Search my soul

Uneasy feet started forward, attached to the long unsteady legs of a curvaceous body. Slender arms reached up for pale hands to brush a strand of errant brown hair out of the sight of dark doe eyes. One side of full lips turned up into a half smile, one that held wit, mischievousness, and confidence. A perfectly shaped eyebrow shot up in curiosity as countless glances were shot in her direction. The girl strode forward, suddenly more primal in her movement, gently shoving past students blocking her path. Her trainers, barely visible beneath the baggy denim of her low hung jeans, squeaked softly as she weaved and dodged through the halls. Every so often she would glimpse at the locker numbers she was passing, silently repeating the number of her own in her head. Coming to a stairwell, the young woman sighed. Taking the steps two at a time, she soon reached the second floor and let out a breath of relief when she saw that her assigned locker was directly in front of her. As she crossed the short distance from the stairs, she hunched her shoulder slightly to allow her book bag to fall freely to the ground. She quickly kneeled before it and began rummaging inside. When her seeking digits fell upon a crumpled piece of paper she pulled it out easily, laughing to herself at how empty her bag was at that moment, and how full it would probably become by the end of the day. Closing her bag again, she stood up, unfolding the paper in her hands. Reading the numbers one by one, the girl turned a small dial to match the combination sketched on the note, grinning when she heard the metal latch pop the first time. Carefully opening the small metal door, she closed her eyes tightly and took a big whiff. Grateful when she didn’t smell anything horrific, like the smell of rotting meat that had endlessly haunted her locker at her previous school, she opened one eye a crack, before fully opening both eyes and letting out the breath she had been holding. Empty. The small space was completely devoid of anything but the cheap cracking blue paint that kept the second floor lockers different from the first floor lockers that had been painted red. Thinking for a second if she had anything to make her school place a little more homely for herself, she stuffed her hand into her loose back pocket, after digging deeply for a second, she pulled a folded photograph out. Opening it, her expressive eyes glittered with sadness as she looked intently at the worn image. The picture showed a young man, late twenties; early thirties at the most. The male was holding a small girl on his lap, the oldest she could be was five years old. They were sitting on a swing in the park, and even though the image was faded, you could clearly see that the beautiful summer sun beaming in the background, couldn’t even come close to matching the amazing essence of love that the photo was surrounded in. Both the adult and child were brunette, the man had short cut, tidy hair, whilst the little girl had flowing tresses that reached her shoulders. The older of the twos’ eyes looked down at his daughter with nothing but adoration, as did the girls, as they stared up into the dark recesses of her father’s soul. The man’s arms were draped lightly around the precious treasure on his lap, and even though years had past since that moment was captured, the girl now examining the photograph could still recall how protected she felt in the weak embrace.

Fighting against the bout of tears that threatened to fall from her soft eyes, the girl searched her bag for the second time. Taking out a small lump of blue tack, she fastened the photo to the inside of the door to her locker. Smiling slightly to the man in the snapshot, she kissed her fingers briefly before tapping them on his face.

“I love you dad”. As the small goodbye passed her lips, a shrill sound penetrated her ears, and she jumped slightly. Slapping the safe closed, and then bending at the waist, she grabbed her book bag by the strap and slung it over her shoulder; taking full advantage of the lightness she was sure wouldn’t last long.

The girl set off on her next quest; the search for homeroom. After passing countless amounts of rooms, and even peeking through the window of a few, she realised that all the classes she’d advanced upon were full of freshman. Mentally slapping her head, she headed back in the direction of the stairs. On the journey down, the young woman wondered for a second why they had placed a senior’s locker on a freshman floor. Once on the ground level of the building, she realised that she had only five minutes to be registered for homeroom. This thought made her take off into a small jog down the now empty corridor. When her eyes finally rested on the door number she was frantically looking for, she didn’t even hesitate as she pushed open the offending blockage and walked briskly inside. On entry, approximately 20 sets of eyes focused completely on her frame. Not knowing what to say or do, the girl stood awkwardly in the door way, eyeing the curious students sat before her.

“May I help you miss?” The voice came from her left, a kind but firm inquisition. Turning to face who she knew was obviously the teacher, she replied in a shaky, out of breath voice.

“I’m Sam McPherson”. At the puzzled look the teacher gave her, the girl wondered if she was actually in the right classroom. “The new student?” she added for good measure, it was supposed to be a statement, but came out enlightening her audience to how unsure she was. The teacher’s face wrinkled in confusion, but within seconds a wide toothy smile spread across her aged features.

