Wake Me Up
The doors of the train whooshed open with that rusty grinding sound that happens when the doors are past their 'sell-by-date'. I clomped in, unsatisfied with my 'trip' to London. As Tommy would say, it was an 'Epic Fail'. I am tired. Very, very tired. I plonk myself down onto my seat, legs aching. I text Dave:
Stuck in London. B back soon :) xxx
Chances are he won't reply,he never does, nowadays. Not when his girlfriend is going to die. Ever since I told him, he's changed, not acting caring, not sympathetic,just bored, very very bored, as if the thrill is gone.
I suddenly find my red Converse facinating. Why won't that stain come out? Is there a study of stains on the white toes of Converses? Conversestainorology, maybe? Has that lace been undone for all of my journey? It's pretty dirty. I suddenly hear a snort anda shuffle. I whip round towards the sound. A man, maybe 20, 25? His dark brown hair issticking up like he's been asleep for weeks, maybe he has? What do I know?
My gaze travels down to his face, where a yellow Sticky-note has been stuck. It reads:
Wake me up when I get to Woking. I smile. I'll wake him up when we get there - it's my stop too. The announcement is made: "The next station is Woking." I shuffle over towards the man - might as well wake him up early, let him get his bags and stuff together.
How do I wake him up? Shake him? Splash him with water? Pinch him? Poke him? Kick him?! I settle on poking. I poke him on the arm. I do it again. Harder. When he finally stirs, I tell him: "Hey, wake up, we're nearly at Woking." He sits up and stretches like a cat. Stretches his arms up, and round... Hitting me on the head.
"Agh!" I yelp, surprised.
"Oh, sorry." He looks at me as if he's only just noticed me. He peels the gummy Post-It off his face andcrumplesit in his hand. I take a closer look at him - now his eyes are open, he seems a lot younger, 16, minimum. His green eyes bore into me, taking in my carefully braided black hair. Running a hand through his hair (making it stand on end even more ) he sighs.
"So, uh... We're near Woking then, right?"
"Yeah." I reply. Wow, people are stupid when they've just woken up- didn't I say where we were before? "It's the next stop, actually."
"Thanks for waking me. I thought that maybe people would leave me until I got to the end of the line." He looks at me again, and I can'thelpnoticing the bright greeness of his eyes. Surely eyes can't be that bright? "I'm Jam." He holds out his hand and I shake it, giving him my brilliant 'Huh?' expression.
"It's short for James. Kind of." He smiles.
"Oh! OK. I'm Dani. Well, Daniella. No strange nicknames there." I shrug appolagetically, as if the 'strange' comment could've offended him in any way.
He laughs,and it makes me feel better inside - all fluttery and squirmy...
"Are you OK?" Jam asks, taking in my wiggle in my seat.
"No." I admit.
"Really? What's wrong?" Jam puts his arm round my shoulders.
"It doesn't matter." I lie. It does matter. It matters a lot, actually. Tears threaten to spring. They sting the back of my eyes until I need to blink.
One stray, salty tear escapes and drips down in to my lap.
"Hey, hey, it's OK! It's OK." Jam throws his other arm round me in an awquard hug. I then let the tears flow. I watch as the tears pool and slide down my cheeks, expanding as the hit the dark, tattered material of Jam's hoodie.
"It's my birthday soon." Jam smiles, trying unsuccessfully to change the subject.
"R-r-really?" I choke out between sobs. "How-ow old will y-you be?" I sniff unattractively.
"Sixteen." My second guess confirmed. I feel my lungs finally pull in a huge breath of air, letting me live another day. I cough.
"My birthday's on December the 25th. Christmas. Everyone tries to smush them together, it never works - I'm
sick of it." I say, wondering why I'm unloading all my secrets onto a poor, fifteen-year-old boy with a silly nickname that probably has something more important to think about than the stupid wafflings of a dying girl he's known five minutes. But he doesn't seem to mind. I run the sleeve of my jumper over my nose, disgusted to find it to comeback slick with yuck. I wipe it on my jeans, hoping Jam hasn't noticed. I crinkle my sleeves, which have gone crusty after all my snotting. Yuck.
