You're tearing me apart!

                Staring was rude. That was what mom and grandma always told him. They'd snap their fingers in front of his face and scold him quietly so nobody around them would hear. You're being rude, Jim, mom would say. Leave the boy alone, dad would say. Grandma would always change sides and agree with his dad, of course, because she wasn't particularly fond of his mom. Jim, in the end, found himself staring just to pick at their nerves.

          His parents and his grandmother weren't around this time. Jim watched the sight in front of him over the car door. Amusement danced at the corners of his eyes and the smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

     It was more an act of distress than anything else.

     It had been three weeks since the death of John Plato Crawford. Jim Stark blamed himself. He blamed himself for a lot of things that happened. Two boys had died for nothing. Two boys died because he came around. Because he was a chicken.

     He saw her when the sun was shining, and it was nice, and all that stuff. Jim set his sights on Judy, and then, he was chasing behind her in an attempt to catch up. He didn't say anything. His mouth sought hers instantly. The kiss anchored him, and for a moment, everything was forgotten.