AS SOON as the blaring of his alarm disrupts the otherwise sleepy atmosphere, Finn's eyes snap open with the speed of a cheetah and his hand automatically goes to turn it off. The quiet stillness is broken by the flurry of movement involving Finn literally rolling out of his blankets, throwing on an outfit predetermined from last night, and his mad dash out the bedroom door and into the kitchen.

Finn is in the midst of putting on one shoe when Michael arises from his sleeping position on the couch to groggily squint at his son, suffering from a late night at the office and an unfortunate lack of caffeine. The older Carter male rubs at his eyes, hoping to rub the bleariness away and focus in on the bizarre scene in front of him.

His son is bouncing one foot, balancing two textbooks underneath his arm while simultaneously tying a ratty old sneaker upon the olive walls. The dirt from years of use rubs off on the soothing green color, turning the walls into an earthy brown instead. In Finn's mouth is a bruised apple, held only in place by his teeth sinking deep into the fruity flesh.

"Fi," Michael starts, clearing his throat to rid it of the excess sleep, "I mean this in a loving, fatherly way, but what the hell?"

Finn mutters something in response but it is muffled behind the fruit in his mouth. With a huff, he finishes tying his shoes, grabs his backpack and hurries towards the door. All the while, his eyes are trained on his cellular device, staring intently at the numbers holding his fate.

"Finn?" Michael says.

"Can't talk," his son doesn't spare his father a glance. He takes a bite of his apple and opens the heavy door. "It's six fifty nine."

And without another word, Finn Carter is out the door.

--------

At the bus stop, Finn leans against the cold metal of the stop sign and finally releases a heavy sigh he hadn't realized he was holding. He shoves his gloved hands deep into his pockets and closes his eyes for a second, aware that if he fell back into his slumber he would surely miss the yellow bus and quite possibly have another run in with Winona. That's what this whole morning was about after all.

He didn't want another confrontation.

There are two other kids waiting in the frigid air alongside him -- Jenny from across the street, a stout, freckled girl whose fashion tastes would someday dominate the world's magazines, and Milton from two blocks down, a small boy two years Finn's junior who loses himself in his cello every afternoon until the sun sets and reminds him that he can do it all over again the next day.

He gives them their daily nod. "Jenny."

"Finn."

"Milton."

"Jenny."

"Milton."

"Finn."

The bus arrives soon after, just like it always does, and the three clamber on without another word.

As Finn takes his usual seat at the back of the bus -- the graffitied, grey bench hidden behind tales of gossip and perfume -- he leans his head against the window and stares out. And as the bus begins to pull away, he can hear the distant roar of a motorcycle engine, as if to tell him he never really shook off the lavender-haired girl after all.

----

The yellow limousine pulls up the curb, trailing behind several other buses waiting to deliver their share of students. Finn is always the last to leave; he collects his things and stumbles behind the line, waiting to get off. For some reason, the line moves quicker and sooner than later the doors are closing behind him and he's standing in front of the entrance to Belvidere's only high school. He takes a final bite of his apple and tosses it into a passing garbage can before sauntering inside.

Like always, the school is bustling with energy even though everyone is awake at the asscrack of dawn. Though the town is small, the people are big (not literally). Everyone is friends with their friends' cousins' mother-in-law's sons, and hardly anyone seems to have inherited the gene of fickle, close-minded adolescence. 

Although, there is one individual that managed to escape the genetic pool of happiness and open-mindedness. 

Finn begrudingly refers to the mutation as Larson Hills.

The student body refers to him as Adelaide Romero's boyfriend.

The hulking six-foot-three giant looks as if he can be on the football team, but surprisingly submits himself to alternating between chess club (for Adelaide) and the school's soccer team instead. Therefore, although there is a lack of football superiority for Belvidere's atheltic program, at least their soccer team kicks ass.

