Read the trilogy in one weekend and fell in love with this pairing. I really shouldn't be starting another multi-chap but I couldn't resist. I own nothing and mean no harm. The songs belong to Les Mis and Damien Rice.
Reviews are wonderful and will feed my muse.
'One more day all on my own, one more day with him not caring.'
The line played over and over in her head, the tune running through her blood. The jolt of the bell ripped the tune from her as the jostling of bodies and instant chatter came to life around her.
Class was over, she glanced down at the blank page before her, nothing. Liz would be coughing over notes later; she owed her for the chemistry help last weekend. Not that English was a class she needed much help in. Chloe had already read the book they were dissecting, had critiqued most of it already, and had moved onto the next title on the syllabus. Hawthorne and Hemingway, real creative choices, she sighed.
Last week junior year had started and she had had high hopes that this year it would be different, this year she would find her place, her challenge.
Yeah, no, so it hadn't happened; yet, it hadn't happened yet. A week in and she was pretty much done.
She was still tiny, mousy Chloe with too many movie quotes stuck in her head. Her Aunt had assured her that she would begin to fill out soon, it had happened to her Mom late too. The head full of dialogue was her own problem to solve. Not that it was a problem; it was just one more thing that set her apart.
Practically she couldn't walk around with a camcorder, she had tried unsuccessfully the first week in June and two ugly confrontations later she had stored the camera, vowing only to use it when she had a specific scene in mind that she wanted to frame out.
By the second week of June she had dug her Father's camera out of the hall closet. Chloe doubted he knew what he had purchased, she remembered they had gone to get her an iPod and the clerk had somehow talked him into buying the complicated camera with the extra lens.
Both pieces had been still in their original packaging and when Chloe had finally managed to figure out where A went into B she had made a friend. The camera hadn't left her hand since. Taking pictures, still pictures weren't the same as the movies she hoped one day to make, but it was turning out to be a pretty awesome substitute. A few of the images even to her critical eye had turned out nice.
When Aunt Lauren had suggested she sign up for some of the photography classes her school offered, she had answered with a sure and swift, "hell no."
While the school was arts friendly the arts themselves knew better than to mingle. One simply did not go from theater to drawing or band to dance. Chloe was theater arts; the broadest of the disciplines true, but it didn't mean that she could simply show up in a photography studio and not make waves. And making waves was not what Chloe did.
So she had carried around her camera, taking shots on the sly, never over stepping her bounds. She had never signed up for a class or stepped foot in one of their studios; nor would she.
Gathering up her bag she made her way out of English, her last class of the day and into the rush of the hallway. Her locker was one floor up, near the gym, she walked slowly, taking the steps one at a time, and voices rose and fell around her.
Near the landing she heard the boisterous laugh and familiar blond head as it ran past her, Simon Bae, no doubt off to one of the practices for the various sports teams he belonged too. Simon was one of the few crossovers; he was a talented artist, fluid and sure strokes filling up his weekly comic strip in the school paper.
'The Supernaturals' was a favorite with every student and Simon eased into popularity with artistic skills and athletic skills. She smiled as his red and white lettermen jacket disappeared around the corner, they had shared a few classes, and she might even go as far as to say that they were friends.
And no matter what Rae said, 'friends' was just fine by her, not that anyone believed her. Most of the girls, Rae included, held a special place in their heart for Simon.
From her pocket she felt the buzz of an incoming message, pausing at the top of the stairs she reached for her phone and flipped it open.
'Running late, catch a bus?' her Aunt was supposed to pick her up for some more clothes shopping. No doubt held up at the hospital, it didn't bother Chloe, it hadn't been her idea to expand her closet. She typed back a quick 'np. *hugs* don't work too late.'
Finally at her locker, Chloe swapped out what she didn't need for what she needed; confident she had homework covered she shut her locker and adjusted the strap on her messenger bag.
'There out in the darkness, a fugitive running,' the tunes were starting up in her head again, she hummed quietly. The halls had thinned out, so she pulled her camera out, adjusting the lens and taking a quick shot of the custodian struggling to open a locker belonging to a frazzled looking freshman.
There was another buzz from her pocket, this one more persistent, "hey girl."
Liz began rambling in her ear, her bus had already left and Chloe could hear the shouts of students in the background.
"You are not going to believe who I heard was back," Chloe had only been paying half attention to her friend; she had been trying to remember which bus stop she needed to get too.
"Chloe pay attention," busted, "Sorry Liz, I-I'm just a little lost," she had spent time over the summer with a speech therapist. While not totally over the stutter the therapy had and was helping. Any little bit of flustered though and it was back to stumbling lips.
Finally she saw the bench and pole and she grinned, the public transportation was not the fastest way to travel but she didn't mind, she liked seeing the different faces on board.
Liz was still rambling as she took her seat on the edge of the bench; pulling the strap of her bag over her head she rested it next to her, mindful to keep a hand on the strap.
"Can you believe it?" Liz squealed in her ear. No not really, but then she hadn't heard a word.
"I'm sorry what," Chloe could hear the eye roll and grimaced, so sue her she hated talking on the phone, which was why she had an unlimited text messaging plan.
"I said they are saying he's back," her first thought was who was 'they' but then her curiosity got the better of her.
"Who's back Liz," her voice had dropped into a dramatic whisper that made her grimace. There was nothing worse than living a cheesy teen movie moment.