"We're now at Woking Station, change here for Aldershot." Says the mechanic voice. I shiver as I step outside, tailed my Jam who doesn't seem to mind the cold at all. The night closes is, shrouding everything in shadow. In darkness.
"Are you cold?" Jam asks, starting to take off his hoodie.
"No, no! It's fine." Sniff "I'm OK. Really, I don't want you to turn into a frozen Jam-sicle." I had to have chosen the most dorkiest thing to say to the boy I'm pretty sure likes me for who I am. Unlike some people.
"A what?" Jam laughs.
"A popsicle, and you, Jam. A Jam-sicle. Really, I'd've thought it was pretty obvious." Great, now I had to say something stupid and smarty-pantsy. Oh dear,this isn't going well.
Jam replicates my 'Huh?' face, but then nods with a frown.
"Well, I'[ve got to go, I'll see you around, Dani-No-Funny-Nickname." I love the way he says my name...
"Okay. Bye then, Jammy-Dodger!" I can see his smile inthe dark. It made my stomach flip. Heck, it made it do somersaults and handstands and cartwheels. He reaches his arm out... What's he doing? I have half a mind to pull away, but before I know it, he's ruffled my hair, and jogged off round the corner. Hoodie-less. I feel the top of my head. Jam's hoodie is there, hanging downmy back like a cape. I pull it on and hug it tight. It smells of cinnamon. Where would that come from? I find the answer in the pocket. A bag of cinnamon cookies. I open it. The smell drifts up my nostrils, making my mouth water. But I can't, can I? I can't eat his biscuits. I pull my pen out of my pocket and scribble on:
'FOR JAM' . Not knowing where he's from, His full name or his address, I just leave them on the snow-frosted wall. I blow a kiss to the bag, as if it can seal it away until Jam returns. So he'll get it then.
I hope.
I walk off down the pavement, happy.
By Immy and Mad
Stuck in London. B back soon :) xxx
Chances are he won't reply,he never does, nowadays. Not when his girlfriend is going to die. Ever since I told him, he's changed, not acting caring, not sympathetic,just bored, very very bored, as if the thrill is gone.
I suddenly find my red Converse facinating. Why won't that stain come out? Is there a study of stains on the white toes of Converses? Conversestainorology, maybe? Has that lace been undone for all of my journey? It's pretty dirty. I suddenly hear a snort anda shuffle. I whip round towards the sound. A man, maybe 20, 25? His dark brown hair issticking up like he's been asleep for weeks, maybe he has? What do I know?
My gaze travels down to his face, where a yellow Sticky-note has been stuck. It reads:
Wake me up when I get to Woking. I smile. I'll wake him up when we get there - it's my stop too. The announcement is made: "The next station is Woking." I shuffle over towards the man - might as well wake him up early, let him get his bags and stuff together.
How do I wake him up? Shake him? Splash him with water? Pinch him? Poke him? Kick him?! I settle on poking. I poke him on the arm. I do it again. Harder. When he finally stirs, I tell him: "Hey, wake up, we're nearly at Woking." He sits up and stretches like a cat. Stretches his arms up, and round... Hitting me on the head.
"Agh!" I yelp, surprised.
"Oh, sorry." He looks at me as if he's only just noticed me. He peels the gummy Post-It off his face andcrumplesit in his hand. I take a closer look at him - now his eyes are open, he seems a lot younger, 16, minimum. His green eyes bore into me, taking in my carefully braided black hair. Running a hand through his hair (making it stand on end even more ) he sighs.
"So, uh... We're near Woking then, right?"
"Yeah." I reply. Wow, people are stupid when they've just woken up- didn't I say where we were before? "It's the next stop, actually."