It's quite unfortunate how the rest of the student body doesn't see Larson the way he truly is: calculating, deceiving, and most of all, a pain in the ass. Whille his academics and reputation say otherwise, it seems as if the only people Larson takes off his mask for is Adelaide--

And Finn.

Everyone fawns over the golden boy, starting from humble African American roots and rising into the school's most revered persona. If only they saw how he was underneath the lavishly good-looking face.

Finn sees him in the distance, his white smile bright in the early sunlight streaming through the windows, talking with the basketball coach. The sight gives him hope. Maybe he has enough time to--

When he reaches his locker, the hope surges in his chest at the sight of the familiar figure piling numerous textbooks from the storage unit beside his. Finn makes his way over, trying to put a little lilt to his step, but ending up looking like a drunken sailor instead. Adelaide looks up just as he reaches their lockers, her ginger hair in its usual messy bun, decorated with a few braids on the sides. She smiles widely, like she does when she always sees him. 

"Hey, Finnwad," she greets teasingly, a nickname she royally bestowed upon him in their kindergarten year. Finn hated it at first, but grew to tolerate it as long as he got to see the bright grin that accompanied the horrid nickname with each saying. It's what brought them together -- you know, after he told on her and got them both in trouble.

"Adeload of crap," he tries. She laughs and brushes a loose strand of hair from her face. Finn wishes he can do it for her instead.

"Seven out of ten," Adelaide sticks out her tongue. "It was a little lengthy today."

"Damn. I'll come up with a good one eventually."

"Nothing will ever beat Finnwad."

"That's what you think."

She leans against her locker, smoothing out the creases in her skirt. "That's what I know."

"Yeah, yeah, Romero."

"By the way," Adelaide reaches into her locker to pick out one last notebook, before shoving the contents into her backpack. It's a worn-down pastel pink, with an octopus drawn on with Sharpie on the front pouch (courtesy of Finn). The backpack is also courtesy of Finn (pre-pubescent eighth grade Finn), and Adelaide's been using it ever since. "You coming to the meeting after school, Finnwad?"

Before Finn can answer, a lower voice from behind Adelaide chimes in, "Yeah, Finnwad, you coming so I can kick your ass again?"

And the moment is gone.

Finn fights the urge to release a rather heavy sigh, and his posture loosens as he visibly sags at the sight of his self-acclaimed nemesis. "Please don't call me that."

"I always loved your manners, Finnwad," Larson winks and he is shoved to the side by Adelaide, who fixes a glare in his direction.

"Lay off, Lars," she chides. "Only I can call him that. We've already talked about this."

"What? I think it's only fair since I'm your boyfriend and you know," he pulls her close to him, nuzzling her ear with his mouth. She cringes. "what's mine is yours and whats yours is mine."

Finn gags. Larson looks up at him.

He cocks an eyebrow, "You got a problem, nerd?"

Finn stammers, "N-no." God, he hated Larson. 

Adelaide looks furious, "Larson."

"You know what you need, Carter?" Larson leers. "You need to get laid. Maybe that'll teach you to stop flirting with other people's girls."

"Larson!" Adelaide yells. Finn is silent. He's always silent. 

At least today it is only verbal abuse. He hates when it becomes physical. But Adelaide didn't know about the latter.

"Hey, cheer up, buddy." Larson puts on a patronizing expression. "I'll give you some tips. First off, ditch the graphic tees, loser, this isn't middle school. You could use a bit of bulking up. You're fucking scrawny. That'll never get you a date if you look like a chicken--"

"That's rich coming from the kid squawking out shit." A new voice enters the conversation. Finn can hear the blood rushing through his ears. He slaps a palm to his head.

"Winona, please stay out of this," he begs the new arrival. 

She's standing beside Finn, her short frame prominent against the seven inches Finn has on her height-wise. Her lavender hair is curly around her shoulders, and backpack is one-shouldered over an oversized grey sweater that swallows her whole. Her moccasins are the only source of color besides her hair, the otherwise despondent brown the only brightness on her body. "I would, but I have my own word of wisdom for this," she gives Larson a disgusted onceover. "piece of broccoli."

