The building of Berkeley academy tower over me in a majestic manner. I push the lavish doors open to reveal a sea of students all in the identical uniform, standing around the scarlet red lockers. Laughter and chatter echo through the crowded halls and I make my way to my locker.
I throw my soccer bag into it and sigh, recalling the events from yesterday. "Hey man, you alright?"
My hazel eyes fall on my best friend, Owen, as he stands next to me. "Yeah, just tired. Didn't get much sleep last night." I lean over and give him the bro handshake.
"I heard," his eyes shine with that knowing, pitiful look, "you still playing next week?"
I nod my head and a smirk overtakes my face, "who am I to ever miss a game?"
"That's my star striker," he breaks out in a grin and squishes my cheeks together. You'd never think the captain of a four-time reigning champion soccer team would have such weird, childish habits.
My eyes catch a view of the familiar golden-haired angel as she drags herself into the school building. Her hair cascades down in waves to her mid-back, shimmering under the sun. A specialised ribbon (only given to the cheer captain) of red, green and gold sits near the front of her head with strands of her hair framing her perfect face.
The natural striking blue of her ocean eyes are duller than normal but are still as breathtaking as ever. Freckles dance and trail her features of the small sculpture of her nose, her prominent cheekbones and cheeks. Pink, plumped lips rest in a thin line on her pale ivory skin.
Sleeves of her black blazer are rolled up to her elbow, showcasing her signature bracelets. A checkered scarlet red and midnight green mini skirt outline her figure, resting appropriately on her mid-thigh. Tanned, slightly short legs are displayed and appear longer from her black, heeled, suede boots.
She approaches her locker, a couple of rows down, opposite to mine and drops her bag to the floor. Avery rests her forehead on the cold, red metal and shuts her eyes.
"They had a fight yesterday," Owen speaks up.
"He was at fault." I immediately say, ignoring the relief that arises.
"You don't even know the story." My head snaps to his but once I see the mischief present in his eyes, my annoyance calms realising he's taunting me.
"Because I know what he's like. She couldn't have possibly done anything wrong." My eyes drift back to her and she runs her hands through the ends of her hair.
He's not really my friend, I just said that for a dramatic ending. However, he plays alongside me as a left striker on the soccer team.
"And why is that?"
"Because-"
I cut myself off when I see him smirk, "come on." I indicate my head towards her and we both make our way over there. Angrily, she kicks her locker and I make out curse words she says under her breath after she fiddles with the lock.
"Good morning angry bear," Owen throws an arm over her shoulder and she flinches in surprise.
"I am not angry," she responds. Owen removes his arm and turns to flirt with a girl near him.
"The locker says otherwise," I comment and she narrows her beautiful eyes at me. "May I?"
She moves her hand away from the lock and I enter the combination, then gently pull it open. I glance down at her and smirk to which she rolls her eyes but I don't miss the smile seeping from her cheeks.
"How are you?" The side of my body leans on the locker near hers and I cross my arms, my bag draping from one shoulder.
"I'm fine." She grabs a book from her locker and throws me a smile however I sense the falsity within it. When her eyes sparkle while she's smiling, that's how you know it's genuine. And I haven't seen that for a very long time.
"I hate seeing you like this, blondie," I tell her and dart my eyes to the side. From the corner of my eye, I catch her gaze on me and it seems as if she's either deep in thought or analysing my facial expression. I stay still. She opens her mouth to say something but shakes her head.
"I could say the same about you." Her words catch me off guard and I raise my eyebrow. "What's wrong, Preston?"
Fortunately, the shrill ring of the bell helped me avoid answering that question.
•••
Last class before lunch is history and I have that with Avery.
When I enter she's already seated in her seat, the second row from the back with her back pressed against the wall. Her attention is fixated heavily on the window and her eyes seem to be a little brighter than before.
I slam a book on her table.
Instantly, she jumps and rests her hand on my arm, hence I ignore the warmth that spreads through. "You fucking asshole," her breaths are heavy and I erupt into laughter. Unfortunately, she removes her hand and places it on her heart - my arm already missing the warmth that evaded it.
