5A/N This is shorter than I would have liked and I have posted it a lot later than I would have liked. Also I have changed my pen name. Do you like it?
Chapter One – First Impressions
Louise Ashton
The first day of school after the summer holidays are always bizarre. They are all pretty similar: first you get up unnaturally early then turn over and do back to sleep; when you are ready to go, you hurry into school and go tell your friends you missed them loads, even though you only met up a few days ago; realise you there are still classrooms you have never heard of when you get your new time table. Every other year I had been woken by my mother, but not this time. Mum was in Australia with her boyfriend and I missed her – she might not have been the best mum in the world but she was all the family I had. I was tired as well. One of the few responsible things mum always did was making me go to bed at a sensible time on the night before the first day of term. I hated being tired and it made me think of mum and how she wasn't here. It was my birthday as well, which made me even more annoyed that mum wasn't there to celebrate. To top my bad mood off my best friend had fallen out with me because her cheating boyfriend. So I was tired, alone and angry which didn't exactly give my new Geography teacher a great first impression.
I was in such a miserable mood I didn't even register the boy sat next to me until a few minutes before the end of the lesson. He was hot: he had black hair and handsome olive skin with a caring face; his shoulders were broader than anyone else in our year and he was muscular; his grey eyes were deep and wise beyond his years, which made him look mysterious. I could see myself falling in love with him. As I realised what I had thought I mentally slapped myself – I had to remember my promise. I had to keep my promise. I scowled at the people staring at the boy and giving me envious glares, pretending I hadn't noticed the boy, but looking at the boy again I couldn't help wondering what was up with him – the grades on his book told me he worked hard but he didn't seem to be paying any attention right then. This made me even more curious because hard working boys were marginally more tolerable than the rest.
"What's your name?" I whispered after an age of trying to think of something to say. I know I sounded like an idiot but I badly wanted to get to know him. Even if I didn't like him.
"Luke. What's yours?"
"Louise." I replied. He looked as if he was about to cry then. I had no idea what I could possibly done to him that would make him cry in the four words I had spoken to him. "What's up?" I asked, feeling bad that I had upset someone, even if they were a boy.
"Wanna go home."
I almost rolled my eyes; this Luke boy was acting like a baby. He was talking like a baby too. "Tell me about it. First day of school isn't the best birthday present." I said. It would be rude to suddenly ignore him, I told myself.
"It's your birthday?" He looked as if I'd slapped him. I was about to ask him what I had done wrong but something made me pause - I wasn't sure if it was his mournful grey eyes or the feeling that he was hiding something, something big. We stared at each other for a few seconds, him trying to see if I was trust worthy and me trying to discover his past. Neither of us had the smallest chance of success, not least because the bell rang and we broke eye contact. The second I looked to his seat after the teacher had dismissed us he was gone, followed by half the girls in my class. I found myself looking forwards to seeing him again. Not because I liked him, of course, but because I wanted to find more out about the strange boy.
Luke Spring
I took a raggedy breath in and clamped my hands together in an attempt to myself shaking. That girls name being Louise was coincidence enough but when she told me it was her birthday I was sure it was some sort of sick and twisted practical joke. I ignored the rational part of me which said tthere was no way the girl could have got the name and the date – we had just moved and no one, except people at my dads' work, knew us. It was a totally fresh start.
"I can't do a fresh start though." I whispered to myself.
The 3rd September was one of the two days a year I allowed myself to let sadness get in the way. Even nine years after my sister died I still needed to grieve so I decided the days I would do that on would be Louise's' birthday and on the day she died – that way I could still make her proud. I had to make her proud. I let silent tears run down my cheek as I sunk down to the hard floor of the toilet cubical which I had locked myself in. I had just wanted to get through the school day without tears and morn at home. I hit the wall. That stupid girl was an idiot! I held some tissue to my bleeding fist, pressing down hard so it hurt. The pain felt good. It bought me back to my senses: I would dry my eyes and go to eat lunch; I would get through the school day then go home; the next day I would go into school and pay attention, make friends and enjoy myself but most importantly I would work hard.
I stood up, put on my brave face, which I was so used to putting on for mum and dad, and then went to wash the blood off my hands.
Louise Ashton
I opened the door to the empty house, wishing for what must have been the thousandth time that mum stopped getting those stupid boyfriends. They were nothing but trouble and whenever the inevitable break up came along mum would spend forever moping until the next "Mister Perfect" came along to break mums heart. I kicked the wall. When did all the men get together and decide to destroy my mum? I sunk to the floor in the hallway, holding my foot, with tears running down my cheeks. I cursed whatever implored me to kick the wall – none of mums' boyfriends deserved my pain, or my tears.
"I hate men!" I hissed. "No exceptions."
I wiped the tears from my eyes and in turn I wipe the tears from my hands on the carpet, telling myself they had never been there. It was buried along with the rest of the memories I would rather never existed. I forced the strange boy from mind as I limped off to cook dinner but he kept wandering back into my mind. I began to hate him almost as much as mums' boyfriends. That boy would ruin me. That birthday had been rubbish: mum hadn't been there and she hadn't even bothered to phone me; I had inadvertently sat in the popular kids place and made an enemy or ten; I had got a present of a pen from my only friend, reminding me that Gemma wouldn't be giving me a present this year. Then there was Luke. That night, as I curled up on mums' bed and inhaled the lingering sent of her perfume, I allowed tears to stream down my face and soak the sheets. Not caring for being brave. My tears came thick and fast as a result of the way I normally held them in – to be strong for my future, but my life was a mess. What made it worse was I had no idea how it had got there.
A/W Please review!
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-Elizabeth Drake