Diamonds, pink lipstick, and perfect clothing belied her home life. Her perfectly styled hair hid the chaos in her family. A spiteful mother, an angered father- and money, lots of money. In fact, her boots were a present from her mother; gifted in an attempt to piss off her father. She reached up to touch the single diamond stud in her left ear-it was part of a pair- that her father bought for revenge on her mother. Slowly, she started to spin the earing in her lobe, sinking into a habit that began weeks ago.
A few rows behind her, a young man smirked. Combat boot-clad feet rested on top of his desk as he leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. A bulge in his pocket stood out among the dirty, ripped jeans, no matter how much the folds of his plaid shirt tried to hide it. Contrary to what those who knew him believed, it wasn't a package of weed, or any other drug for that matter. It was something far more expensive and precious. With every spin of the redhead's earring, the weight in his pocket grew more pronounced.
A sharp sound from the back of the room caught the class's attention. While the others sought the source, she chanced a glance at the boy in the back of the room. Within a second, chocolate eyes met chocolate eyes. The hand on her earring froze. With that, his smirk grew, and he reached his hand up to slowly rotate his own stud, purposely starting at her. With a blush, she spun back around, focusing on the teacher.
At the sound of the bell, the teenagers all stood except him. He sat, legs up, and watched the redhead gather her belongings and walk out the door with her friends. Long legs, pale skin, and beautiful lips. In his predator's eyes, she was gorgeous. A beautiful prey that was his for the takings. To him, she was Aphrodite. Though, if asked, he would never admit that. In fact, he would claim ignorance as to whom Aphrodite was. Maybe that busty blond freshman?
She stands by the lockers, where another nameless, faceless boy awkwardly talks to her. Her friends snicker and gossip, no doubt making fun of the lanky boy. Once upon a time she would have done the same, to his face even. Now, her mind drifts to another lanky boy from a few weeks ago. Her eyes dance down the hall, seeking the blond boy out. The boy beside her continues to talk, but she ignores him. She ignores the boys that leer at her. She ignores the girls that glare at her. Ignore, ignore, ignore.
She ignores them all because of a certain bad boy with his long brown hair tucked behind his ears, showing off his single diamond stud. He swaggers down the hall, the blond boy she had been searching for walks along side of him, chatting rapidly. As they draw closer she turns her back to them in order to talk to the lanky boy beside her.
He gets extremely jealous when he sees her talking to these guys. The football players, the rich brats, the geeks with money. When they talk to her, some primal instinct tells him to fight and protect her. He stopped listening to that instinct after the third fight, when she called him a "Neanderthal".
When it's not jealousy, it's fear. He can't offer her anything. He's a good-for-nothing, a drug addict- just like his father. He knows she could leave him at any minute. She grew up with money, and the boys who chase her have it. The implications of what could happen always cause him to freeze up.
They always leave school separately, never looking for each other. She says good bye to her friends with a wave, while he struts off to the jeers of the stoners. When asked, "Daddy's Princess" and "that stoner guy" say they have something better to do-shopping, detention, smoking-anything other than hanging out with their cliques.
Somedays, the meet up with the others. They dance, they get high, they talk. Sometimes they go home. It's an attempt to keep the outside world oblivious. It rarely ever works, as the other is always on their mind. Sometimes, they wait until dark and then they sneak out to meet. It pisses off her father and mother, but when they sneak into the school's stadium and just lay under the starts that anger is forgotten.
In these stolen moments, they discard the facades they show to the outside world. No longer are they the "princess" and the "criminal". Now, they are just two teenagers falling in love and having fun. It is in the moments they call each other "mine".
That night, when the streetlights glow but nobody is awake, he sneaks into her room. Her small, silk nightgown contrasts his grungy clothes in a way he has grown to like. As they lay together in bed, her parents provide a dissonant symphony-one they have fallen asleep to often.
At first, this was a relationship to get back at her parents. He knows it; he was the one who suggested it. Slowly it evolved. The "I love you" s became more reverent than reveling. The kisses more ardent and comforting than lustful. Every time he looked into her eyes, he wondered how he had managed to catch his most perfect princess-and why she let herself be caught.
When she whispers her last "I love you" before falling asleep, he realizes his pocket is still full.
Saturday morning, they arrive at detention together. The entire group is there, sitting quietly, smirking. They sit, waiting on Vernon, and when he's come and gone they move to begin their "club activities".
Hours pass. Lunch is eaten and shared. Stories and anecdotes from the past week are told and laughed over. Still, the box rests in his pocket. When they begin the circle and pass the blunt, he becomes extremely aware of how perfect she is and how there is no other woman like her on earth. Upon her first deep inhale, he knows.
In the time it takes her to inhale, exhale, and pass the blunt to the only other girl in their group, he has stood up, moved across the floor, and knelt down in front of her relaxing form. Pulling out the box, he waits. There is much cheering and congratulating and hugs. Hours later, as they lay in her bed, her resounding "Yes!" still echoes in his ears.