Chapter 1:
Tristan's PoV
'Shit!' I curse as my foot slips on my BMX and I crash onto the hard gravel. I had been attempting a 'bunny hop' and luckily, my hand cushioned the fall.
Well, no trip to the hospital yet. Record still intact,' I think as I lay on the ground, my bike sprawled over my body.
I laid there soaking up the afternoon sun, too lazy to get up, my head lolled to the side staring at some neighbours impeccable lawn. I felt sorry for them knowing it'd be messed up in a few days by the street kids; well I can't really judge them, I used to be one of them, but being a healthy 17-year old I've learnt to grow out of my mindless vandalism streak.
My vision of the lawn is suddenly blurred by the appearance of a Shimano wheel stopping in line with my head. I can still see the lawn through the metal spikes. My eyes slowly travel up, taking note of the cleats, black tights, black shorts, (tight) black cycling sweater with pink, green and blue streaks. The name 'Giants' scrawled in emerald across her stomach (yes I know it's a 'her' by checking out the 'you know whats' *wink*wink*). I finally make it to her face; she has blue glasses on and a red helmet.
I hear her mutter 'idiot', before a gloved hand stretches out towards me. I grab it (it was one of those fingerless cycling gloves) and she hoists me off the ground.
'Thanks,' I mutter.
'Are you hurt? Bleeding? Broken bones? Concussion?' she asks in a business-like tone.
'Uh,' I answer intelligently. 'No. I'm fine,' I say as I scratch the back of my head.
She stares at me for a while (I'm not actually sure if she is. Damn, I hate cycling glasses. They could be sleeping and we'd never even know) before she unhooks the clasp of her helmet underneath her chin, pulls it off and hands it to me, revealing the pink army patterned buff she wore underneath.
I stare at the helmet skeptically. I mean, I didn't want to be rude, but helmets were kind of lame. I was about to tell her to take it back when she spoke again as though she read my mind.
'Dying isn't cool,' she says smoothly and shoves the helmet into my hands.
Woah.
I hold it awkwardly.
'Umm, what about you? Isn't it much more dangerous to cycle without one on?' I inquire.
She points to the house behind her with her thumb; the house with the impeccable lawn. 'I live right here. Keep the helmet, I've got plenty.'
She swings her leg over the seat and pushes the bike by the saddle up the cobblestone pathway to the front door. She rummages in the back pockets of her sweater before materializing with a key. She opens the door, pushes the bike in, and closes it, all without once turning around.
I'm still standing awkwardly with the helmet in my hands like it's some foreign object before I shrug and put it on. I lift my bike off the ground, get on and pedal towards my sanctuary; the skate park.
I leisurely skate through Westkin High's gates. The wind blows my slightly long (much to my mother's chagrin) disheveled, black hair back. My hands stuffed into my pants pockets.
I push up the ramp (I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be used by the student's in wheel chairs and not delinquent skater boys, but, what the hell) and glide on the smooth floor of the school's hallways. I'm about to turn the corner to my first period English class when a shrill voice breaks through the pounding of music in my ears.
'NO SKATING IN THE HALLWAYS!'
I stumble as I pull my earphones out, hurriedly pick up my board, and turn the corner without looking back, scared that it might be one of the teachers or – I gulp – the president of the student council, I hear she's a real hard ass. I haven't seen her yet, but in my mind I picture her really nerdy, really fat, wears glasses, has a permanent scowl and blotchy skin. I shudder.
Really don't wanna get on her bad side. She might eat me.
I step into my extremely rowdy class, lifting my hand to stifle a yawn when I catch something flying towards me out of the corner of my eye. I dodge it, the soccer ball bounces against the wall, and I catch it easily with my left hand. I hold it out and drop kick it back to the perpetrator. Unfortunately, my best friend ducks and it smashes into the face of the guy behind him. The whole class erupts into laughter.
