin, tilting her head to one side before continuing. “Or did someone pass it to you?” She eyes my friends accusingly then rests her eyes back on me. 

My face goes red and I try to think of happy thoughts, anything that won't make my face burn. Though I really don't want to get into trouble since it technically wasn't my fault, I can see Georgie hiding her face.  

“It was me, miss,” I say, defeated.  

Immediately, Georgie sits up, sending me repeated ‘thank you’s’ and smiles with immense relief. 

“I see.” She smirks. “Should I read the note out loud... or would you rather have detention?”  

I go for the obvious solution. But it's clear the class wants to know what's on the note. No way. I'm not that horrible a friend. 

“Detention, miss.” I gulp. I've never gotten detention before. What if she emails my father? What will he say? 

The fake smile is still stuck on her face and it just doesn't fit; it looks wrong. Maybe she should try smiling more often. 

But detention? Seriously? I glance at Jasmine and Georgie. Jasmine smiles at me sympathetically.  

“Now, class,” Miss Saunders starts just as the bell rings. Everyone starts packing up and heads out of the room. 

“Don't forget homework! Page three-oh-three, question...” I tune her out, hanging my head in shame. My friends mouth 'good luck' before leaving me alone with the demon. 

When the last person exits the room, she shuts the door and turns to me. I swear she is already plotting my murder. 

She opens her mouth to speak. “Now, Carrie-"” 

The door flings open. A boy enters, laughing as he smashes a glass of chemicals. The older woman screams in horror, and I can't help laughing at her.  

Honestly, it's hilarious. 

“Sorry I'm late, Miss,” he says as a taunt, resting his elbow on the desk. 

“This is going straight to the principal!” she screeches, fuming and storms out, carefully stepping over the shattered pieces of glass. 

He turns to me with a flirty look in his face. It's the new guy! He is cute. Inhumanly cute. How can a guy be that cute? 

His short, slightly curly blond hair loops over the edges of his face, swaying gently in the breeze. The shape of his lips would make any girl drool. I wonder if he's in my art class, because his face is a work of art, an artist's masterpiece. I’m starting to wonder whether he painted it himself. And his eyes are the colour of melted caramel, so deep with secrets, so easy to get lost in. 

I wonder what makes me so interested in him. I’ve noticed cuter guys in school, but none of them look like… 

Oh. 

He looks like him. 

I'm suddenly overwhelmed with memories, feelings, emotions-"I want them to go away. They haunt me. I’ll never be able to get rid of them. 

I realise that I'm staring at him. Quickly, I glance over his shoulder like I wasn't looking at him and I couldn't care less, though I can already feel my face heating up. 

For some reason, I feel the need to act cool, as if I'm not one of the geeks in the school. I slouch in my chair, yawning like I don't give a s**t whether I'm in detention or not. As if I get detention all the time. 

Why am I doing this? 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” I respond, eager to make conversation. 

He tilts his head to the noise down the hallway, the sound of clattering high heels and shouting. Miss Saunders is back.  

“So…see you around!” He gives a slight wave before grabbing his bag and jumping out of the window.  

I stare at the space where he stood. “Yeah...” I mumble, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “See you around.”  

A giddy smile blooms on my face and I close my eyes, remembering those caramel eyes. I’ve never let myself think about how much I missed him. 

I have only been fantasizing for half a second before Miss Saunders storms in again, her head whipping side to side as she searches for him.  

She looks at me and shrieks, “Where is he?” I resist the temptation to cover my ears and point to the opposite door.  

She runs over and pokes her head inside.  

I quickly gather my things and make a run for it. What would be the point in staying? Plus, I should have been dismissed if there was a glass hazard. Either she was too distracted getting revenge on the blond haired boy, or she just hates me. Oh yeah, I forgot she hates me. 

I round the corner only to end up head-butting someone. Digging my fingers into my scalp to dull the pain, I whimper. Yes, that definitely helps. 

“Ouch! Are you okay?”  

I look up to see a blurry face. My eyes focus and I realise it's Hunter, staring at me. Hunter. It's Hunter. I should probably say something and move out of his way. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.” I look at the ground and try to walk away.  

“Hey, wait!” He grabs my arm and I jump back in protest. My heart thumps wildly. Hunter Trovasky, talking to me? Two guys in one day? What are the chances? 

“Aren't you David's little sister? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” 

Ugh. Of course, that would be the only reason he's talking to me. My brother's like a star around here. He's the jerk of the jerks, the King of the Kings, the champion of champions. At least, to them. 

He's one of the few good football players around here and without him, the team wouldn't make the season. He is unbelievably good at it, but why our father forced us into this school, I have no idea. This school does not have a good reputation for football. It’s not a private school, like the one I had been going to for most of my life. But since we moved here last year, AFL has been pretty popular. Thanks to him, the rest of the team has been improving too. 

He is an amazing footballer, but that does not make him an excellent brother. Thanks to him, all jocks are jerks is my life's motto. Well, he’s not exactly the whole reason. 

