Chapter 7





My heart thuds hard against my rib cage as I watch her crumple up the note. I can’t seem to get through to her, why is she doing this to me? True, I have Sammy, but this girl, this Jenna, she is becoming someone important to me, too fast.

I walk up my driveway and notice her sitting on her porch, reading a book. Her beautiful hair is layered around her face and her lean legs are wrapped tightly on the chair beneath her. What to do? I watch in silence as she doesn’t realize that I am watching her, patiently, waiting. A car honks behind me and she looks up quickly, noticing me for the first time. Without a nod, nor a smile, she simply stands up and walks into the abyss of her home. I, Mike Torrez, am officially a failure. Why was she so important to me?

My dad parks behind me and noogies my hair. I squirm away and stare longingly at the large white house that stands beside my own, curiosity entering my being.

At the dinner table mom talks of her day. How she and Pam went out to buy Jenna some new clothes; how Jenna had been so quiet and down that Pam thought new clothes would help. I thought of her even more, especially since my mother could not stop speaking of her.

I excuse myself from the dinner table and jog up the stairs, ignoring my parent’s questioning glare, since I have never passed on dessert before. I lay now in my bed dribbling my soccer ball from hand to hand. The sun is setting and the Toronto sky has resumes its beautiful orangey-red color I am so fond of. I hear some soft, classical music drifting in through my open window and I gently lay my ball on the carpet floor of my room. Slowly lifting myself up I creep towards my window and hope that nothing is visible from my darkened bedroom.

Sitting in her bright pink bedroom, with the curtains slightly pulled aside and the window opened, Jenna appears in my line of sight. Her hair is no longer down, but in a very short ponytail, and she has changed into her pajamas. The music is coming from her room and I stare dumbstruck at her beautiful figure writing rapidly in a notebook. Her concentration taken fully she never notices me, quietly watching, her beauty and mystery slowly enchanting me.




I write non-stop in my diary. Occasionally stopping to glance at the picture of dad and I on one of his model cars. I feel tears welling up inside of me, but I let the sound of the classical music ease my soul. I put my pen down firmly and stare at the picture harder. The bags of clothes reflect on the glass of the frame and I stare even harder. Why? Why did you have to go? With one swift movement, I grab the picture frame and throw it against the opposite wall. Pamela will come in and investigate, but I don’t care, I only have my anger to think about now.

The End

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