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challenge o7
genre of story requested: fantasy/drama/romance
rating requested: R or below
what they’d like to see: Multi dimensional characters, a bit of angst something with a bit of darkness
what they’d hate to see: fluff, cliches, flat characters
three words/quotes they’d like to see in the story: “The Encyclopedia of Hell? You have the Encyclopedia of Hell?” “Belief is something you choose to do. It’s hard. If it were easy it wouldn’t be worth as much.” “Shhhh, not in front of the books!”
for: Kristi/bashipforever(lj)
-
.tracks.
- aka
the encyclopedia of hell
-
“You were at a doctor’s appointment?”
I hated how Principal Fern looked at me. He almost seemed to be interrogating me. Was he a policeman or a principal? Sometimes I wasn’t too sure.
“I was at a doctor’s appointment,” I confirmed, trying to sound mocking yet at the same time, not too obvious so that he couldn’t call me to it. “That’s why I need the homework I missed in the afternoon. Could you please tell Mrs. Harris that—”
“I’ll call you down to the office in about an hour. I should have all your homework here by then and you can come pick it up.” Mr. Fern turned away from me and sat downat his desk. “In the meantime, go and enjoy track.”
Enjoy track? I bit down a gag and stood up. “Thanks,” I said, then left.
The sun was bright and blinding, bathing the day in a warmth that many of the trackathletes enjoyed. A slight wind carried across the yard that held the many events. Various students from competing schools stood at each event with anticipation—their paces were set; their goals shared. Each and every one of them loved the competition; the anticipation, hardly minding the sun that beat on their backs and burned at their skin.
I hated Track and Field Day, mainly because something always went wrong during it. I had had my share of rather annoying and unfortunate encounters. For some examples:
In grade seven, some senior had decided it would have been funny to spurt ketchup all over my white tank top right before pictures of the athletes were to be taken.
In grade eight, I had fallen flat on my face during the hurdles event when my foot had caught on the very first hurdle. I was forever shamed.
In grade nine, I had been dumped by my then-current boyfriend on this very day.
In grade ten, I had gotten suspended because I had began screaming and swearing at said ex-boyfriend because he had been making up rumors about him and I doing naughty things in the hot dog booth.
All these, on the same day of a different year.
Track and Field Day.
However, there was one thing I looked forward to on Track Day.
The panther.
He lived life as if he were writing a song—he chose his paths carefully; never ceased to stop and think about what he could do to create distort. He stepped on shards of glass as if they were the dirt beneath his shoes. He feared nothing, not even the cloud of death that loomed overhead, following him close at its firm place attached to his heels.
That was what my impression of him was.
As I sat on the bleachers overlooking the race track, I watched his spiked running shoes tap against the painted white line before him. This line symbolized the beginning. The opposing line, one hundred meters away, symbolized the end. The line along the way? It represented the drive; the force. It was the challenge.
And he was taking it.
I admired him. Even though his name was unknown to me, I felt as if I knew this boy. He seemed so dark and foreboding from the way he looked to the way he acted. He was quite a ways away, for I was sitting on the bleachers along with a crowd of other students from my school, near the end of the track, but I could still see his features perfectly.
Only because I had them memorized.
The runners shifted to their positions. Behind the white starting line, he was concentrating. He looked into the race; his mind swam with untold thoughts of his fortune. Winning the one hundred meter dash red ribbon seemed to be very important to him.
All the track competitors of the school year would come and compete. This year, track was held at our school, so I was glad I didn’t have to get on a stuffed bus and drive the useless miles it took to get to another town just so I could jump over hurdles and hopefully earn at least a white ribbon.
My attention slipped back to him as he shifted, feeling the dirt beneath his feet; the wind against his exposed arms; the tickle of his coal black hair against his forehead. Panther-like green eyes narrowed, position set, he leaned down, close to the ground, his fingertips digging into the soil expectantly. I imagined strong claws extending from his hands, digging experimentally into the dirt of the track beneath him and testing the feel of the race.
He was from my school, yet I still never knew his name. It was strange; no one knew I even knew he existed, not even any of my friends.
The gun was set off, and instantly, the starting line went up in a flurry of dirt and dust. He was in third right off the start, his running set to an above average speed. He always started like this. I knew he’d catch up, and so did he. I knew he was arrogant; he always assured himself he’d win, and surprisingly enough, he always did.
It was a wonder.
Within seconds, he brushed past the blond boy in front of him, then easily surpassed the tall boy in first. The wind blew his hair out of his face; cleared him a path to the finish. He was grinning—he knew he had the race. Everyone did. Every year he had the race. Seconds before he crossed the finish line, almost everyone on the bleachers, save me, began screaming the competitors’ names.
“Harold!”
“Lance, hurry!”
“Push it, Jer!”
None of these names were his, however.
No one ever said his name during a race. He hated it, and everyone knew it.
He didn’t need their support.
As soon as he stepped over the finish line, cheers and yells erupted in his favor. His friends, who had been sitting on the grass, stood up and gave him all sorts of congratulation related gestures. He noticed them through catching his breath and I caught a smile slip onto his pale lips. He straightened when he was presented with the red ribbon. First place.
