A/N: I don't own anything but my OC!
It also probably won't be true to the original script much.
Hope you enjoy! :)
I slammed the locker shut.
The changing room was silent, and the crash echoed louder than I had anticipated. I paused for a second than needed as the sound faded, examining the harsh grey metal of my locker door. Someone had scratched on the surface – presumably with a key – Fuck you. Charming.
I suddenly wondered how many people had stood in front of this locker before, had worn the distasteful orange jumpsuit that dwarfed me now. I wondered what they had done, if they had been wrongly convicted, and how their lives were getting on now. I wondered what they were like.
I'm not the sort of girl who usually ends serving 200 hours' community service. I'm not a bad bitch, or a quiet psychopath. I didn't kill anyone, deal drugs, steal a Ferrari or smash up some poor sod's house. I'm not living on the streets, or even from a council estate. I don't even break curfew. I hate stereotypes – but I think anyone would agree, I'm a good girl.
As I walked out of the changing rooms and into a corridor-of-sorts, a glint of light caught my eye. A mirror. I glanced into it, and saw, reflected in it, a girl – with medium-length, straight brown hair and brown eyes. The orange jumpsuit fitted comfortably, accentuating an average figure, which hung on an average frame of an average height.
I walked quickly past the mirror and pushed open a set of double doors, veering around the edge of the building. I noted there was a lot of grey around here. Grey concrete walls, grey concrete floor, a grey railing stopping people falling into a large grey expanse of water. And a grey sky to match.
Amidst the sea of grey, there was orange. Five kids – people – around my age (18) were leaning against the railing, and pacing in front of them was a chunky-looking guy who looked more like an army sergeant than a probation worker. All of them turned around to stare as I walked over.
On the end of the line, furthest from me, was a tall, lean-but-muscular black dude, whose face I'd seen in the local newspaper – he was a runner of some sort, convicted for possession of cocaine. Next to him was a weedy-looking guy in a cap – he looked as though he had once had potential to be attractive, but years of drug use had turned his face rat-like and his teeth yellow. To his left was a very tall, very skinny guy with a mass of black curly hair – he was the only one not trying to hide the fact he was looking me up and down. Next to him was a chavvy-looking girl with hair scraped back so tightly it was a wonder she wasn't in pain – and on her other side was a pretty, mixed-race girl, with short frizzy hair and a belt that cinched in her waist. Next to her, on the end, was a pale, nervous-looking boy – he was tall and sort of handsome, but his body language, posture, suggested otherwise. This last boy looked sort of familiar – I was sure I'd seen him before. I was surprised our previous encounter didn't spring straight to mid as he had a rather distinctive look.
"You're late," barked the probation worker, at the same time as the curly-haired boy let out a long, low whistle. Blushing, I muttered, "Sorry," and stumbled to the end of the line, next to the pale boy. The probation worker continued – "Katie Jacobs. This is Curtis, Gary, Nathan, Kelly, Alisha, and Simon."
"She's hot!" said the kid I now knew as Nathan. I glanced up and he was grinning crookedly, one thick, dark eyebrow cocked playfully. I raised my eyebrows quickly, then looked away.
"Thank you, Nathan," growled Army Sergeant Guy. "Keep your opinions to yourself. Now, you all know why you're here. You each damaged the community in some way, and…"
I was never good at listening to people, and I zoned out quickly. Glancing around, I saw the others were pretty much doing the same. I studied their faces. Nothing too interesting there – all expressions pointed to the same thing, boredom – all eyes glazed over. Except Simon's. His face hadn't changed a bit – he stared dead ahead, expressionless. I examined the side of his face intently. Then, it hit me.
Flashback – The Club.
The music was so loud. I leaned my head against the couch. My head pounded with the bass, my eyes were sore and my legs shaky. Alcohol would have helped me enjoy myself a little more, but I'd made a pact not to get wasted. Not ever again.
