Sylvia

I’m NOT the bad guy here, right?! Those words echo through my head as I sit silently in the car next to my brother. His head is leaning pitifully against the window and he seems to look paler and paler the closer we get to Rockwood Middle School. I sigh as I lean my head against my own window, today was supposed to be a GOOD day; Tony’s such a dork he loves school and should be just GIDDY with excitement over his 8th grade year. I should be secretly thrilled to be in 7th grade, no longer one of the babies of the school. We should be walking up to that building; cool and confident with LuLu and Summer. Summer and Tony walking down the halls laughing and holding hands……
THAT was how it should have been.
Instead, Tony begged my mom to drive us to the school we live just a few blocks away from just so he didn’t have to walk with LuLu. Because we were all at war now; the once inseparable foursome had turned against one another. I hated Summer for cheating on Tony and running his life but on the other hand, I also hated Tony for not giving her a chance. But than again, he already HAD given her a chance in Nantucket…..UGH! I shook my head to try and clear the contradicting thoughts. I was the middle ground of the war, the no man’s land, etc. Or a traitor I think sullenly as we wave goodbye to our mom. We walk through the hallways in silence, I look at my brother as he walks and I remember who’s side I should be DEDICATED to; his usual bright blue eyes were a dull gray, his blonde hair looked white as if he’d aged 20 years since September 9th. He walked as slowly as possible, wincing as if each step closer to HER caused him pain. We stood to the back of the bright chattering mass of happy friends. That should be US I think ruefully. I HATE Summer Johnson, I absolutely-
There she was.
My internal rage seemed to suddenly freeze over when I looked at the ghost of a girl I saw standing off to the side with LuLu.
Gone was her bright eyes and smile, her dirty blonde curls, her gorgeous tan. In their place were cold, hard eyes that when you looked held deep pools of never-ending sorrow. Her dirty blonde hair was messy and hung straight down her back covering her sickly pale face. I wanted to run over to her and hug her; tell her that I was there for her, but I looked at Tony and he looked as though he were in the same amount of pain. There’s no winner. I think to myself as the bell rings. Summer hadn’t seen us, but Tony had seen her. He mumbled a goodbye and walked off with the rest of the eighth grade.
What am I supposed to do? Is the only thing I can think as I turn down the opposite direction to the 7th grade wing.