Critism?

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I like the story. You should write more.

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Thanks, I'm about to, but right now, I'm editting a play I wrote two years ago.

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Chapter One - Sam I walk through the halls of school, observing the art work that was displayed by the art teacher.  I just left my second period and have a free period.  I am heading towards the school library to look for a book.  I usually don't read, but I've decided that I should get a move on reading.  It would help me in literature. My eyes lock on a book as soon as I enter the library.  I race over to it and pick it off the shelf to read the back.  This book actually looks interesting, so I sit down at a table and flip to the first page.  I am immediately absorbed into the book and do not notice a girl sitting in the corner, trying to silence her tears.  It just seems as if that's part of the book. I look at the clock and realize I've been in the library for an hour.  I, now, was almost half way through the book, because it was small-only four hundred pages, about.  I ask the library if I could borrow the book, and she nods her head.  I walk out of the library, feeling like I forgot to do something. I visit my locker and open it.  A folded up piece of paper falls onto the floor.  I place my foot on it and put the book in the locker.  I, then, bend to pick up the paper.  I sit against the wall of lockers and unfold it.  Chloe Maure is a dirty girl, the note read.  Pass it on.  Chloe Maure.  The name races through my head as I try to sort out the girl.  "She's not dirty," I say aloud.  Chloe is very modest.  Wait.  Who was that girl in the library? Chapter Two - Chloe I can't believe my eyes as I read a note that was balled up and tossed at my head. Chloe Maure is a dirty girl.  Pass it on.  I almost cry, but I can't allow myself to disrupt Mr. Heffer's history class.  It would be too embarressing.  The note was obviously for someone else.  One does not just pass notes about a person to that same person.   As soon as the bell rings, I run towards the library-the only place I can sit and cry.  I sit down in a corner and pull my legs up to my chest.  I bow my head and rest it on my knees.  Why would someone say this about me?  I let a tear escape my eye, and then, it just rolls downhill.  My back heaves up and down as I use more air to cry.  I am making strange noises.  I hear footsteps and look up, my hair concealing my red, wet eyes.  I see a boy walk into the library and stop at a nearby shelf.  I indentify him almost immediately as Sam Williams.

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Really good. You should check out my new story Not Safe. I've only posted the prologue, but I plan on posting the first chapter tonight.

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