Throwing Rocks

It was the first snowfall of the year. The light snowflakes dusted the quiet town in a layer of sparkling white. The sky was a deep dark blue, a wide contrast to the bright crystal falling from it. There were no stars tonight, there never really were in Springfield, Minnesota, not in the middle of winter.

The streetlights on 606 Appel Street were dimmed, flickering occasionally. The third house on the right side was normal, painted the same bland color just like all the others; the box shrubs cut to exactly Mrs. Prune’s measurements, the garage door shut just like everyone liked it. Mr. and Mrs. Prune’s house looked just like it was supposed to look. They tried very hard to fit in, despite their misfit son, George.

Who, at that exact moment was rummaging around his bedroom on the first floor, grabbing around the dark cluttered room looking for his cell phone. George found the phone, tiptoed to the big bay window and wedged it open. He quickly shimmed out the window, and landed with a plunk! on the damp grass. He stood up, rubbing his sore knees, and wretched his now buzzing phone out of his pocket. The screen showed a text from Bethany, a girl who was currently obsessed with him. She was one of many girls who had fallen for George, classic bad boy with his leather jacket and carefree attitude. George never liked these girls, always finding them clingy and too easy. George was the type of boy, similar to many others, who wanted an adventure, a chase. He wanted someone who didn’t swoon when they heard his name or the signature sound of his motorcycle peeling into the school parking lot, someone who was different.

This someone was named Audrey Flemming, who was currently sound asleep considering, after all, that it was 2AM on a school night.

In every possible way, George and Audrey were opposites. She was an honor student who planned to go to a big-name Ivy League college. He managed to fail every class, and therefore had no plan. She played a sport nearly every season of the year. He attempted to play soccer, and was rather good at it, but got kicked off the team when beer was found in his locker. She had few close friends, and never really cared about being popular. He, on the other hand, relied on his popularity and could call anyone a friend and they wouldn’t really mind.

George loved these things about Audrey Flemming, how they were so different. He loved her messy chocolate brown hair, her plain hazel eyes, and the way she bit her lip when she got nervous.

He could picture the way she looked in class, studying the crisp papers on her desk before promptly raising her hand to answer almost every question.

He loved her for all the reasons he wasn’t sure of. He wanted her because he knew she wouldn’t want him back.

And as George walked to the thin forest that surrounded his backyard, he swore he was going to get her. Some how, some way.

Audrey Flemming was half way through her rem cycle when a small rock hit her bedroom window. Audrey was a deep sleeper, so of course she didn’t hear it.

Five more rocks later, and Audrey woke with a start.

She crept to her bedroom window, which was now slightly cracked, and looked down into the black night. She slowly opened the window, and stuck her head out into the chilly November night.

            “Who the hell are you?” Audrey said down to the white grass, trying to place a name to the chiseled, handsome face.

            “George. George Prune,” He said slowly, deliberately, hoping she would be impressed that such a person had bothered to wake her up at such an early hour.

            “And what might you be doing, George George Prune, throwing rocks at my window at 2AM in the morning?” Audrey said rudely, her chocolate hair even messier than it was during the day.

            “What do you think, Audrey?”

            “I’m not actually sure, George.”

            “Why don’t you take a guess,” George said, clapping his hands loudly in the unfriendly morning air.

            “I’d rather not!” Audrey yelled, swiftly shutting her cracked bedroom window. She padded back to her bed, getting back to sleep quickly.

Outside, George, being the persistent fellow he was, walked back to her gravel driveway to get more rocks.

It was precisely 3:27AM when Audrey’s bedroom window shattered, glass pieces flying into her bedroom, thankfully not hitting Audrey, but her desk and chair. Audrey, once again awaken, though this time by the heavy breeze coming from the hole in her bedroom wall. Audrey sat up in bed, a frown on her face. She hurriedly pulled on sweats and walked to her parent’s room down the hall.

She shook them both awake, telling them of the boy who had thrown rocks at her window, which he had know broken. Her mother and father were confused, but ran to their daughter’s bedroom, and seeing the broken window, realized this wasn’t just an odd nightmare. Her father looked out the window, and saw a boy leaning against a tree in his backyard smiling deviously like he’d just accomplished some great feat.

“Get the hell offa my lawn!” Mr. Prune yelled in a booming voice. George reacted immediately, grabbing his black backpack and disappearing into the black night.

“Should we call the police?” Mrs. Prune said, her voice squeaky as she rocked her daughter back and forth, attempting to sooth her.

“Of course we’re going to call the police! Audrey, darling, do you know that boy’s name?”

“Uh, yes, Daddy, I do. It’s, uh, George. George Prune,” Audrey said nervously, fingering her worn pajama top.

“I’ll call Officer Walden right now,” He said, stomping loudly out of her room and down the stairs.

Audrey and her mother struggled to cover the window with an old sheet before heading downstairs and setting up a makeshift bed for Audrey on the couch in the big family room.

Springfield was a quiet suburban town that worked for perfection. When something scattered that perfection, everyone would know.

At the corner diner on Maple St. the old ladies who were always knitting developed a Romeo and Juliet scenario between bad boy George Prune and sweet Audrey Flemming.

The students at Cedar Mountain High School couldn’t believe George’s weird obsession over the plain Audrey Flemming.

Mr. and Mrs. Prune closed the blinds of their neat suburban house and called in sick from work, afraid to face the world after what their son had done.

Mr. and Mrs. Flemming insisted that their daughter take a day off from school to let the news die down, but she insisted she was fine to go.

George Prune was comfortable in the jail cell of the county police department, and very thankful that he was alone.

George returned to school the next day, receiving approving nods from his male classmates, and nervous smiles from the many girls that still managed to admire him.

It was between third and forth period that George and Audrey passed in the halls. She looked down at the scummy tiled floor, praying he wouldn’t see her. He tried desperately to catch her gaze. Audrey looked up again, thinking she’d seen his motorcycle boots pass. She scanned the many faces, not seeing his. Audrey walked toward her locker, and there he was. George Prune leaning against her locker like he did it everyday. Audrey pretended he wasn’t there and opened her locker, shoving her locker door out to the right so she couldn’t see his face any longer.

“Hi,” He said quietly as he moved the locker door away.

“What do you want, George?” Aubrey said abruptly, shifting the books around in her locker, hoping he’d go away.

“A date. With you,” He announced, with confidence and a winning smile.

“Why?” She whispered, finally looking into his blue, blue eyes.

“Because,” George said with utmost certainty, leaning in and kissing her hard on the lips, both of his hands clasping her face strongly. She leaned back, shaking her head and biting her lip, a confused expression on her face.

“No, not know, George, not know,” She mumbled, slamming her locker door and walking away.

A few months later, on a rainy night in January, a rock hit the bedroom window of George Prune.

George walked unsteadily to the window, half asleep. The rain was loud and fierce; he could barely see her.

“What are you gonna do if I call the police?” George yelled to her, his dirty blonde hair already wet from the rain.

“I’d run, George, but you’d come with me,”

Word Count: 1455

Word Count: 1455

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