"Is this you?" I showed Myra Johnson the poem on the bus.
"I wish I was but I could never write that well. " She handed it back.
I walked into school and the first person I see, Sylvie.
"Is this you?" I shoved the paper in front of her face. She said something French.
"So it was you?"
"I'm pretty sure she said she doesn't speak English. " Anne came from behind her.
"No, I said I don't understand English. Come on Anne, you're supposed to know French."
She turned to Sylvie and said in a French accent. "I speak Eng-lish.You speak Eng-lish?" I think she was mimicking a French person poorly speaking English. I laughed. Anne whipped her head so fast she should have gotten whiplash, she pointed her finger at me. "Laugh at my joke again, and I'll throw you in the Catacombs."
"...Okay." I have no idea how she would do that, but her friend is a magician so I'm not gonna mess with her.
She just stepped on me like I was sidewalk,
Kicked me like dirt,
And all she did was talk.
I saw Cassidy Williamson walk past and memories came with her. Wow, I hate her. She needs to get out my life ASAP.
"Forget about her." Sylvie said. How does she know about Cassidy? She just moved here. "I heard about you and Cassidy. "
"Life moves on, get over it and don't be afraid to try love again." Anne said.
"Wow. Great words of advice. I swear you're like a genie. Thanks." I take my sarcasm and walk away. I have no idea where I'm going and I don't wanna go to class. I want to jump out the window. I legit just want to flip off a cliff or something. I don't want to be at school, but S. P. Whitman is here so I throw away the thought.
I see her walking my way.
"Did you find out who wrote you those poems?"
"Nope." I make a face. To be honest I don't want to know. I find joy in the surprise of receiving a mysterious purple envelope every day. If I know who they are they might stop. I don't want them to stop.
"I hope you do!"
"Thanks..."
YOU ARE READING
The Leftovers
Teen FictionI had become a leftover. I am nothing more than a plate of food he forgets about, And soon he will dispose of me. He comes to me when he is hungry for love, I feed him hoping he'll stay, But he leaves. Because that's all I am to him, Just a leftover.
