A Shattered Moment (Fractured Lives 1)

For a moment I thought she was going to flat-out ignore my question when her eyes followed where I had pointed. The guy across from me gave me a sympathetic grin that clearly indicated he thought I was striking out.

Mac surprised us both though by answering. “It’s no different than texting.” Her voice cracked slightly, but it was a start.

“Yeah, but I’m not the best at texting. My fingers are too fat,” I said, wagging my fingers at her.

“They’re not fat, just large.” She blushed slightly before looking back down.

The guy across from us smirked again, but I ignored him. “Still makes it hard. My fingers need more space. I’ve had some seriously embarrassing autocorrect moments.”

“My friend Za—I mean, a guy I knew had the same problem,” she answered, tripping over her words.

“See what I mean? At least it’s not just me. How about you? Are you a good texter?” I wanted to smack myself over the weak-ass line of questions, but I was desperate to keep her talking.

Her eyes, which had been looking everywhere but at me, finally focused on mine. “I used to be,” she answered quietly before looking back down. Her body language made it clear she was done talking.

It was a step in the right direction, but I was starting to figure out that with this girl I needed to pick my moments, so I took the hint and gave her a little space.

We didn’t talk again the rest of the afternoon. A couple of times I swore I felt her eyes on me while I chatted with Brian, a guy I shared a couple of classes with. He was studying to become a nurse, so some of our classes overlapped. Anytime I’d glance over to see if I was right about Mac, I would find her head buried in her textbook. Finally, just like clockwork, when seven rolled around, she packed up her stuff. This time I waited until she was gone before I even thought about gathering my own shit.

By the time I made it outside, I could barely see her as she disappeared int

o the darkness. “You’d think she’d be more concerned about walking at night,” I said.

“Were you talking to me?” I hadn’t noticed a guy leaning against the wall in the shadows smoking a cigarette.

“Nah, man, just thinking out loud,” I answered.

The protective vibe over Mac came out of nowhere. It really wasn’t my business, but for whatever reason, it was becoming important to me to know she was okay.

The following day, I hoped the headway I’d made yesterday would get Mac to open up a little more. She was already there when I arrived, and even looked over at me when I sat down. I was about ready to slide my chair closer when she looked back down at her notes without so much as a hello. Slightly frustrated, I pulled out my laptop, reminding myself I needed to be patient. As each hour ticked by, though, I began to second-guess the whole idea. Not talking was something she was obviously good at, but I was beginning to question my sanity for continuing to pursue a chick who clearly wasn’t interested.

Thursday I decided to go for broke. I had basically reached my all-or-nothing point. I greeted Mac as soon as I sat down. Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of light pink, but she returned my greeting. Pleased that I at least had her attention, I pulled out my anatomy book and the body chart I had printed earlier. Shooting her one last smile, I pored over my chart using my book for reference as I began to label my paper. “You know, if I would have known the human body was this complicated, I never would have gotten into this racket.”

“That’s kind of your job, isn’t it?” Mac’s soft voice answered, giving me the opportunity I was waiting for.

“True, but I always figured I could skate by with just knowing the general stuff. You know, arm, leg, head, but scapula bone, carpal bones, malleus—I mean, come on.” She looked at me like I had two heads. “You know I’m kidding, right?”

“I figured as much.”

“See, that’s why I could also never be a comedian. I can’t even tell a knock-knock joke without screwing it up,” I answered, hoping to keep our momentum going. Glancing around, I noticed the library had emptied out somewhat and our corner was empty except for the two of us.

She smiled at my words. “I used to wish I had a photographic memory when I was younger. That way I would never have to study.”

“I used to wish I was Batman.”

Her smile that normally didn’t reach her eyes grew. “Batman?”

“Sure. If I was Batman, I could save the day, plus have all the cool gadgets. I’d be a hero by day and stud by night.”

Her smile dropped slightly. “And you like being a hero?” she asked quietly, studying me intently.

“It’s all I wanted to be growing up. Only, there’s an obvious difference between comic books and real life, but mostly I enjoy what I do.”

“What don’t you like about it?”

“That sometimes we arrive on the scene and realize there is nothing we can do to help.” In my haste to keep our conversation flowing, I spit out the answer without thinking about how she might react.

“No, sometimes it’s too late,” she whispered. She looked back down at her textbook and I figured we had traveled into the land of no return again.