My best friend, Nate, pats him on the back while laughing his head off. Kyle shoots him a glare.
I walk over. His glare now channeled on me.
'Sorry, Kyle,' I apologize, a smile tugging at my lips.
His face softens and he shrugs.
'Tristan, Tristan, Tristan,' Nate swings his arm over my shoulder shaking his head. 'Late as always we see,' he smirks.
I shrug him off. 'I'm not late, I'm on time,' I emphasize.
Nate scoffs.
Just then, the bell rang.
'See?' I smirk.
Nate rolls his eyes. 'That's the 'you all better be sitting in your seats or your ass' getting detention' bell. You're never early enough to catch the first two bells.'
'And why are you so early, dear friend?' I ask incredulously, eyebrow raised. 'Last I checked you didn't give a shit.'
'Yeah well…' he mumbles, turning away and scratching the back of his head.
I give him a knowing look. 'This is about Aaaamy, your giiirlfween,' I tease him—albeit rather childishly— and poke his sides.
'Stop being fucking immature,' he half scowls as he tries to evade my pokes, his cheeks red.
'To quote your girlfriend 'OMGeee! You're like soooo utterly adorbs!',' I say in my most annoying high-pitched girly voice.
An impatient cough interrupts us. We freeze and slowly turn around to face the pissed off expression of our homeroom teacher, Mrs Phelps.
We bow our heads and trudge over. She points to the door.
'Principal. Detention. Both of you,' she says in her raspy voice; which I'm so glad I'm not staying to listen to more of.
Uh, how is this lady an English teacher if she can't even form a proper sentence. What's so difficult about: 'Both of you please report to the principal's office. You will be punished with detention later today. Thank you.' Okay the 'thank you' and 'please' parts I just threw in for human courtesy, which they'd never use on students like us, but it's not wrong to dream, right?
Nate and I trudge out, feigning remorse. Half the class smile and shake their heads knowingly. We step out and just as we're out of earshot, start sprinting down the deserted corridor and bust out of the building.
'Hey, want a puff?' Nate holds out his lit cigarette. We're behind the school building lazing around on the wooden tables. I stare at the cigarette and then at him with a blank expression.
Realization shows in his features and he slowly retracts his hand. 'Sorry dude, I completely forgot, how—
I cut him off with a wave of my hand.
'It's cool dude, just forget it,' I say lazily, not wanting to talk about the subject. 'How are you and Amy doing?'
I see the tips of his ears blush and he turns away and shrugs. 'Same-old, same-old. She's as annoying as ever.'
I smile, knowing he's lying and jab my elbow into his ribs.
'Ow, dude. What's that for?' he asks indignantly rubbing his side.
I shrug. 'Are you going to practice later?' I ask changing the subject.
'Yeah,' he replies distractedly.
'Did you remember to bring your uniform this time?' I ask annoyed.
'Yes!' he snaps. 'Geez, you're like my mother,' he runs a hand through his hair.
I smirk. 'Did Amy remind you?'
'I'm leaving, you're an asshole,' he gets off the top off the table and I follow him laughing.
As we cross the threshold of the front entrance the bell for second period rings. Soon kids are rushing out of their classrooms, the corridors crowd up and it becomes super noisy. People left, right and centre are greeting us, I don't even know half of them, but hey, my mom taught me manners.
Nate's girlfriend bounds towards us, her long, curly, blonde locks bounce as she does. She lunges at him and holds him in a bear hug.
'Baaabe, I missed you so much!' she giggles.
Nate doesn't say anything but his entire face would make a tomato jealous. I smile and roll my eyes.
'Amy, we need to get to class,' I turn my head towards the voice; it belonged to a curly haired brunette who looked oddly familiar.
She wasn't exactly short, but not tall either. She was thin and had light freckles splashed over her cheeks and nose.
'Coming Pres,' Amy called chirpily.
'Pres?' I echoed.
'Yes, she's the new student council president,' Amy answered.
