A Shattered Heart (Fractured Lives 2)

d inside. Seeing the same aura around Brian was unsettling. Was I the only one who hadn't moved on?

Five

I discovered teaching art was different than actually performing it, especially when it came to a bunch of chattering preteens. It took me over a half an hour to get them settled in their seats with the supplies the Y had provided. I'd decided ahead of time to have them do one of the art projects I remembered doing in middle school. At the front of the room I placed the bright red apple I'd brought on a stand so they could all see it. I instructed them to use any mediums they wanted to transfer the image of the apple onto the white piece of paper in front of them, paying attention to dimensions and the coloring of the fruit.

While they worked, I walked between the tables giving pointers when needed. Some of the work was crude in execution and finished in a hurry. I knew this type. Their parents had most likely cajoled them into taking the class, hoping to spark some kind of interest. I made plans in my head to bring different mediums for them to work with in the future. I did spot several students who showed promise, and I made a point to give them helpful tips. One boy stood out. His drawing was done with lead, and if I wouldn't have seen him working on it I wouldn't have believed he'd done it. The dimensions and contrast were almost perfect. The shading had been done with an expert hand that spoke of true talent. I envied him. Even after years of classes I would never possess what came naturally to him.

"Can I keep this for a couple of days?" I asked him once he completed it and the class started to empty out. I wanted to show the picture to the art department at the college. They were going to crap themselves when I told them a twelve-year-old did it. It was a shame art was a dying subject in public schools. This kid was missing out.

He shrugged. "You can keep it. I have hundreds of drawings at my house. My mom will be thankful I'm not piling another one up in my room," he said, slinging his backpack onto his back and heading out of the room.

I placed the drawing carefully in the portfolio in my box and started to clean up the room.

"How'd it go?" a chipper voice asked from the doorway.

I nearly groaned. As a matter fact, I think I did groan.

Darcie Newton. Judging by the royal blue polo shirt and crisp white shorts she was wearing, she worked here. Shoot me now. This job was turning into a fucking class reunion.

Darcie bounced into the room. Bounced. Darcie the Chipper Chipmunk had been her nickname in school. It still applied.

"Good," I answered, placing the last of the supplies in the cabinet.

"I'm sure you did wonderful," she gushed, sitting on one of the tables and swinging her foot. She watched me with bright eyes.

Silence filled the room. I didn't know what to say. Darcie and I really weren't friends in high school. It was nothing against her, but my group had been all the friends I ever needed. Watching her now, I got the distinct feeling she was pleased about me being here. I had the horrible feeling she was going to bring up the accident. Don't do it, don't do it, I chanted in my head. It was one thing to talk about it with Brian, it was a whole other to talk about it with someone I barely knew.

Uncomfortably, I plucked the box off the table, wishing I could flee from the room but saw no way to leave without looking rude.

"So you work here?" I finally said, stating the obvious as I balanced the box in my arms.

"Oh yes, my daddy is the manager here. He has been for nearly twenty years," she stated, clearly surprised I hadn't already known this.

I was sort of surprised too. At less than a half of a mile from Jessica's house, my friends and I had spent countless summer hours in the pool here. That all changed when Jessica's parents surprised us by getting a pool put in the summer we were thirteen. After that we never swam at the Y again. Not sharing with a bunch of daycares and grumpy old people had been pure teenage bliss.

"That's nice," I answered, shifting the box in my arms.

"Yep, as soon as I saw your application come in I told him he absolutely had to hire you. I just knew we would finally be friends."

Fuck me. Not only did she work here but now I was indebted to her. For a brief moment, I debated how important it was for me to work this summer. I didn't need the money and I definitely didn't need a new best friend. That could be filed under hell no. The problem was, I already liked this job, despite the two obstacles that had been thrown my way.

I think I smiled at her, though I was sure it looked more like a grimace. The words to lash out at her sat heavy on the tip of my tongue. I did not need her as my friend, and I definitely didn't need her help to get a job. Muttering some excuse, I scooted past her and left the room, afraid she would want to start making friendship bracelets next. I'd be forced to strangle her with the string if that happened.

The lobby of the Y was crowded and the noise level could have rivaled my room earlier, with the exception that this crowd was all in the retirement age bracket. I managed to make it out of the Y without running into anyone else. Only when I was sitting behind the steering wheel did I notice I had a death grip on it. My knuckles were stark white, making them stand out against the dark gray steering wheel. A haze of red clouded my vision. I was angry. Anger was the only emotion I seemed capable of anymore. Dr. Carlton would spout his medical jargon, claiming I'd never move on if I couldn't get past that emotion.

Fuck him.

Fuck all of this.

I smacked the steering wheel for emphasis. A stinging sensation at the contact speared across my palm. It felt good. It felt like control. So I did it again. And again.

I hit the steering wheel until my palm was a brilliant red, until sweat dripped down my back. I hit it until I finally felt like I was in control.

It was only after I started my car and pulled out of my parking lot did I spot Brian watching me from the side of the building. Even bathed in the shadows of the building I could see the frown on his face. He probably thought I'd gone crazy. Good. Maybe he'd stay away from me now. He and Mackenzie could live in their perfect little worlds.

The drive home passed in a foggy blur. My mind was busy doing what it did best—categorizing and sorting through my thoughts. The unpleasant ones from the day were shoved to the back, while the other ones were stuck up front. Despite the suck of the day, today had proven one thing—I'd picked the right career choice. Teaching was my calling. The thought gave me some measure of relief. I'd been afraid like everything else in my life that would also be lost.

I slowed the car when I neared Fred's, tempted to turn in but afraid of running into Brian again. I bit back a string of swear words. I would have to pick another place to hang out. It was a loss. Fred might not have been very communicative, but we'd had a common respect for each other. Finding a new place with the same anonymous feel was going to be hard. It aggravated me that my old life was finding a way to encroach on my new one.