I take the seat behind her and she glares at me, intensifying my laughter. "Real fucking funny," she mumbles and focuses her attention to the front.
A girl comes up to her table and I recognise her to be a cheerleader. "Avery, I just wanted to tell you that Julie has been practising the routine a lot and I was wondering whether you'd swap her position so she's closer to the front."
Clearly frustrated, Avery sighs with her usual stoic expression, "I don't care, Lizzie."
"But-"
Avery glares at the girl, an indication that she does not want the subject to be further discussed. Lizzie walks away with a huff.
"They really do your head-in, don't they?" Leaning forward in my seat, I ask.
Her head turns and she peers over her shoulder with an exhausted look, "you have no fucking idea. It's like looking after a bunch of children."
"I'm not just saying this but...you're doing a hell of a good job of it." My hazel eyes observe the enlightening glint of blue in hers.
"Thank you," her lips pull themselves into an enchanting, graceful smile. The minuscule glimpse of it igniting the tedious, dim room. I return one back to her and the teacher starts the lesson.
As the lesson goes by, I came to the abrupt decision to annoy Avery so I grabbed a strand of her hair, curling the silky golden lock around my finger.
At first, she's shocked and it's evident from the confused notion of her head. To my surprise, she leans back into her seat, closer to me, as I carry on. I'm unable to see her facial expression but my stomach feels all funny.
Seconds later, something changed as she shook her head and smacked my hand away, leaning forward in her seat. The feel of her golden hair against my fingers and her floral fragrance brushing the tips of my nose.
Something urges me to irritate her so I kick her chair hard causing her to jump. "What the fuck!" She curses, giving me the harshest scowl but I chuckle at her reaction.
"Avery! Detention after school." Miss Raine scolds and turns back to her computer, presenting the rest of the lesson.
Looking down to carry on taking notes, I notice that my sheet is missing. I hear a rustling from in front of me and watch how she painfully tears my work into half. She sends me a sickly, sweet smile and throws the pieces at me.
"My work," I say with a heartbroken expression.
"Nerd." She scoffs.
"Bitch." I whisper back at her.
"Jerk."
"Airhead."
I instantly regret that word and wish I can take it back. I know she hates it when people judge her for being the dumb, stereotypical blonde. She's also failing school at the moment which isn't her fault.
"Avery, I'm sorry," guilt overtakes me as a pit forms in my stomach.
"I didn't mean to say it."
No reply.
"It-it just slipped out."
No reply.
After minutes of me apologising to her several times, she doesn't falter her gaze once. I ultimately give up and do the task that's been set. The bell rings and she's the first out the class.
I stroll towards the cafeteria, consumed by regret.
"Pressie!" Someone calls from behind me, the nickname informing me exactly who it is. I don't dare to look back at her because then she won't leave me alone for the rest of the month. I scan the corridors and I don't see anyone who could help me escape.
Ignoring her without a second thought, I walk into the cafeteria. I let out a breath of relief when she went the other way and I make my way towards the middle table.
"You didn't get anything?" Owen asks when I take a seat at the table with the rest of the soccer team and some cheerleaders.
"I'm not hungry." I shake my head and run my eyes over the table. Normally, she is here with him.
I have to get out of here before I spend too much time thinking.
"I need to go see coach," they all nod and I walk out.
Sparse groups of students sit within the quads and some within rooms. But none of those interests me. On the way to the coach's office, I'm halted in my spot at the sight of a black-haired boy. My fists clench at the scene unfolding in front of me.
Joan Reeves. The manipulative, two-faced jerk.
His hand is pressed firmly into Avery's hip and I watch her squirm. Deviously, he utters words of poison to her and plasters a devilish smirk on his face.
Full of hunger and lust, he leans in closer to her until their lips touch. She falters but blindly obliges to the intoxication of his harmful poison.
A blind person can see how uncomfortable she looks.