Page 2 of Fractured


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“Yeah.” I nod. Taking the other half of my sandwich, I bite into it and look over at the playground. Being at school sucks, but Momma says I have to finish school to get a job. “Do you want a job one day?” I suddenly ask the boy.

“Yeah,” he says before shrugging as he takes another big bite of the sandwich, then he looks at me. I like what I see when I look into his eyes. They look kind, not like the others who scare me. I can’t stop looking at them. The boy with the candy-bar eyes. I smile. The boy with Snickers eyes. “My dad says that’s how you can make a lot of money. We have a lot of money, but my mom isn’t around much, so I think she uses it all.”

He smiles at me then, and I can’t help but do it back. It’s the first time I’ve smiled in a long while. I decide I want to see his smile some more. His eyes shine when he looks at me again, and I wonder if they do that all the time or if he’s just happy because of the money his family has.

“I don’t think it’s good.”

“What?” I ask, making my eyebrows crinkle like dad used to do when he didn’t understand something I said.

His face turns serious, like he’s about to tell me his puppy died. My heart breaks. I don’t like that. I hope he doesn’t tell me that. “Money.” He shrugs, eating the last piece of the sandwich. “I just think that people should be happy. Money doesn’t really do that,” he says after he’s chewed all the bread. “Because my parents have money, but they never look happy. I wish everyone could smile more.”

I have to nod because I agree with him. But sometimes, smiling hurts more than crying does. But how do you make people happy? I suppose you could give them presents. I like presents. But then you’d have to have money to do it.

“Maybe you can be a policeman,” I tell him. I know they make people happy when they smile with their friendly faces. My momma and me always greet them when we see them walking around the city. And sometimes, they take bad men away, which makes my momma happy. They took her boss away when he became a thief. Momma told me he took all the money and almost ran away with it. They called him a thief and Momma said its only bad men who do things like that. Now that he’s gone, Momma is happy again.

“Maybe,” he says, looking up at the playground. “What’s your name?” he asks, and then his chocolate eyes are on me. They’re so pretty I can’t look away, and I feel my cheeks get hot.

“Autumn,” I tell him. “My momma says it’s another word for fall, like the season.” I smile when he does. “And yours?”

“James Dylan,” he says, sitting up straight as if it’s cool to be called James Dylan. “But you can call me JD. All my friends call me that.”

“Am I your friend?” I ask, my eyes wide as I stare at him. I’ve never had a friend before, and I hope he does tell me I can be his friend. When he smiles again, I notice his dimple. It reminds me of the pop singer I like; he has dimples too. Or he could be like a puppy. Maybe not as fluffy, but he’s nice. I decide right then that I like JD and his smile.

“Yes.” He doesn’t look like he’s joking, and my heart jumps up and down; my belly does a weird flip-flop, and it feels like there are a million birds flapping their wings inside me.

“I like that.”

“Good, because when I’m friends with somebody, they have to be my friend forever,” he tells me seriously. “And if you ever leave me, I’ll be the saddest boy in the world.”

“I wouldn’t want to make you sad. Ever.” I nod, and my pigtails fly back and forth, making him laugh.

“Good. I don’t want to make you sad, so I think we can be forever friends.”

Again, my belly does something funny, and I smile at him. He’s nice. Even though he is rich—not like me and momma—I like being his friend.

“So, where are your other friends?” I ask him before I look at the playground. It looks like nobody else knows him.

When I look at JD again, I notice he’s staring at me. He tugs on my pigtail and says, “If you’re going to be my forever friend, I don’t need others. And maybe I can marry you one day.” His words make my face get very, very hot.

But then I laugh, and shaking my head, I say, “I don’t know if my momma will let me get married.”

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