"Sorry I'm late, Damien," Penelope, my girlfriend of fourteen months, says as she hops into my Jeep. She leans over, pecking my lips.

I smirk mischievously, "Are you really sorry?"

She replies with a cheeky smile, "I'll make it up to you," She leans in towards me for another kiss, and I mimic her action. Just when I expect our lips to touch, she pulls away, "But we wouldn't want to tarnish that perfect attendance record of yours, do we?"

I shake my head at her, shifting gears and pulling away from the kerb, "Evil. Pure evil," Even though that description is miles away from the truth. With long blonde curled hair bouncing lightly as she laughs, she looks just like an angel at this moment.

"So the art show is coming up."

I can't contain my grin, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed. I sarcastically ask, "Really? I had no idea."

"Har har, Dames, did you think I'd forget your little promise?"

I play along, "And what promise would that be?"

"The one in which you said you would finally show the world your sketches. Ringing a bell?"

From the corner of my eyes, I see her wiggling her eyebrows at me. I laugh, "I did say that, didn't I?"

All the humor leaves her, "I don't get why you want to keep them hidden. Your art is beautiful." Her words are so sincere that if I wasn't driving, I would kiss her. Instead, I reach out to hold her hand, gently stroking her palm with my thumb.

We stay like that, in comfortable silence, until we reach school. Even though we were running late before, we surprisingly make it with time to spare. I park the car and we clamber out. Someone yells out my name and I look up to see Taylor walking towards me. I take a deep breath, waiting to see what comes out of his mouth today.

He bumps his fist against mine before clapping my shoulder, "Grats, dude!"

Penelope and I exchange confused glances, "On what?"

"Well, rumor has it," He actually snickers, "That you and Miss Valentine totally made out in the janitor's closet on Friday."

Did he seriously say that? And with Penny standing right here?

With a roll of my eyes, I shrug off Taylor's hand from my shoulder, "Grow up, man."

As I'm walking away, I hear him ask Penelope, "Was it something I said?"

I don't think he's trying to be rude. He just doesn't completely understand the stuff he says sometimes.

I feel a hand slip into mine from behind. I don't need to look to know that it's Penelope's.

We decide to go to our separate lockers since we don't have much time left until roll call. When I reach mine, there are two guys loitering around it.

"Steve, Trip," I call out to them.

"Hey Andrews," Steve nods his head at me, "We thought you were finally ditching school to experience life as a normal teenager."

Trip pipes in, "But, alas, here you are."

"Believe it or not," I unlock my locker and pull out my trigonometry and English books, "But being studious is actually a good thing."

Trip looks across the hallway at a couple of girls sending him flirtatious smiles. "Why bother? Girls notice me either way." He winks, making them giggle. Slicking back his short crewcut hair, he shamelessly walks down the hallway towards the juniors, "I'll see you guys after class."

Steve sighs, "He is seriously going to get told off one day."

Trip wraps his arms around the waists of both girls, leading them away and out of sight. All I can do is nod my head in agreement with Steve.

We arrive to roll call just as the bell rings. Mr Fields is already at his desk, gulping down a large keep cup of coffee. By the way he pinches the bridge of his nose, it's clear he doesn't want to be here any more than us.

"Everyone, sit down please," He says in his characteristically monotone voice.

We all do as we're told. He quickly checks attendance and then closes his eyes, ready for a power nap.

"Talk amongst yourselves," And then he adds with a yawn, "And for goodness' sake, do it quietly."

Steve turns around his chair from in front of me, "So I heard a rumor."

I look at him disgustedly, "Already heard it from Taylor."

"What's with the look? All I heard was that you're going to boot Smith and Johnson from the team."

I look down, embarrassed, "Oh. Coach and I have been discussing some underperforming players but we haven't decided on who yet."

"With the way we've been playing, we're ruining the name of football. I totally agree that people need to go."

The pressure of booting guys from the team has been such a burden, but hearing Steve agree makes me feel like it's the right decision after all.

"But I am curious, what was this other rumor Taylor told you about?"

I shake my head, "The usual, just Taylor being Taylor. And right in front of Penny too."

Steve snickers. The bell rings and we head off on our separate ways. Trig class is the same as always, flying by after a few dozen questions. It's in English, however, when I do a double-take.

She's sitting slumped in the back corner, her black hair much longer than I remember. It falls in front of her eyes but she doesn't push it back. Her downcast eyes sometimes, for the briefest seconds, flicker to the window.

"Mr Andrews, please take a seat, the class is starting," Mrs Michaels breezes into the room, placing a pile of papers onto her desk.

I pull my gaze away from her and sit down at the only seat left, which happens to be right at the front.

Mrs Michaels chirps, "Alright everyone, please take out a pen and paper. Today, we'll be doing a new, rather fun, exercise to start off the week."

A couple of students groan. I would have been excited with a new task, had this been any other day. Right now, all I could think about was the fact that there were only five tables separating me from her.

"We'll be learning about the tone of voice today. So I want each person to do some creative writing. Try and write about something that resonates within you." She checks her watch before continuing, "You have fifteen minutes."

I look down at my paper, trying to figure out what mood would set the tone for the task. Shocked? Disbelief?

It takes me a while to start but once I do, the words start flowing out and when Mrs Michaels tells us to finish off our pieces, I find myself rushing to write it all down. It's short but I like it.

'He's trying to fit in,

With his torn clothes and dirty hair.

He doesn't want to be seen,

Just to blur into the background.

But then they smile down on him,

Raining riches and beauty,

Into his small arms.

But they are just clothes.

Clothes and soap.

And it is now too late.'

Just as I finish reading it, the paper is picked up from my desk.

"Mrs Michaels," I forgetfully say, "I haven't written my name on it yet."

She simply looks back at me and smiles, "For this exercise, you don't need to."

Once she's collected everyone's papers, she starts handing them back out randomly, "Let me know if you receive your own paper."

The paper I get is about a girl walking through a field of flowers. To be honest, it reminds me of Snow White. At one point in the story, a bird builds a nest on the girl's head.

I try not to wince as I read on. But even I don't have that much self-control.

Just when the girl befriends a fawn, Mrs Michaels starts collecting the papers again. I gladly hand Snow White back over to her.

The next paper I get is a poem.

'One more mile

Is all it will take.

One more mile.

He repeats over and over.

The tides grow higher,

The moon draws nearer,

The waves crash louder.

Just one more.

The lighthouse beams,

Guiding him back,

To the distant safety of shores.

And so he repeats,

Until old age wrinkles his soul,

And his hands can no longer steer.

Just one more mile,

He whispers,

As the sea claims him.'

I stare at the poem, turning the page over to see if it continues on. It doesn't. Instead, I'm left feeling cold.

"An author's written words are powerful. They reveal the author's emotions which can otherwise be hidden. Sometimes, even the author doesn't know how they feel until they read what they've written." Mrs Michaels looks around the classroom, "You've each now read three creative pieces. Can you tell exactly how the writer of each feels?"

The bell rings just then, and students start to slowly pack up. I sit there, pondering on Mrs Michaels' words.

"I want all the papers back on my desk. Come and collect what you wrote if you want to." With that, Mrs Michaels starts writing Romeo and Juliet on the chalkboard, probably getting ready for her next class.

I place the poem on her desk, before walking back to my table to collect my things. I, purposely take my time, glancing back over at the pile of papers to see who takes the poem.

When no one does, I walk out of the classroom, feeling restless. It's also as I walk out that I realize I was so spellbound by the poem, that I forgot about her.

***

Hey lovely readers!

I hope you liked this kinda-long first chapter! Read on to find out what's in store for Damien...

- Jane   xoxo