"Broccoli?" Larson asks. "What the fuck?"

"Yeah. You heard me right. Perhaps you should consider hearing aids for that problem, although they won't help at all with that overbite and the prescence of a receding hairline. You say to bulk up but your arm muscles are unproportionate to the sticks that are your legs. And maybe, just maybe, you can invest in Listerine mouthwash?" Winona has no mercy.

"I-I, fuck--"

"What's your name?"

"Like hell I would tell you, you bitch."

"It's Larson," Finn inputs quietly. 

"Well, Larson," Winona leans forward. Finn is amused (and amazed) to see the school's soccer captain take a cautious step back. "I'm impressed that you're flexible enough to have your foot in your mouth and your head up your ass at the same time. Next time you give advice, remember it isn't a one-sided deal."

"Bitch," he snarls.

"Actually," she smirks. "My name is Winona."

"Oh, suck my dick."

"Sorry, I already had disappointment for breakfast."

Larson's features darkens and he grips Adelaide's hand tightly. "Come on, Addy, let's go." He starts to pull her away and Adelaide sends an apologetic look towards Finn and Winona's way.

"I'm sorry," she mouths, and then they are gone.

Finn turns on Winona in a whirlind of motion. "What the fuck was that for?"

"I'm pretty sure this calls for a 'thank you.'" Winona looks perplexed.

"No!" Finn is gaping at her. "No, no, no! You can't just-- just, embarrass me like that!"

"I was helping you," she says slowly, as if talking to an asylum patient.

"No, you weren't," he grits his teeth. "You just gave Larson Miller more ammunition to use against me. It's bad enough that he thinks I can't defend myself, and now Adelaide's going to think that too."

"Oh." she says.

"Yeah, oh--"

"So this is still ultimately about that girl?" The tips of Finn's ears go pink. He glares at the ground, trying to burn a hole through it so he can crawl into it and die. "Look," Winona adds, "I think you should reconsider my offer."

"No," Finn says too quickly.

"And why the hell not? I think this encounter proves that it's going to take much longer than you thought."

"It's okay. I can wait." Finn thinks back to when he first developed his crush on his friend. It was the summer of fourth grade. When he realized that there had to be a reason why this girl brought a smile to his face with every thought and why his heart raced whenever she was near. He's been through four of her boyfriends, each getting progressively better than him each time. He repeats a little solemnly, "I can wait for a long time. Trust me."

Winona is silent for a moment, taking a moment to analyze him. The bell rings above them.

She claps a hand on his back, "I'll pick you up at the end of the day. Front of the school. Don't try to ditch me again." It takes a minute for him to realize she is talking about this morning. It takes another minute to fully understand her words.

"Wait, what--"

"Bye, Finn Carter. I'll catch you on the flipside."

Winona grins. She waves. She's gone.

----

At precisely two-twenty in the afternoon, the bell rings and Finn is up on the balls of his feet. He stretches and grabs his backpack from the floor. He wonders if he should follow Winona's instructions or not. As the people file around him, attempting to leave the building, he blows out a sigh.

There is no point in trying to escape her again. For some unremarkable reason, he feels as if their paths will cross more often than not. Maybe it's fate.

He runs a hand through his hair, and heads for the school's entrance, an image of a bright pink motorcycle racing through his mind.

---

One exhilarating ride (with a minor setback involving Winona pulling over the side of the road so Finn could puke) later, the two were at Finn's driveway. 

Queasy little Finn nearly topples off the bike, but he regains his balance at the last minute when the concrete pavement seemed to be getting closer to his face. Winona is a step behind, and Finn turns around to thank her for the ride.

"Aren't you going to let me in?" she asks.

"You live right next door!"

"Excellent observation, Finn," Winona says seriously, and Finn doesn't know whether or not she is sarcastic. She begins to make her way up his steps.

"H-hey, wait!"