The President walked up to us.
I was right about the glasses.
'Excuse me?' the curly brunette looked at me confused.
'Did I say that out loud?'
'Yes.'
'Shit.'
'Don't swear,' she turned away from me. 'Come on Amy, we need to go.'
I stared at her face. She just seemed so familiar, but why? Realization hit me and I slammed my fist into my hand.
'I got it!' everyone jumped. She looked mildly surprised but mostly confused. 'You're that chick with the helmet,' I said rather satisfied with myself.
She still looked confused before she remembered; her eyes widened a fraction before it settled on a look of boredom. 'Oh, you're the idiot who fell and almost crushed his skull.'
'Yeah! You remember me?' I ask excitedly.
She turned away. 'Amy, let's go.'
Amy nodded and followed her.
'She seems like a bit of an ice bitch,' I heard Nate say.
'At least she won't eat me,' I whisper.
'What?'
'Nothing, let's go.'
The second last bell of the day had rung and the soccer boys were changing in the locker room. Nate popped his head around the lockers with a worried expression.
'Tristan!' he whisper-yelled.
'What?' I ask distractedly.
'What do I do? I forgot my—
I cut him off with the pair of socks I threw in his face.
'Now go away, I'm getting dressed,' I say still standing shirtless.
Suddenly the locker room is filled with cat calls and whistles. I look towards the aisle and see the Pres briskly walking past coming from the Coach's office.
A player by the name of Grant steps in front of her.
'Hey babe, how's about you and I meet up this weekend?' she tries to walk past him but he blocks her. 'Later today then?' she sighs and glares at him. 'I like feisty women. Raaawr,' he cat claws.
'If you don't get out of my face in—,' I grab Grant's shoulder and pull him back.
'Hey, dude, how was the chick last night?' I ask him, mentally gagging because that question is the lowest of the low, but ask Grant Hike that, and he'll never shut up.
His eyes lit up and he starts explaining to me in vigor and excruciating detail and overly exaggerated bodily gestures about the girl he banged. I see Curly exit the locker room out of the corner of my eye and mentally sigh in relief.
How can a girl just waltz in here? Is she retarded?
I listen half-heartedly to the rest of Grant's story until Nate lunges at me; saving me in the process.
'Dudes, sorry to break up your mother's meeting but Coach is waiting for us, and you know how he gets when he has to wait,' we freeze, shudder in fear and quickly stuff our bags closed and in the locker. I bolt out first, followed closely by Nate hobbling while tying his cleat.
I hear a bang and look behind me quickly to see if he fell, he didn't, I turn my head quickly forward and my eyes widen as I see a head of hair too close before I can stop myself, and crash into them.
I stumble back but hardly take any damage, my shoulder feeling the pressure of the impact. The girl had fallen to the ground, her hair covering her face as she holds her nose.
'Oh, geez, I'm so sorry! Are you ok?' I ask concerned and kneel down to her.
Her curly brown locks bounce as she nods her head, but doesn't look up.
'Are you sure? Let me see,' I pry her hands away and she peers up. It was Curly.
'I'm fine. It's not bleeding. I just got caught off balance,' she says concisely and stands up, brushing her skirt down.
I stand up awkwardly and rub the back of my neck. 'Ok, I have to go, but are you sure you're all right?' I probe. 'I can take you to the nurses office,' the last thing he needed on his record was acts of violence towards a female student, especially against the student council president.
'It's hardly anything to go to the nurses office for, and even so, it's not like I can't walk there myself. You knocked my nose, you didn't dislocate my knee,' she says, still rubbing her nose and brushes past me.
I scratch the back of my head. She's rather terse. Nothing like most of the girls I know.
I walk on towards the field.
I can't handle girls like her. Too scary.
'Tristan! Get your butt moving, Coach is waiting!' Nate yells from ahead of me.
'Shit,' I curse under my breath and sprint through the hallway.