I was squashed, too – there were a couple more people on the sofa than I'm sure the manufacturer had intended. I had the arm of the seat to my left, and a friend on my right, currently snuggled into the chest of some random guy. He had bright blonde hair but very dark eyebrows. The guy was a twat, but my friend was infatuated.
Suddenly, a pale, twitchy, nervous-looking guy pushed through the crowd and stood in front of us. He was wearing a dark satin shirt and smart trousers – way too dressed up for a night out. He had a denim jacket folded neatly over one arm, and he clutched two beers nervously pausing for a second before speaking.
"Hello."
"Simon!" said the blonde boy. His tone oozed friendliness but it didn't take a psychologist to see how fake it was.
"I-I brought you a beer."
The blonde boy waved the drink already in his hand at the other dude.
There was another pause. "I got your text."
"Text?" the mild confusion on the blonde boy's face, too, was painfully obviously fake. I saw the pale guy's face fall.
"Y-you texted me, asking me to meet you here."
"Oh, I meant another Simon. My mate Simon."
There was another pause. It was the expression on the pale boy's face that hurt the most. It must have been humiliating to have been blown off, but his face expressed so much pain that I felt mildly uncomfortable even being in his presence.
The blonde boy gave him a half-wave, dismissing him.
The pale boy stopped for just a second, before placing the two beers carefully on a table and turning on his heel, being swallowed by the crowd just a few seconds later.
There was a few second's awkward pause. I'm not sure what made me get up from the sofa, mutter "I'm going to call it a night," to my bemused friend, and follow the dark satin-covered back of the pale boy through the crowd, out of the exit, past the queue of people waiting to be admitted to the club. "Hey!" I called after him, teetering slightly on the steep black heels that I rarely donned. It was freezing outside, and I was, of course, dressed in only a thin black dress.
He looked around, his normally-expressionless face now bemused. "Wh- what are you doing here?" he asked as I caught up to him.
"You looked a bit out of it," I said. "And anyway, I'm sick of that place. Which way are you walking?"
"I'm quite a way away. School Drive. You know it?" I realised this was the longest sentence I'd heard him say. He had quite an odd accent - at least it wasn't suited to the place in which he lived.
I nodded. "I'm down that way. Can I walk with you?"
He looked at me, surprised. Then, he nodded curtly and walked on. There was silence for a little while.
"That blonde guy – friend of yours?" I asked after a little while.
He shook his head without looking at me.
"He seemed like a bit of a prick to me."
He nodded, staring ahead.
"Not a talker, huh."
This time he turned his head, stared into my eyes for just a few seconds as we walked. There was another pause, until he spoke.
"You look cold. Are you cold?"
"Yeah." I looked down.
Without speaking, he took off his denim jacket and offered it to me. I paused for a second, before taking it and slipping it on. It was too big, but it was warm. He smiled at me – it was a nice gesture, although it looked like he wasn't entirely sure on how to do it. I smiled back. We walked on.
"What's your name?" he asked when we were most of the way to my house.
"Katie. And yours?"
"Simon." He smiled again, nervously.
We rounded the corner, onto my road.
"Well, nice to meet you, Simon. Shame we only knew each other for about twenty minutes." He looked confused for a second, and stopped dead, staring as I handed him his jacket and walked up the path to my house. I turned around as I opened the door. He was still motionless.
"Are you okay? Do you want to come in?"
There was a few second's pause before he looked me in the eyes and slowly shook his head.
"Was it the blonde kid?"
His face visibly darkened. "Don't talk to me about him."
"I'm sorry," I said, flushing slightly. "Goodnight, then."
I entered my house and was closing the door when I heard, so quietly I couldn't be sure if I'd imagined it, "Goodnight."
When I reached my bedroom, I opened the window and looked out. The street was empty.
End of flashback.
"Simon!" I said. The probation worker looked up, glaring at me. I was staring at Simon, and I slowly saw realisation dawn in his eyes.
"Katie!" he said, surprised.
We stared at each other for a few seconds. Time seemed to slow down as I remembered our walk, or conversation. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. Until -
"What the fuck?" said Nathan.