Sᴇᴘᴛᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 17. 2024.
After stretching and warming up with the others, Mrs. Dale is allowing the girls to do two laps around the field before she officially begins the class. On the field, Alessia notices that people are either staring at her, chatting about her, staying clear of her, doing two of the three or all. There's a huge gap between her and the crowd of daintily jogging females that she can close if she wants, but it wouldn't be too thrilling. After all, it isn't a race. Just warm-up.
She lingers in the back, trying to make use of the exercise to help her calm her nerves. The wind is combing through her hair gently, cooling the sweat forming at the roots. Her morning is going much better than she anticipated—
"Wanna race?"
—or not.
The boys have just started their jog and Vincent has ran ahead to catch up to her.
"No." She says, hoping that he goes away without being a stubborn brat this time.
The boy with too much energy prances around her, whining, "C'mon Alessia. Our first race was unfair and I'm in the mood."
She huffs out a gruff breath. He's back at it again with only thinking about himself. "What part of me looks like I am in the mood." She states wryly.
Alessia plans to ignore him after that. However, "God, I don't know why I'm still thinking you're so cool when it's obvious you've grown dead and boring," seems to hit her harder than it's meant to and she slows into a stop. With his mood on the low, he puts the headphone that was hanging loose around his neck, over his ears and he doesn't notice the girl, or anyone for that matter, anymore.
Is that what they think of me? She is on the verge of self-reflecting, but pulls the brake, wondering why should she care.
The girls are almost back at Mrs. Dale's class and the woman's hawk-like eyes shift to Alessia who's across the field, unmoving. The guys are running by. Some look back at the 'white-haired diva' in bewilderment, while one takes it upon himself to stop. Faded black hair sticking in all directions and grey eyes warm.
"Hello."
She looks up and, unlike most girls who're immediately smitten by his appearance and thick British lisp, she asks blatantly, "Who are you?"
He isn't arrogant, but he's so used to having random people swoon at his soft-boy features, flush, or smile at him sweetly like little suckers, he's both relieved and awkward at this flat faced girl. She didn't even know he existed until now. And, she'll probably forget about his existence if he doesn't leave an impression. "Just a passing stranger who notices a blue schoolmate." He says. He means well, but—
"I'm not sad."
—Alessia is offended. It's as clear as day on her face.
He trails, "You don't say..." Watching her eyebrows dent inwards, forming a trench on her forehead. Instinctively, he reaches out to smooth out the skin of her forehead. The habit hadn't seemed bad before, because he's familiar with everyone at the school.
Nonetheless, he gets a fright when she smacks his hand away, cursing in cursive. "Whatthefuck?!"
"Ah, lovely. She's turning her negative emotions into anger." He mutters, grasping his arm and giving her a flat stare. Do I really and truly like this lass? It is one of the reasons he stopped by. And, it has been the beauty for him, but the personality isn't adding up to it. It's more like he has gotten her at a bad moment in life. She looks so gutted.
Alessia rolls her eyes at his sarcastic comment and starts to walk away. "You don't know anything about me. I don't even know you." She grumbles, stepping harder than necessary.
"Don't get me wrong," he begins, moving after her, "I'm not saying you know me or I know you. I'm just saying what I see. Basically, you're an open book."
An open book? What is this guy? Alessia is completely taken aback. It's the first anyone has said that to her. She has always been an unreadable person. What, did she lose her composure? What's even happening?
"No one has ever told you that before?"
Wait... Is this a trap? She suddenly becomes icy, halting and turning to face the boy with murderous intent. He stops short of bumping into her, reversing at her deadly gaze that sends chills up his spine. The guys are coming around for their second lap and Lisa Dale is marching across the field to get to the girl who's muting her surroundings to focus on her stranger.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
His hands go up instantly in surrender to whatever she has skipping through her head. This is one bloody impression he's leaving. "I'm not looking for trouble, I swear."
"Then what?" She asks sharply, eyeballing him and clenching her jaw.
"Shite, you just seemed like you needed a mate."
She opens her mouth to lie and gets a bad taste on her tongue. "I don't want any friends." She says to him, but he knows the truth.
He dares not to be so outspoken about it this time.