"Thanks for waking me. I thought that maybe people would leave me until I got to the end of the line." He looks at me again, and I can'thelpnoticing the bright greeness of his eyes. Surely eyes can't be that bright? "I'm Jam." He holds out his hand and I shake it, giving him my brilliant 'Huh?' expression.
"It's short for James. Kind of." He smiles.
"Oh! OK. I'm Dani. Well, Daniella. No strange nicknames there." I shrug appolagetically, as if the 'strange' comment could've offended him in any way.
He laughs,and it makes me feel better inside - all fluttery and squirmy...
"Are you OK?" Jam asks, taking in my wiggle in my seat.
"No." I admit.
"Really? What's wrong?" Jam puts his arm round my shoulders.
"It doesn't matter." I lie. It does matter. It matters a lot, actually. Tears threaten to spring. They sting the back of my eyes until I need to blink.
One stray, salty tear escapes and drips down in to my lap.
"Hey, hey, it's OK! It's OK." Jam throws his other arm round me in an awquard hug. I then let the tears flow. I watch as the tears pool and slide down my cheeks, expanding as the hit the dark, tattered material of Jam's hoodie.
"It's my birthday soon." Jam smiles, trying unsuccessfully to change the subject.
"R-r-really?" I choke out between sobs. "How-ow old will y-you be?" I sniff unattractively.
"Sixteen." My second guess confirmed. I feel my lungs finally pull in a huge breath of air, letting me live another day. I cough.
"My birthday's on December the 25th. Christmas. Everyone tries to smush them together, it never works - I'm
sick of it." I say, wondering why I'm unloading all my secrets onto a poor, fifteen-year-old boy with a silly nickname that probably has something more important to think about than the stupid wafflings of a dying girl he's known five minutes. But he doesn't seem to mind. I run the sleeve of my jumper over my nose, disgusted to find it to comeback slick with yuck. I wipe it on my jeans, hoping Jam hasn't noticed. I crinkle my sleeves, which have gone crusty after all my snotting. Yuck.
"We're now at Woking Station, change here for Aldershot." Says the mechanic voice. I shiver as I step outside, tailed my Jam who doesn't seem to mind the cold at all. The night closes is, shrouding everything in shadow. In darkness.
"Are you cold?" Jam asks, starting to take off his hoodie.
"No, no! It's fine." Sniff "I'm OK. Really, I don't want you to turn into a frozen Jam-sicle." I had to have chosen the most dorkiest thing to say to the boy I'm pretty sure likes me for who I am. Unlike some people.
"A what?" Jam laughs.
"A popsicle, and you, Jam. A Jam-sicle. Really, I'd've thought it was pretty obvious." Great, now I had to say something stupid and smarty-pantsy. Oh dear,this isn't going well.
Jam replicates my 'Huh?' face, but then nods with a frown.
"Well, I'[ve got to go, I'll see you around, Dani-No-Funny-Nickname." I love the way he says my name...
"Okay. Bye then, Jammy-Dodger!" I can see his smile inthe dark. It made my stomach flip. Heck, it made it do somersaults and handstands and cartwheels. He reaches his arm out... What's he doing? I have half a mind to pull away, but before I know it, he's ruffled my hair, and jogged off round the corner. Hoodie-less. I feel the top of my head. Jam's hoodie is there, hanging downmy back like a cape. I pull it on and hug it tight. It smells of cinnamon. Where would that come from? I find the answer in the pocket. A bag of cinnamon cookies. I open it. The smell drifts up my nostrils, making my mouth water. But I can't, can I? I can't eat his biscuits. I pull my pen out of my pocket and scribble on:
'FOR JAM' . Not knowing where he's from, His full name or his address, I just leave them on the snow-frosted wall. I blow a kiss to the bag, as if it can seal it away until Jam returns. So he'll get it then.
I hope.
I walk off down the pavement, happy.
By Immy and Mad