Her First Name
Chapter One: She Loves Him, She Loves Him Not
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Sakura couldn't help it. She couldn't help but feel triumphant as she and the rest of the gym class watched Sasuke head to the nurse's office, holding his nose and the rest of his dignity, while Hinata called apology after apology at his retreating figure. She didn't laugh but allowed herself a smile of malice. She reminded herself to congratulate Hinata. Despite not scoring the winning goal, Hinata had finally made contact with a soccer ball using her feet instead of her nose. Oh, and Sasuke getting his face bashed in was just a bonus.
To say that Sakura hated Sasuke would be an understatement. But it didn't used to be that way. She used to be like every other girl who'd ever crossed paths with this handsome, onyx-eyed boy. (Except Hinata, and this has been a popular debate of interest among her friends and non-friends alike.) Sakura used to think that she might be the one to finally get through.
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It started in the third grade, when he first transferred to a public school. He had hair like raven feathers and eyes blacker than the dark. And when he passed her desk on the way to his seat, she found out that he smelled like peppermint. Sakura loved peppermint.
The only problem was he was just so darn shy! Why didn't he talk to her? She wasn't going to talk to him. That would be admitting to the whole third grade class that she liked him—like-liked him—and she wasn't like those other girls who crowded around his desk and followed him around the playground pining. Besides, if he really liked her—like-liked her—he would say "Hi," to her first. Because that's how things worked in the third grade. So Sakura was contented to wait.
But he did not say "Hi," to her in the third grade.
Or the fourth grade.
Or the fifth grade.
Or the sixth grade.
The waiting finally got to her. Waiting was painful. It was excruciating. Waiting was excruciatingly painful. And at the end of sixth grade she resolved to let him know just how painful it was.
It was the day before the end of the third term, the last day of elementary school. Sakura knew she had to do it now because there was a chance she might not have classes with him next year. And maybe all the eighth and ninth grade girls might want a piece of him. Or maybe a cute new girl might transfer to her junior high school next year. Or maybe he'd die over spring break. Maybe she'd die?
In any case, she needed to do it now. She wouldn't have been in the same class as him for three years in a row if it didn't mean something, right? She had been the only girl to have classes with him three years in a row! And she believed that it counted for something!
As Sakura waited at the gate that afternoon, she toyed with the long, pink hair she'd grown out for him. The letter in her hand seemed to melt and sit between her fingers and stain them with ink. Clenching and unclenching her fist, she hoped something wonderful would happen. If something happened—something along the lines of Sasuke holding her in his arms, lips to her forehead, and his smell on her skin—then none of those upperclassmen girls, or new transfer students, or even death would matter. The only thing that mattered was if something happened.
Sakura wanted him to be surprised when he saw her, but there was no hope of that when she could see the indent of the shoes left by all the other girls who had stood in her place waiting for him after school with the same high expectations, the same letters and ink-stained fingers.
No.
She was different, because she had luck on her side.
When she heard the teacher bid him goodbye and the school door slide shut, she closed her eyes and counted the steps he took to the gate. And kept counting when he walked right past her.
She cracked an eye open. "S-Sasuke-kun!" It came out less composed than she liked.
Sakura didn't remember exactly what she had said. She worried she might not be able to say all she wanted to before handing him the letter, but, fortunately, she was cut off. She remembered that he took the letter from her fingers and tossed it into the street. And he simply said, "You're annoying," before he left her standing in the shoe indents of all the other girls whose letters had landed in the gutter.
Sakura was ashamed to admit it, but she was a stupid and silly girl, and stupid, silly girls always cried. Especially after having three years of infatuation come to naught in two words. Fortunately, Sakura had a strong will and was determined not to be affected. Even though her sleepless nights and red, puffy eyes in the morning argued otherwise.
Two nights later, Sakura had a small revelation as long pieces of hair fell to her feet like so many broken wishes: she looked better with it short.
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"Don't look so discouraged, Hinata. I'm sure the ball would've gone in if Sasuke's face hadn't been in the way," Sakura beamed as she clapped her friend's back enthusiastically. She, Hinata, and Ino were in the locker room, changing into their school uniforms after Phy. Ed was dismissed early that day.
"Sakura, I'm not upset about not making the goal," Hinata sighed heavily, as she knew the hate Sakura harbored against said goal-stopper.
"Don't act so obvious, Sakura," Ino declared as she switched her sports bra for the lacy lavender one she wore for luck on prospective dates. "We all know that you wanted to be the one to shoot that soccer ball into Sasuke-kun's statuesque face. Admit it."
Sakura frowned as she pulled on her shirt. "That Sasuke has a statuesque face? I don't know about that. However, I will not deny that a chance to muss up Sasuke's face was taken from me," She grinned good-naturedly as Hinata flushed. "But the look of his face afterward made up for it."
Just then, Mitarashi-sensei came by and slapped Hinata on the back so hard that the young girl squeaked. The woman gave her a toothy grin and congratulated her on the kick. As soon as their gym teacher left, the three girls burst out laughing.
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One week, eight hours, twenty-four minutes, one love letter earlier and she might've rejoiced in the fact that Sasuke shared her homeroom. Wasn't she lucky to have classes with him four years in a row? Sakura decided to make the best of it and resolved to make her displeasure known that first day. She was embarrassed, angry, and heartbroken. And the fact that he didn't know only made things worse.
But it was hard to hate someone and do hateful things to them when they didn't know you existed, or cared that you existed. And even harder when you still carried a very small torch for the person who didn't know or cared that you existed.
Sakura tried to make Sasuke miserable by not giving him worksheets, purposely not accepting any worksheets he handed to her, "accidentally" kicking his pencil when he dropped it by her desk, deliberately not passing him the ball in gym class, sticking her gum under his desk when he wasn't looking, out-answering him at every question the teacher asked, and giving him the nastiest looks she could possibly give a boy who broke her heart. Everything short of killing him…
But nothing seemed to faze him and that irked her.
After the first two weeks she was just too tired to try anymore. Instead, she entertained many evil plots of revenge in her head, enjoyed anything exceedingly unlucky that happened to him during the school day, and tried very hard to ignore him when he was not being a jerk or smote upon.
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Sasuke returned during free period. His nose cleaned and, to the chagrin of Sakura, unbroken. There was no indication that his face had even been touched. If I had kicked the ball… Sakura thought, her mind suddenly filled with the image of Sasuke being rushed to the emergency room with his head wrapped in guaze.
When he came to the row of desks in which he shared with Sakura, he looked up suddenly. Their eyes met for just a moment and Sakura felt something like burning wings flare up inside her, a feeling she wished would not happen fifty-percent of the time. But that feeling was purged out of her skin by the darkening of his eyes before he turned away and took his seat two desks in front of her.
What was that for? Sakura glared as she chewed her pen, a mechanism she used to distract herself from the fact that she had blushed. Jerk.
She frowned and closed her eyes, as if deciding something. Four more feet and she might be able to pierce his jugular.
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Dear Reader,
Her First Name is a multi-chapter story, but this first chapter kinda came out like a one-shot. (Well, it did for me.) Anyway, I hope you guys liked it, and I hope that I will continue to like it as well and not leave it half-done. I want at least twenty chapters! (But I make no promises!) Constructive criticism is most appreciative. Thanks for reading.
Sincerely, Thely