"Your door's locked."

Grumbling, Finn sends a look in the direction of Winona's house, silently pleading one of her hot moms would come out and rescue him. The door remains shut. He sighs.

"Finn," Winona calls in a sing-song voice.

He gives one last hopeful look in his neighboor's direction before shaking his head and shouting back, "I'm coming."

When the two of them enter Finn's humble abode, they are met with the delightful aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin, and Finn feels himself finally begin to unwind after the long day. This is his favorite thing about fall anyway; that feeling of calmness that came with the sereneness of the season.

"It smells like shit in here."

And now he's tense again.

"My house, my fragrances," he frowns at her. Winona looks around, and for a second she falters in her exploration upon seeing the array of photographs displayed on the Carters' walls. She draws away from them slowly, lingering on the copy of Finn's birth certificate hanging beside his middle school graduation picture.

"My bad," she says a little delayed. And then it seems as if she's back to normal.

Finn nods understandingly and cringes a bit. "So uhm, what did you need to come in here for?"

"Oh, I just thought we could hang out."

"I'm missing chess club," he reiterates. "to hang out with you?"

"Don't sound too excited now," Winona frowns. "Who likes chess club anyway?"

Adelaide. "Me," Finn rolls his eyes at her.

"Why don't we just--" her eyes spot the X-Box in the corner. "Dude, you have Advanced Warfare?" She's referring to the latest Call of Duty game that Finn and Michael practically worship.

"Duh."

"We need to play it!"

Finn smirks. Although Winona has the one thing he desparately wanted (self-confidence), at least Finn knew that he is hella boss at video gaming. "Sure," he laughs maniacally. "I think that's a great idea."

-----

It isn't a great idea.

By the time Michael Carter returns home after his dreary shift, he's surprised to see:
a) Finn at home with a friend.
b) Finn at home with a girl friend.
c) Said girl friend kicking his son's ass at Call of Duty.

The two had been playing for nearly seven hours straight, with no sign of stopping anytime soon. Finn looks like he's close to tears and Winona has such a wide smile on her face that it seems as if the room couldn't contain it. 

When Winona beat Finn once more (for the eleventh time in a row), he threw the controller down and stood up in a rush. "I give up! I quit!"

"Aw, already? Weak."

"Weak? You defended me earlier, but now you're turning against me--"

"Oh, hello there." Winona says, her attention on Michael. Finn glances over at his father.

"Hello?" Michael says back, confusion in his eyes.

Finn waves, embarassed. "Dad, this is Winona. She's our new neighbor."

"Oh."

"Winona, this is my dad."

"Nice to meet you."

"Finn has friends?" was all Michael Carter could say back.

Finn sighs.

Winona bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach as tears escaped her eyes. Finn mutters under his breath, "Yes, I do. I have Adelaide."

"Unfortunately the case is, she's just your friend." Michael says.

"We are not having this talk!" Finn yells, exasperated.

"Why must your taste in women have to be the type that you can't have?" Michael jokes.

"I know the feeling," Winona stretches on the couch, releasing a content sigh. "Especially when the girl has a boyfriend and you go, 'shit, she's straight.'"

Both Carter boys send her shocked looks.

"You're--?" Finn splutters.

Winona sends him a wicked grin. "I'm?"

Michael shrugs off his tie, walking over to his son and clapping him on the shoulder. "All the good women, son, I told you."

"Are taken," Finn rolls his eyes. "Fictional--"

"Or gay." Winona finishes, looking smug.

-----

What is this? Another chapter of Winona? Oh, my God. You must be dreaming.

But you're not. c;

Here's an especially long chapter for all you people who have waited for it. Who's your favorite character so far? Let me know in the comments! On the side is a banner made by ever so wonderful Ro (aventine) of Winona! And if you haven't already, check it this amazing trailer for Winona made by Forever_Yours_Too! I'm in love with it, ngl.

Comment. Vote. Promote. 

-Isa