Anyway, I hate people recognising me because of him or comparing us. I hate people noticing me at all. Georgie and Jasmine know how much he aggravates me and don't ever mention it. 

I glare at Hunter and the papers in his hand. He probably wanted me to give them to him. 

“What do you need me to do this time? If you want me to give him those, why don't you find him yourself? I'm sick of being a messenger for you guys,” I ask scathingly. 

Having gotten my satisfaction, I whip around to walk in the other direction. Only I'm feeling the opposite of what I'm supposed to be feeling right now. I just feel excited. But how couldn't I? I acted confident in front of Hunter Trovasky!  

I walk away, feeling proud of myself until I feel a tap on my back. 

I turn around again, ready to give Hunter another piece of my mind until I see him smirking. He shoves the papers into my hands and watches me, waiting for my reaction. I cautiously take a look and see it's a letter from one of my teachers. Oh.  

My face heats up with embarrassment. At this rate, I'd be a walking tomato. 

“Yeah,” he says, still smirking. “You just couldn't resist my hot looks.” 

“Oh, get over yourself,” I snap, but I don't deny it. 

“It's from Mrs Hefferson, she wanted to give you a recommendation of possible back-up universities.” He nods towards the piece of paper. “I see you're still set on the University of Melbourne.” 

Hunter only knows about how I want to get into that university since he sat next to me in Maths last year, much to my annoyance. Then I got Miss Saunders and got stuck with him in my class for another year. It’s like I can never get rid of him. 

The University of Melbourne is an amazing university, but it’s just about impossible to get into. So I’m making these last few years count. 

I have no idea what I want to do when I get out of school, but I’m hoping getting into a good university would help me decide. Although it would be easier to figure that out before I apply, so I can pick the right majors and all that. 

My love and passion mostly goes into my art. It’s not art in the general definition of the word. I love making photo collages. I discovered my skill only a little while ago, but any time I want a distraction, it’s the thing I immediately turn to. I love the way you can edit and change the colours, the personality, the purpose, the way the whole world could disappear. Although when I first started, they were messy and unrecognisable, but I like to believe that I've improved since then. 

So, that's why I so desperately wanted to go to the Uni of Melbourne. And being away from Dad and David was a bonus. 

Hunter shifted in his feet in the uncomfortable silence and I snapped back to attention. 

“Right. Yeah, it’s pretty much the only university I want to get into.” I add, “You?” just to be polite, but I’m still pretty annoyed and embarrassed. Annoyed about him being cocky, embarrassed that I judged him wrong. Barely. 

“I'm probably gonna go to RMIT. The old man got me a scholarship, so it kinda makes sense, you know?” 

I nod. From what I could remember off the top of my head, RMIT was a few minutes away from The University of Melbourne. I think. 

Weirdly enough-"even though I'm still mad at him-"Hunter is so easy to be around that I felt relaxed. 

We’re in an awkward silence again, but neither of us wants to walk away because it would make things even more awkward. I go to stare at my feet again, willing him to end the conversation, when I notice his phone case.  

“Is that… Umbrella Academy?”  

I hope it is, because if it’s not, it would only be more awkward. Enough awkwardness for one day, thank you. 

But he excitedly looks down at his hand and back up at me. “Don't tell me... you also like the Umbrella Academy?” 

“Oh my gosh, that show is so good! I swear, it’s the best show Netflix is made.” I smile, but then stop, reminding myself I’m still mad at him. It doesn’t matter if our conversation never happened-"based on how he acts, he’s a jerk. 

“Have you seen season two?” 

“Of course.” 

“Hey, remember when Number Five dated the mannequin?” He laughed. 

I had to join in his laughter. That bit was funny. “Yeah. It's cool that you like it. Most guys I know call it cringey.”  

“Yeah, well, I'm not like most guys.” My eyebrows raise in confusion, but I don't want to press. Sure, sure. He acts so much like David! 

Now that our conversation has withered, we can't come up with anything to say and it's getting pretty awkward again. Not like most guys? Most guys can’t hold a conversation, and it seems he can’t either. 

“I... gotta go,” he says. “Not that it wasn’t fun talking. But since my little sister also wants to go there, to study psychology or something, she has some really interesting articles and stuff. I can send them over?” He holds out his phone, and cautiously, I take it and put my number in. Does he think I’m going to get in? 

I had no idea he had a younger sister. I wonder how much younger. I can’t imagine him playing dolls with a little girl. The thought makes me want to laugh. 

He grins at me before heading the other way, the grin that most girls dream about. I stay rooted to that spot for a while, thinking about our conversation. Huh. He's actually an alright guy. For a jock. 

He's a jock. 

I shake my head, clutch my books to my chest and head to my friends.  

Author's Note

Hi! Just wanted to note I'm not great at adding little bits of humor in, and I really need to expand my vocabulary! Thank you!