“Oh yes, that’s right. To tell the truth, I had completely forgotten that you were coming today”, turning to the rest of the pupils, she cleared her throat a little before announcing loudly, “Class, we have a new student today, as you can clearly see. Her name is Samantha McPherson. She just transferred here from Middleton High over in the valley. Be kind to her, and see to it that Ms. McPherson has a stress free first day. Let’s show her the Kennedy High spirit that this school is famous for. Anything you would like to add Samantha?” She turned her warm green eyes expectantly to the brunette still standing beside her.

“Just hi I guess, and by the way, call me Sam. No one really calls me Samantha”. Sam cast her eyes over the entire class, trying to see some form of a reaction to her entrance. But nobody gave any of their thoughts away; all the students just eyed her from top to bottom, as if sizing her up. The bell ringing for the second time that morning signalled the end of registration, and before Sam had even backed out of the way of the door, teenagers herded past her, some dodging her, but others pushing past violently to exit. Just as she was about to retaliate, and use some force back, the teachers’ sympathetic voice broke through the cloud that was quickly becoming rage.

“They are like that sometimes; behave worse than a pack of dogs on heat”. She laughed gently at her own joke before continuing. “I’m Mrs Wilson by the way. I teach Home Economics but I don’t believe you are in any of my classes. As you didn’t have time to register today, I will mark you in later, and I will see you after lunch period. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, you better run along now before you are late for first period. As your homeroom teacher I am given a copy of your schedule, and I believe you have English Lit first lesson, and that’s just two doors down”. Smiling gratefully, Sam nodded before heading out the door.

As she entered the English classroom, she noticed a few of the same faces from homeroom, but also about 10 new ones, who were looking just as interested as the previous. After once again introducing herself as the new girl, she was asked to fill the last empty seat in the class. She took out an A4 notebook and began scribbling down sections of what Mr. Grant, the teacher was saying. As an aspiring journalist, Sam had perfected the art of listening, but not paying attention. She was capable of writing detailed notes that were exactly to fact, and have no clue what she was noting. So as she took down numerous points and details, her mind started to wander. What was going to happen to her at this new school? Would she make friends, or live as unhappy as she had at her old school. What would life be like for her mom? Sam couldn’t get over the fact that her father was no longer with them, so she doubted her mother could either. Joe McPherson had died a year ago, he had been long suffering with cancer unknown to anyone but himself, and when the symptoms had finally shown up; there was nothing anyone could do. The doctors gave him days to live, a week maximum. But being the strong man that Joe was, he survived for 2 months. He died at home, in the night. He had somehow realised that that night would be his time to go, and in his weak state had crept to his daughter’s room. After admiring her sleeping form for a few minutes, he picked her up in his arms and struggled back to his’ and wife Jane’s bedroom. After placing his teenage daughter down, he stopped to catch his breath. Two years ago he could have lifted Sam with ease, but now, it nearly took the life from him. Laying beside the two most valuable people in his entire existence, Joe McPherson had fell into a peaceful slumber, full of wonderful dreams of past moments, from which he never woke. Sam could never shake the memory from her mind, the second she opened her sleepy eyes and they fell upon her lifeless father. She had panicked, bolted up straight in bed, waking her mother in the process. As Jane rubbed her eyes, asking Sam what was wrong at the same time, the frightened girl was already tending to her unconscious dad, performing any first aid she could think of, cursing when nothing seemed to stir the man. When Jane finally caught sight of what her daughter was trying to do, she forcefully grabbed the girl by the shoulders, pulling her into a tight hold. Sam tried to resist at first, thinking that she could save her father’s life if she just kept trying, but when she placed two fingers to his pale throat, she turned around and collapsed into her mother’s embrace.

“Sssh baby, it’s ok. You did what you could. He’s with the angels now”. Jane fought her own tears as she held her daughter close, feeling sobs rattle through the young girl. She had to be strong, for Sam’s sake. To be honest, Jane had been expecting her husband’s departure for days now, seeing his eyes roll back when he suddenly felt dizzy. Hearing the hard wheezing that erupted from his throat, when he would go to the bathroom, thinking that no-one would hear his soft cries. Jane was almost relieved that her partner had passed on, she felt horrible for feeling that way, but she hated seeing her usually so strong Joe, so useless and in so much pain.

