A/N: This story flashes between Duncan and Gwen's perspective. Duncan's is in third person, and Gwen's is in first person (shit, sounds stalkerish). :)
I'm not updating, however, until my other TDI story is completed. I just wanted to release this as some sort of a "sneak peek"…lol. Enjoy.
.oOo.
He woke up at about six in the morning. School was in half an hour. His alarm clock snapped his eyes open to some Metallica. He shut his alarm off, yawned, and checked his phone. One missed text from Courtney.
"hi, dear!!! 3 watsup? DxC 8.29.093"
She was pretty preppy, hence the relationship date thingamabob at the end of the text. Her haunting signature. The one that made him want to hide. But, he thought she was hot, so he passed her preppy behavior by as a "girl thing".
He texted back, "nm."
"can you help me get votes 2day?"
"UGH NO"
"please? :("
"NOOOOO."
":O dammit just help me, it wont kill you"
"it does kill, cortny. IT KILLS ONES SOCIAL STATUS."
He turned his phone off. She would drag him onto this stupid school-president campaigning thing anyway, or else it was break-up for sure.
.oOo.
I walked to my bus stop on a gloomy October morning. I was getting texts since dawn from Trent, my boyfriend. I lived in a small resort town named Wildwood – it was on the southern Jersey shore. It was a small town with a smaller population. During the summer, it was packed with tourists that didn't want to gamble in the nearby Atlantic City. However, during the other seasons…it was barren.
On my way to bus stop – the town integrated the middle and high school since the population was so low – Trent called.
"Gwen, hey. What's up?"
"Hi," I smiled. "I'm just walking on to class."
"I'm leaving right now."
We lived in West Wildwood – it was a tiny little island on the other side of the bay that separated it from the rest of the city. It was only maybe four city blocks across, and seven blocks down until you hit a small beach. It was a very small beach, not like those large beaches on the state coast. There was also a small playground and three parking spaces. The others were behind the nearby saloon. Yes, alcohol and children's playgrounds…a very smart combination. And, since this goddamned state's driving age was seven-fucking-teen, we had to walk everywhere while the dicks in Florida were probably laughing their asses off at our poor selves.
Soon, enough, I heard loud, rushed footsteps come up to me, grab my hand, and spun around in front of me. "Hey," he greeted me with his perfect, white smile.
His hair was messy – he aspired to be a rock star, he never took care of his scruffy hair rather than wash it so it wasn't all greasy. I fixed his hair and said, "Straighten your hair, would ya?"
"But it's naturally straight," he teased. "It doesn't get all poofy or curly…I'm lucky."
We walked towards the bus – desperately wishing for our license as we stood in the autumn chill. When the bus arrived – sputtering, as if it could break down at any second – we boarded it, sat around in the back. We talked for the course of the ride until we arrived at the school. I dragged my hand across the sandstone brick until I saw the white, plastic table sitting on the lawn. Courtney McDormall – the class prep – was sitting on this folding metal chair, giving buttons to whoever would take them. Her criminal boyfriend, Duncan Ryans, sat next to her, looking totally uninterested with whom he was with and what he was sucked into doing.
I knew him – he hung out with me during the classes we have together. Maybe it's because we both look rather morbid. Either way, he was cool. He wasn't annoying, preppy, or Hollister-obsessed like everyone else in this town. I walked up to him, Trent trailing me, waiting for me to leave and go inside with him.
"How's the campaign trail?" I asked, grinning. He looked up from his phone and half-smiled.
"Shitty," he answered. In response, Courtney whacked him with her binder.
"I won't win with that fucking attitude!" she exclaimed. They soon got in an argument.
"You're not even leading, nobody's going to vote for you, goddammit!"
"Yes they will. The school will crumble without someone as reliable as me as their student president!!"
I interrupted them. "Hey, stop it. You two like each other. And you know student president gives you almost no authority."
"Yes, it does. You are the decision maker of the class!" Courtney persisted.
Trent gently tugged on my shirt, silently pleading for us to leave.
"I'll see you two later."
Duncan half-smiled again, and I spotted him get up from the table, leaving his girlfriend to campaign in solitude.
My job after school was working at the local, year-round, highly successful pizzeria, Mr. E's. It was established in the thirties, and in the sixties, remodeled into a 50's theme. It was "family friendly". It used to be "Mr. Ed's," but ever since the old show about the talking horse premiered, they shortened it to "Mr. E's."
It was either that or the pizza place near the Catholic school. However, the only difference between the two places was big. During these months, business was slow. What does a girl, and her best friend, Bridgette, going to do when business is extremely lagging?
Two words: arcade games. It was between Star Wars pinball and Ms. Pacman. We chose Mr. E's, home of the only PacMan machine within a two mile radius.
We served pizza to old people and bored teenagers. Today's shift…was less than pleasant. Bridgette was working at the cash register, and I was waitressing. The popular clique – Lindsay Lockfern and her idiot boyfriend Tyler Smith joined with Heather Tolt and Justin Rockford.
I gave them their pizza – I wanted to taint it with garlic powder, but Bridgette urged me not to. I put it on the table and mumbled, "Here…"
"What?" Heather asked, looking at my homemade Black Veil Brides pin, with "Andy Sixx!" written in silver permanent marker. "Are you all alternative now?"
They laughed. I looked around and asked, "…alternative to what?"
Lindsay added, "Everything."
I rolled my eyes, added two extra dollars to the check (I didn't care if I got fired), and told them to finish up soon. They laughed at my attempt at assertiveness, and left after they finished their food. I then turned to see Duncan talking to Bridgette.
.oOo.
He stared at Bridgette. He thought she was like Courtney – only without the high ambitions and the tendency to annoy the living shit out of everyone around her. Sure, she was a local surfer here – she visited the local surf shop like it was going out of business.
"Hey," he greeted her. "What's up?"
She looked at him, trying to act like this behavior was normal for him. "Hey, Duncan. What's up?"
After an awkward pause, he asked, "If I break up with Courtney, do you know anyone who'd be interested?"
Hopefully she considered being that one.
To his disappointment, she pointed to Gwen. "Gwen is like you. Maybe if things suck with Trent, you can swipe her off her feet."
He looked at her. She was walking with a dead expression on her face. She was always…grim.
"I like someone exuberant," he said about her. "She's okay as some sort of acquaintance."
"She can be exuberant," Bridgette said defensively. "She's just bored."
He shrugged and said, "No…isn't she emo?"
"No!"
"Sure she isn't."
"That's fucking rude!"
Turning to the soda fountain, he sighed. "Whatever. Forget it. I'll take a Coke."
She sighed, got him the drink, took the five dollar bill he gave her, and give him back the change. "Good. There you go. See ya."
He rolled his eyes, and left.