No one was surprised.
I glanced away from him to see if my friends were coming. My gaze fell on the double doors leading to the school. No one was coming or leaving. I sighed and looked down at my hands, then back up at the finish line only to see one of the runners still standing there, looking upset.
I stood up and meandered my way down the bleacher until my shoes met with the slightly damp grass. I decided to go find my friends, and if I couldn’t, I’d just sit in the library for a few minutes to finish my English homework. I had so much, I hadn’t finished it at home, so I had to continue it during school, whenever I had spare time.
I cast one last look at the boy who always caught my attention; who always seemed so dark and different; who intimidated me yet convinced me I knew him; who relentlessly won the red ribbon in every one hundred meter dash he ran.
I glanced up from my paper at the sound of the library door swinging open with a loud bang against the wall behind it. In the doorframe stood the panther. His black hair hung over his eyes with no wind to accompany them. Green catlike eyes focused upon mine for a sheer second before flickering away at the bookshelves behind me. He allowed the door to slide closed before walking around my table to get to the bookshelves. As he walked past, I caught his faint scent, which I couldn’t quite describe accurately. I listened as his footsteps grew further and further away until they abruptly stopped, and I heard him chortle softly.
“You freak—what the hell are you doing?” I heard the panther say, his voice slightly muffled. I loved his voice, although I so seldom heard it. It was rough, yet soft in some unexplainable way. It was slightly throaty and husky; a voice that made my spine tingle with delight. The voice of a panther.
“Hell,” a voice I did not recognized spoke up with a key of all-knowingness to it, “is the right choice of a word, my friend.”
The panther seemed to waver. “What is that supposed to mean?”
There was a moment of silence.
Again, the panther spoke. “What is that?”
“Well, what does it look like?”
I wrinkled my nose and pretended to erase something in my English binder so, in case he looked back at me, he would not notice I was simply sitting here doing nothing and therefore, I was most likely eavesdropping. It sounded as if the two were talking about drugs or something illegal.
I heard the panther speak again: “The Encyclopedia of Hell.” He paused, then proceeded on with his joke, “You have the Encyclopedia of Hell?”
I arched an eyebrow. What the shit were those two talking about?
There was brief laughter.
“No, shithead.” The unfamiliar voice. “This was the school’s ‘H’ Encyclopedia.”
A pause. “And what is it now?”
“Roadkill.”
“I’d say.”
Obviously, the unfamiliar boy had somehow ruined our school’s ‘H’ Encyclopedia, and was hiding in the deepest depths of the library. He had probably been trying to think of an excuse as to why the encyclopedia was demolished when the panther had found him.
I heard footsteps approaching me from behind. They were his, I could tell. His spiked shoes were probably ruining the library carpet, but he was too inconsiderate to remove them. After all, he wasn’t finished all his events yet. He walked in front of me, then glanced around the rest of the library before us. He hesitated before looking at me. I stared right back at him, my heart skipping a beat.
He had such obscure eyes.
He ripped his gaze from mine and looked beyond me. “It’s clear!” he called, startling me. I could tell that he had seen me jump from out of the corner of his eye from the way his lips flickered upwards at the ends.
I heard footsteps and glanced over my shoulder to see a blond boy emerge from the shelter of the shelves. Instantly, his gaze fell on me and his eyes widened. “I thought you said—!”
“She’s not deaf,” the panther snorted, “she heard us talking.”
The blond boy gave me a completely false, forced smile. “You’re. . . not one of those schoolies, are ya’?”
I regarded him will a dull look. “No, why?”
“Then you won’t tell?”
I only shrugged one shoulder loosely. I really wouldn’t tell—I didn’t care enough to, but still, I wanted to make him worry, at least to punish him, a little.
The boy shifted slightly, fiddling with the remains of the ‘H’ Encyclopedia, which had certainly been through a hard time. Judging by the ripped out pages and the scratched up cover, I assumed he had taken a knife to it.
“What did you do?” I asked, unable to keep quiet. Honestly—how could someone ruin a book in such a severe way, by accident?
The boy looked fairly embarrassed at my question. He bit his lip lightly, then quietly said, “I was using it as a shield.” He then looked up at the boy behind me, his eyes accusing. “Where the hell were you when those guys came after me?”
The panther blinked innocently. “I was running.”
The blond’s jaw dropped. “You coward—!”
“For track,” the panther cut in sharply.
“Oh. Oh, right. You had that run, didn’t you?”
The panther gave a nod. Just at that moment, the intercom clicked on and the voice of Mrs. Lacey, the teacher in charge of the track event times, rang within the school and track posts.
“High jump competitors meet in the corner where your event is held, in five minutes. If you’re not there in five, you’ll miss out, so—”
“Shit!” the blond boy closed his eyes in obvious irritation. “That’s me.” He opened his eyes and settled his gaze on the panther, then gestured towards me. “Do you mind?”
The panther heaved a sigh. “Fine. Get to your event, Kevin.”
The blond boy, obviously named Kevin, gave a grin and tossed the heavy, ruined encyclopedia on my table with a loud slam, then rushed out of the room after patting the panther on the shoulder for what I assumed was encouragement.
