Little Sweet Dreamer

Chapter 1

"Not necessary."

The shot rang out across the gas station as droplets of blood splattered across my face. The arms of the murderer unwound themselves from my body as he fled, leaving me with a gaping hole where my heart used to be. I stood there, staring at my heart as it took its final, agonizing breaths with tears running down its face.

"Hey, Haz!" Anastasia said. Her voice tore me out of my trance. My eyes met the taupe inner walls of my locker, my fingers still locked around my Macbeth book. The cover felt damp under my fingertips. "Hey... you good?"

I gave her a mechanical nod and then glanced over in her direction. She laughed with no remorse. "You look beyond tired."

The hell hole I called school was the reason for the lack of energy coursing through my body—my eyelids were like lead, and my head throbbed in a painful ache. I stayed up all night studying for my Spanish test—why did I even have to take Spanish when I couldn't speak?

The bell rang, and she raised her eyebrows at my lack of acknowledgment. I was busy pushing that dark memory of mine to the back of my head. "Hello? You all right? We gotta go, or we're going to be late."

I quickly grabbed the various items I would need for my classes before lunch and followed her through the glossy beige and white tiled halls. Could I nap today at all? Psychology was probably my best bet since that class was a bore—the teacher didn't seem to care about what he was teaching. So I wouldn't miss much except maybe a PowerPoint that looked like a third-grader prepared it.

I entered Homeroom and sank into my seat. Anastasia sat next to Blake, who glanced at me. "You don't look so good. What's up?" I shrugged.

He turned his attention to Ana. "What's up with her?" Anastasia and Blake were my closest friends out of everybody in my friend group. We grew up on the same block, went to the same schools since kindergarten, and had the same paren—nope.

Jeez, my brain was fried.

"She's just exhausted, I think," Anastasia said.

He frowned. "Want me to run and get you a coffee or something?" I shook my head. He didn't care that he'd get in trouble for leaving and was so self-sacrificing when it came to Ana and me; he'd risk his skin to make sure we were comfortable. It was unnaturally noble, and most boys his age weren't like that—at least not in our school.

"How're you gonna pass the Spanish test today if you're this tired?" he pressed.

I signed, "I'll take a nap later—during lunch." And, Psychology... I knew he would disapprove if I told them that part.

His face was the embodiment of concern. "So you're not gonna eat?" Dear Lord, please leave me alone. This was becoming 20 questions when all I wanted to do was close my eyes to soothe my friggin headache.

I sighed and signed, "I'll eat quickly and take a nap."

He shook his head. "Next time you pull a stunt like this and don't get your proper sleep time, I'll have to beat you. Do you understand?" I laughed and rolled my eyes.

Thanks to me, Anastasia and Blake both learned to understand American Sign Language. As a child, I stopped speaking, so I could only communicate through ASL (before I could write fluently). And since your brain is a sponge at that age, they got with the program quickly. Of course, they didn't sign back to me since they could still verbally communicate, but they understood me.

And it's all because of one bullet that I could no longer speak.

The bell rang, causing chairs to screech as they were pushed back and people to grumble. Finally, the first period—the great evil—was upon us. Slightly slumped, I walked out of class and down the hall to the worst first-period class ever to be invented: Physics. I could only handle so much torture in the morning.