Here's another story I was working on for you guys who just can't get enough of the genre--I know I can't. Lolz... Hope you all like this one as well and if you've got time, please leave a review of what you think. ;)
I'm doing the first person POV for both characters here (because I'm lazy lolz...) so I'm preceding each chapter with their names to denote who's side the story's on, so there wouldn't be much confusion (I hope). Well, that's enough jabber out of me. Do read on. Thanks for dropping in! Ciaoz...
- Luke -
Let's face it.
If you're the captain of the basketball team, the star player of the soccer varsity, while also dabbling in a whole bunch of other sports, and have tons of friends, are well-liked by teachers, not to mention are immensely popular with the student body and—most importantly: are almost too darned good-looking for your own good—you'd probably be a conceited airhead too.
I'm Luke Taylor. And if you wanted to be a second year college student at DSV University, you'd probably want to be me. Not to brag or anything—ok, to brag. But I knew what I got and wasn't just going to sit idly by and watch all this potential go to waste. Where's the justice is that, right?
So, to celebrate the monumentally significant event that was my birthday, me and my friends were at Dodger's—a bar place near school where a lot of college kids hung out—drinking the night away.
Unlike The Shack, which was a regular Peach Pit, most often filled with giggling freshmen and their boy-scout boyfriends, Dodger's was where some of the more mature college kids hung out.
The place was only half full and it was still dark outside but it was way past bedtime on a Saturday night and midterms were just a dim, horrific memory.
Most of my friends had already left. Some were too disgustedly drunk to move. Some were in the bathroom throwing up.
Life was good.
Me and a bunch of my friends were at the bar. "I'd like to make a speech," my best bud Micro Spencer, Mike for short, stood up and raised his glass. It actually sounded more like 'I'sh like t'mayga shpeesh' and he was half-slumped on the counter. He was obviously drunk, as was everyone who was left.
I was just a little heady. I had a very high resistance to alcohol. Besides, I still had to drag half of these guys home—in or out of consciousness.
Everyone who was left—Mike, of course, Bench Hayward, assistant captain of the soccer varsity team and his girlfriend Jane Langley who was feature editor for the school paper, the Voyager, Sylvia Myers, who was a senior, and a couple of random school people—stopped to listen. Well…anyone who was still sober enough to be able to anyway.
"On behalf of my buddy Luke," Mike started, "I'd like to thank everyone for coming and for helping us blow Luke's monthly allowance in a day," he grinned.
Mike was such a clown. And he loved nothing more than a good audience. Mike was the stereotype of happy-go-lucky. He was on his third repeat of MathConcepts, he had cut half his classes this semester, and he just broke up with his on-again, off-again girlfriend Samantha Cusack—again, and he looked like he didn't have a worry in the world. "I'd also like to announce," he began again seriously. "Silence please—that Luke is about to break up with Susan Stewart," he added with a mischievous grin. "Very soon."
Resounding groan. Some applause.
I shot Mike a dirty look and suddenly had the urge to smack him—or me—over the head with a beer mug. I should have known better than to tell Mike something in pure secrecy then get him drunk afterwards.
"And also--," Mike started again.
"Heey," I put my arm around his shoulder to sit him back down, "leave some for the kids will ya?"
Mike laughed out loud and pounded my back. "Take it easy, pal," he said.
Bench shook his head to himself and slung an arm around my shoulder. "What happened this time, man? I mean, Susan—Susan was the bomb—Susan was freaking icy hot…" he trailed off nonsensically and turned for opinion. "Am I right, guys?"
"Yeah," enthusiastic replies.
I looked around. Nobody even seemed to know what they agreeing to. Duh? What sense does a drunken guy make? "Icy hot??" I echoed noncommittally.
"You know what your problem is?" Mike spoke up. "You're too picky."
"Picky?" Jane squeaked out. "The guy's dated half of the DSV female populus…" she paused in thought. "Populii? Popula?" she snorted in a high-pitched laughter as she drank up.
I had to grin. They were right on both counts. Susan Stewart was Miss America material. Tall, blonde—the works, but she was way too in love with herself to last in any semblance of a relationship with anybody. And that item about my having dated half of the female school population wasn't exactly accurate—but it was close. I was fickle, shoot me, but my motto was: plenty of girls, plenty of time.
"I hate to burst your bubble of delusion, my friend," I told Mike, "but I am merely evaluating my options. And you know what? You're just jealous."
Everyone laughed. When you're drunk, the slightest things are hilarious.
"Jealous?" Mike sprayed. "Me? Of you? Dude, the Mike man is not jealous of anybody."
"Ugh, somebody make him stop referring to himself in the 3rd person again," Sylvia rolled her eyes.
Mike suddenly lurched forward as if he was going to throw up.
"Ew!" Jane wrinkled her nose in disgust.
Mike stopped short and grinned. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he dismissed. He turned back to me. "But let me just get this clear. I am God's gift to women and you're the one who's jealous of me."
I laughed. "Do not make me list reasons why your name is Micro," I warned and slapped his back. That made him go.
"Ohh yuck!" Jane moaned and moved aside.
Mike ran to the bathroom laughing.