Shattered Soul by Jennifer Snyder

reality
of losing her son.” Ali drew in a shuddering breath. “Sorry, guess
this is one of those deep conversations you don’t like, huh?” She
smiled at me weakly and I couldn’t bring myself to flash her even
the faintest of smiles in return.
    Seeing her so wounded and grief-stricken as old pain
cut through her again killed me. I never imagined her having been
through something so horrible. I was stunned.
    My stomach knotted while she continued to stare at
me, blinking back tears with her lips quivering. I struggled to
come up with something comforting to say. Anything. But all I could
think of was a simple sorry.
    Once I opened my mouth to speak, the I’m sorry wasn’t
what came from my lips. Instead, my mouth opened and everything I
never wanted Ali to know about my life spilled out.
    I told her about my dad and how he’d walked away when
I was only three. I told her about my mom and how she’d tried to
make ends meet for my brother and I, but it had taken a toll on her
and she’d turned to alcohol as a coping method. I told her how Mom
lost her job two months ago because they’d gotten sick of her
coming into work smelling of booze. And how her drinking has gotten
worse since then. I told her about Calvin and how he couldn’t hold
a job besides dealing drugs.
    And then, I told her the truth about how I’d gotten
beaten up.
    The only parts of my life I kept secret were the
things my mom said to me earlier and everything about crystal meth.
Ali already knew I smoked pot and popped pills, two things that
must seem fairly harmless in her eyes or else she wouldn’t have
done them, and that was all she needed to know about me.
    After spilling my guts, I hesitated in bringing my
eyes to hers, afraid of what I might see in them. Once I finally
found the courage, they were wide and worried, thoughtful and
sympathetic. In that moment, her sympathy didn’t bother me.
    Ali didn’t speak and neither did I. We held each
other’s stare, truly seeing each other for the first time.
    Ali wasn’t just some girl living a peaches and cream
life with parents who had a little bit of money. Ali was more than
that, deeper than that, and she had the scars on her heart, on her
soul, to prove it.
    And I wasn’t just some bad boy who was nothing but a
punk kid looking for trouble. I was raised around trouble and
because of it, I was troubled to the very core.
     
    It was 9:40 p.m. when Ali dropped me off at my house,
apparently she had a curfew of ten p.m. on school nights, something
I knew little about.
    I kissed her goodnight and watched her pull away
before stepping inside to a silent house with every light on. I
sauntered down the worn carpeted hall towards my room and closed
the door behind me. I flopped down across my bed and smoked another
bowl before drifting off to sleep.
     

Chapter Eleven
    Three weeks went by. Ali and I spent as much time
together as we could, between school and her curfews. Everything
seemed to be going great, until the moment her parents decided they
wanted to meet the boy whom she’d been spending all her time with.
Me.
     
    I stood in front of my dresser, staring at my
reflection in the mirror intently. My lip had healed, my bruises
had faded away, I looked normal again.
    I pulled on my nicest pair of khaki cargo shorts and
a green plaid button up shirt from the back of my closet I hardly
ever wore. I wore it tonight, though, only because I felt it was
important I looked decent.
    I took two puffs off my bowl to mellow me out and
calm my nerves before I left, grabbed the cigarette I’d stolen from
Calvin’s pack when he hadn’t been looking, and started out the door
towards Ali’s house for my judgment day; that’s what it felt like,
anyway.
     
    Once Ali's house came into view, my palms began to
sweat; I was scared shitless of what would happen in the moments to
come.
    I started up the steps, my heart banging in my chest.
Her parents were going to hate me, I was sure of it. They’d take
one