The panther watched him leave, then turned and smiled at me—
—a little too sweetly He obviously wanted something. I cocked my head up at him innocently and arched my eyebrows.
“Let me guess. He wants you to talk me out of telling on him?” I mentally cringed. It wasn’t like I was going to tell on him in the first place—but still, this would give me some time to get to know the boy who I had secretly watched for so long.
The panther slid into the seat across from me, his movements mimicking the sleekness of a cat. I liked how he moved, just like strong liquid. His frame was toned yet lean, attractive and athletic in so many appealing ways. He was very attractive, and it would seem that he knew it, especially with the smirk he was presenting to me.
“A pretty girl like you must have something better to do than. . . oh, I don’t know. . . tattle?” His voice was light with a certain coaxing edge to it. I watched as he lifted a hand to the table and began tracing his fingernails along the surface, as if to distract me from his eyes. He absently took hold of a piece of the encyclopedia’s torn cover that had fallen off and pretended to be rather interested in it.
I rolled my eyes and glanced down at the encyclopedia. Exasperated, I loudly sighed, “Honestly, what the hell did he do to the encyclopedia?”
The panther’s eyes sharpened and he irritably hissed, “Shh—not in front of the books!”
I hesitated and regarded him in confusion. I then realized, when he raised his dark eyebrows, that he meant for me to shut up in case someone heard me. If someone did indeed hear me, they’d know I knew who ruined the book.
Shifting his chair closer to table, the panther leaned into me. “He doesn’t get along with one of the opposing schools. Every time he shows up at these track competitions, someone tries to beat him up.”
I blinked, taken aback. I could see exactly why they would want to beat the kid up.
The panther continued, “I guess he was holding the encyclopedia when some guys tried to beat him up, so he used it as a shield. Either that means he had hit them with it, or he had literally held it in front of him like a chickenshit.”
I only blinked again.
The panther sucked in air between his teeth and leaned back. “So you see,” he smirked, “he really doesn’t deserve to have to pay for the book.”
“Why doesn’t he just tell the librarian that, then?”
The panther visibly cringed, then gave me a pointed look. “The boy has at least some pride, girl.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “My name is Evie.”
The panther stood up. He didn’t offer his own name, which was slightly a shut down towards me, in my opinion. With a magnificent smile, he leaned forwards and ruffled my hair with one hand. “I’m glad we had this talk,” he said mockingly as he stepped away with a smirk. The bastard was playing with me.
I shifted uncomfortably, then watched as he walked to the back of the library to put the encyclopedia away. He then walked past me with the intent of leaving.
No. I had finally talked to him and now he was leaving? I couldn’t have that.
I reached up and grabbed his wrist. He stopped, evidently startled, and glanced over his shoulder at me.
“Um. . .” I felt myself flush about ten different shades of red before I managed to embarrassedly mumble out, “Congratulations on winning first. . .”
“In which event?”
He won more than the one hundred meter dash? I tried not to show how impressed I was and shrugged, “The hundred meter.”
He smirked. “I always win.”
“I know.” Shit—that had come out before I had thought. The panther quirked an eyebrow, then turned his whole body towards me.
“Thanks.” He paused to frown. “Are you in any events?”
“Hurdles,” I replied, then bit my lip and regarded him uncertainly. He must have read my look, for he tilted his head almost childishly.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, it’s just. . .” I shifted uncomfortably, “winning must mean a lot to you, huh? You try so hard.”
He chuckled, almost airily. “I only enter track events because it’s expected of me. I’m good at almost every track event, so why not join?”
“Don’t you feel good about winning?”
He shrugged. “I could care less.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “People like you don’t deserve to win. People who really want that red ribbon? They should get it.”
The panther laughed, in no way offended by my honesty. Even so, I felt a little bad for saying it. He seemed to take my rudeness lightly, so I supposed it was okay and there was no need for an apology.
“I win because I know I can,” he said, then turned away, ready to leave.
“What do you mean?” I asked, before he could have the chance to slip through the large doorframe.
He looked back at me. With a small smile, he said, “Belief is something you choose to do. It’s hard. If it were easy, it wouldn’t be worth as much.” With that, he left me alone in the library, pondering over his words. He wasn’t as opaque as he seemed.
The only difference about tomorrow was that I would know that he had spoken to me.
I caught sight of him walking out of the double doors of the school with Kevin. They were talking, probably about how the panther had oh-so-cleverly convinced me to keep my mouth shut, like I had needed convincing in the first place. I watched them for awhile before becoming caught up in the discus event. My friend was up, so I decided to pay attention. Just as I was getting into it, I heard the intercom click on.
“Evie Black to the office please, Evie Black.”
I blinked slightly, then stood up. I stepped down off the bleachers, then headed into the school. I had to pick up my homework, I assumed.
However, when I reached the office, the principal gave me a grave look, then walked up to me and plucked something from my hair. I started when I saw a strange black leathery strip. He looked over his shoulder at the librarian with a sigh, then he spoke in a stern voice.
“They hadn’t lied.”
My lips parted in shock when I realized that I had been framed. When the panther had ruffled my hair, he must have—
—I hated Track Day.