Joe had meant everything to Sam, and when he had passed away, a part of her had died with him. They used to spend the evenings together, huddled over his laptop, just writing. They would compose anything, poetry, stories, and since Joe was a journalist for the local newspaper, he would often allow Sam to help with the research for his articles. Sam had never been the same after Joe left, the only part of her that had remained familiar was her love for writing. She felt that tracing her father’s footsteps would allow her to keep something of him with her always. Therefore, Sam was a journalist, and a good one at that. At her previous school, she had been editor, and although hardly anyone actually read the paper, she felt proud at seeing her name as the author of a provoking story. After each newspaper went to print, Sam would go to her father’s grave and read her article aloud to him. After finishing, she would sit in silence, sometimes for minutes, but more regularly for hours. Just thinking about all the times they shared, and contemplating her future without the person she trusted and listened to the most. She would tend to her fathers grave, trimming the grass and placing fresh flowers every time she visited. She would speak to Joe, tell him the events of her day; voice her opinions and her problems. She would tell him her fears, and even though she knew it was impossible, sometimes Sam swore she could hear the trusting voice of her father bringing words of wisdom to her in the gentle breeze. Joe’s advice meant everything to Sam, and without it she was lost. And that was how she was now, completely lost. Sam was once such a glowing, bright individual, full of insight and love. But recently, she had lost that part of her, she had become somewhat bitter, the only insight she had left was always a sarcastic remark. The only person she was still kind to was her mother, Sam knew she had to at least hold it together for her; Jane had been through enough already. But outside their home, Sam switched completely, she began to drop grades in school, falling from an A student to someone who was lucky to achieve a C. Her editorials became sloppy, and often drifted from the subject they were based on, that lead to her being dropped from the newspaper team, which sent her into an even deeper depression. She had felt that writing for that paper was her connection to her father, and she had lost it. She had stopped going out, instead she locked herself in her bedroom, only coming out for the necessities. When Jane asked if she was ok, she was replied with a half-hearted “I’m fine mom”. When Sam started dropping weight, Jane had agreed that that was it. She told Sam she needed a fresh start, saying that the house that they occupied held too many remembrances. She told Sam that she couldn’t bear being in the same house that her and Joe had lived in for so many years, because it brought back too many memories. She lied, but it was for Sam’s sake, if there was one thing she knew about her teenage daughter, it was that she was stubborn, another thing that she got from Joe.

So they had packed up, leaving most of Sam’s father’s belongings behind, and moved across town. She had been able to steal a few of his things before the move, just things that were important to him. The thing she treasured the most was his leather bound journal that he kept updated constantly. When she was feeling particularly down, she would lie in her bed and read an entry. It made her feel extremely close to her dad, knowing all his feelings and such. She wouldn’t give up that diary for anything. Jane enrolled her into a new school, the infamous Kennedy High, known for its efficiency and teenage spirit. Her mother was hoping that this break would help Sam start again, to find herself once more, to regain that spark that once shone so vibrantly in her eyes. And even if her mother didn’t realise it, Sam was desperately clutching at any part of her old self she could get.

So that’s where she was now, sitting in a hard plastic chair, jotting down notes for an exam she hadn’t been present long enough to study for, staring at the back of her teachers balding head while he babbled on incessantly, all the while taking notes but not paying any attention at all. Tossing her thoughts aside, she decided that this “mindless zoning” in class would be something to change also, she wanted to revert back to her top grades. After all, the principal wouldn’t even consider allowing her to join the school newspaper if she didn’t prove herself literate. Let alone promote her to editor. So Sam did something she hadn’t done for nearly a year, she focused. One hundred percent of her being went to listening and interpreting everything that she was being taught. But just as her brain was warming up, the bell went yet again, and once more all the students rushed out of the room.

“Just one more period until lunch”, Sam whispered as she stood up, throwing her book bag over her shoulder. She exited the room and walked through the throng of oncoming teens as fast as she could, heading towards her next class. As she rushed through the crowd, her notebook and homework textbook held tightly to her chest, she suddenly felt a hard force head on. The books she was carrying dropped from her hands and she immediately bent to pick them up from the floor. Once she had successfully retrieved them without being trample on, she brushed a lock of brown hair from her face, before looking angrily up into the face of the person that had so rudely intruded into her personal space.