Abruptly, Chloe was aware of someone else nearby, someone else watching her; she looked up, her jaw dropped at who she saw.
"Derek," absently she heard Liz's noise of disgust, "who told you?" fumbling with the phone she muttered a quick, "I gotta go," and hung up.
Derek Souza leaned against the bus stop, his shoulder pressing into the route map; she figured it hurt, it had to hurt it was metal.
Her thoughts were scattering, she swallowed, he didn't look her way, if he had heard her say his name, and she didn't know how he could have missed it, he wasn't acknowledging it.
He was annoying like that.
Even more annoying was the fact that he was back, enrolled in classes if the backpack was any indication and she had not heard word one about it. Looking down at her feet she felt the shuffle in her head, 'can't take my mind off of you. I can't take my mind off of you,' her heart skipped a beat.
Not that song, pretty much any song would be OK but that one. She busied herself with her bag and found her wallet, she went through the motions of counting out exact change, and she hated fumbling when paying the fare. Everyone would be watching and waiting to get back on the road.
And how the hell could he just come back and not tell her.
Looking up his profile revealed nothing; he was still staring out at the street, still ignoring her.
The punch of hurt to her gut was startling, she might have gasped, after everything they had been through how could he just be here, be there and just, just stand there.
There was no way she could be there anymore, pain was shifting into panic, and she needed to not be there anymore. Rising, the strap of her pain bit painfully into her wrist twisting as she began to walk, she had made it a block before the pain radiated far enough up her arm that she thought to untangle it and draw the strap over her shoulder.
Derek was back, the thought just looped over and over in her head, he was back and he had ignored her. She wasn't sure which shocked her more or which hurt her more.
Another block walked and her thoughts began to settle, the whole scene began to play out again, from the phone call to the first look at him, and she began to dissect it, analyze it with her inner eye. He looked, good, better than good, he looked great.
Of course that would be the first thing she would notice, but his face had been noticeably clear and his hair had been shorter than she was used to seeing him with. Good for him, she could be generous with her thoughts when pushed, she was super proud of herself.
Taking a deep breath she considered what he was wearing, dark clothes, at least that hadn't changed. Dark gray shirt and dark blue jeans, what was different was the way he filled them. She could see, even in her brief perusal that he had filled out with some serious muscle. He was taking better care of himself, which was even better, good for him.
Abruptly she stopped, he had looked amazing, and God she had missed him.
Looking around she blinked at the surprising surroundings, shops and restaurants, she had walked in the exact opposite direction she needed to be heading.
"Shit," she sighed, adjusting her bag the weight of it was irritating her shoulder. Her Derek fueled thoughts had distracted her and now she had no idea which bus to take to get home. Digging out her phone she scrolled through her contacts until she found the number she was looking for.
Begrudgingly she called the cab, forty-five minutes, "great," Chloe wouldn't think of herself as a mean person, but she certainly sent a few mean thoughts to the boy who had prompted this detour to her afternoon.
"Whatever," squaring her shoulders, she decided she would make the best of the situation, there was a café and outdoor tables; she could work with that.
Feeling better with her juice and muffin, she took a seat and pulled her notebook out of her bag. There was homework she could work on; there were some scenes that could be ironed out.
She would be productive, her pen was out and poised on a blank sheet of paper.
Nothing.
Not a word.
Not an idea.
Dropping the pen she sank back in her seat, her mind began to wander, a natural progression. She had seen him and so her thoughts went there.
Derek Souza was that guy, that guy in the halls that people avoided, no one sat with him at lunch and no one picked him to be lab partners with.
At the start of her sophomore year, Chloe had fallen in quickly with Liz and soon after Rae and she had seen the waves created when Derek walked through the halls, but she had never thought that much about it.
Perhaps it had been all the moving she had done, all the different schools she had been forced to transfer into because of her Father's work, but she had always been the new girl, so if he was 'that guy' than who was she to judge him too harshly.
With a firm promise from her Father that they would be here through graduation she had done her best to acclimate socially and academically. And it had been her math teacher who had made the quiet suggestion that she employ the use of a tutor.
All the moving had left her education a bit uneven and if she wanted a shot at a decent college she was going to have to bring up her GPA. That same teacher had given her a slip of paper and told her that a tutor would meet her after school.
Of course she hadn't told anyone, who would tell if they were getting tutored, Liz and Rae had both skipped off after classes with a promise to call her later and Chloe had made it to the assigned classroom early.
The classroom had been empty when she had gotten there, having never been formally tutored, she simply took a seat and pulled out her math book and waited.
She might have started doodling in the margins of the book, in pencil, she was by no means an artist, but there wasn't much talent needed for stars.
Five points and big bursts she drew them all.
A cough had made her jump; her pencil had dropped out of her hand and bounced off her book and onto the white tile. Before she could untangle her limbs to retrieve it, a hand, a large hand, reached down and picked it up.
Her eyes went from the yellow pencil, to the hand that held it and swept up to into the eyes of Derek Souza.
Blinking out of the memory of that first meeting she realized that once again she wasn't alone. Chloe looked up and a year almost to the day she found the green eyes that had once so captivated her looking down at her.
"Hello Chloe," his voice was a deep rumble that made her stomach flip and her skin tighten.
Crap; she was in so much trouble.