Chapter 2:

Careful

"You can't be too careful anymore."

If you're reading this, I suppose that means that you've decided that my story's worth reading. It is, trust me. I guess I'm going to have to start my story at the beginning of my sophomore year, when I first transferred in. I was just sixteen years old, nothing but a tenth grader, all bright eyed and full of excitement about getting into Hollywood Arts. I was pretty much exactly the kind of person I've come to hate. But hey, when you've spent so long having absolutely nothing to feel good about, getting into a school like this is a pretty big deal. It really does a lot for you.

I walked into school one day, running pretty late because the idiots at Starbucks had put regular milk instead of soy in my coffee. I had watched them make my order and had seen them put the wrong milk in, and had to insist that I needed soy instead of regular. It took about five full minutes of arguing with the barista before she'd admit that she'd made a mistake, and then she had gotten all offended when I'd had the nerve to ask her to remake it. She acted like I was putting them to such trouble, sending me to the side so I wouldn't hold up the line, then glaring at me and sighing as she made me a fresh cup, but you know, if she had just made it right in the first place, it wouldn't have been a problem. I'm sorry that insisting that I get what I ordered ruined her life so badly. If I could have just taken the wrong coffee and drank it anyway, I would have. It's not like it's my fault that I'm lactose intolerant. I didn't really want to spend the day puking my guts out. After all, I'd had a big monologue to present in Sikowitz's class that day, and I really wanted to get there on time so that I could go over my lines one more time before the bell rang. But, unfortunately, that horse got shot in the face thanks to the milk fiasco, and so I was charging down the hall to the classroom, clomping my boots into the floor and trying to keep a hold on my cup on my way.

I had been so wrapped up in getting to class that I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going, and so, as I rounded the corner, I ran directly into into a boy. Hard. I mean, I crashed into that guy. My hard-won coffee flew from my hand, spilling all over the floor, and we both slipped in it and lost our balance. With only his bookbag to break his fall, I fell down on top of him, my elbow landing in his chest and knocking the air out of his lungs.

"Oh, God, damn it, I'm so sorry!" I said as I struggled to my feet. "I really didn't mean to do that. I was just in a hurry, and I wasn't even paying attention. I'm so sorry, man."

By this time, he had gotten up as well, and I could see that he had coffee dripping from his hair. I felt my eyes widen as he looked at me, and I swallowed hard. Oh my God, I hadn't flattened just anyone in my stampede, not just some behind-the-scenes nobody. No, I had knocked down Beck Oliver, one of the best actors in our grade, not to mention one of the most attractive.

"I-" I stuttered.

He held up a hand to cut me off, smiling and raking his fingers through his damp hair. "It's cool, Jade. Shit happens, you know? No worries." He bent down and picked up my script. I had forgotten that I'd been carrying it. I must have dropped it when we fell. "You're presenting for Sikowitz today, right?"

All I could do was nod. Like I said, he was one of the best and brightest at Hollywood Arts; the golden boy, revered by all. I couldn't believe he knew we had a class together, much less that he knew my name. I'd never been speechless before, but I sure as hell was now.

"Cool. I can't wait to see what you do with this," he continued, gesturing toward the script. "But can I give you some advice?" I nodded again. Damn it, Jade, pull yourself together before you make him think you're a bobblehead. "Loosen up. You always look so terrified whenever you're up there, like you think we're all going to start pointing and laughing at you. You need to have some more confidence, Jade. You're more talented than you know. Trust me." He handed me my script, then offered me his arm. "Come on, I'll walk you to class."

And so we continued down the hall together, my cup of coffee laying forgotten in the middle of the floor.

"Nice work, Jade. You're really starting to show some improvement!" Sikowitz called after me as I left the classroom and headed toward my locker. I couldn't help but smile to myself. I wasn't a conceited person in the least, but I did know when I'd done well, and that day, I definitely had. I had practiced that monologue so many times, I could probably have recited it in my sleep. Plus, there was the added bonus of Beck staring me down the entire time, smiling at me at every high point of my performance.

Why was he being so nice to me? I wondered as I shoved a book into my locker. It was weird. I wasn't nice to anyone, really. I wasn't one of those people that automatically liked everyone until they gave me a reason not to; no, I was one of those that automatically hated everyone until they gave me a reason to like them. I pulled out a different book and stuck it in my messenger bag, then grabbed my lunch money off of another shelf. I had good reason, after all; all those girls that I had gone to middle school with had made my life a living hell, and I wasn't about to just idly trust people again. I knew what it felt like to be hurt, and believe me, it didn't feel good at all.

"Jade!" I heard a voice behind me call. No. It couldn't be.

I turned around slowly to see Beck standing there. I cocked an eyebrow at him, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the light glinting off of the stud in it as I did so. What could he possibly want?

"What?" I asked. It came out rougher, bitchier than I had intended, but whatever. Once words are out, you can't take them back. I see no point in stressing over them.

He sidled up beside me and ran a fingertip over the handles of one of the many pairs of scissors embedded in my locker door. "Nice," he chuckled under his breath. I felt myself tense up. I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, and it bothered me; I happened to be pretty damn proud of my locker. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to stick scissors through a solid sheet of metal? Let me give you a clue: it isn't easy, and you cut yourself a lot. I have the scars on my fingers to prove it.

I couldn't help but be suspicious of him. "Look, Beck, what do you want?" I crossed my arms and glared at him, bracing myself.

He looked at me with his chocolate eyes full of bewilderment, and I did feel kind of bad for snapping at him. "Look, chill, okay? I just wanted to say that I thought you did a great job with your presentation today. I liked the scene you chose. The monologue about standing up to a bully? I really liked the emotion you put into it. That's difficult to do. I believed it when you performed. With that script, it's easy to underdo it, make it feel like it's not real, but I didn't get any of that from you. It was like... like you lived it."

I felt my muscles relax and I uncrossed my arms. "That's because I did," I mumbled, before I could stop myself.

"What?"

"Nothing." I breathed. I didn't believe in wishing you could take words back, but I definitely hadn't meant to say that. That wasn't something I was ready to talk about with anyone, much less this boy who had been a perfect stranger to me up until this morning.

He furrowed his eyebrows at me. "I thought you said-"

"Well, I didn't say anything, okay? You must be hearing things. Go get your ears checked." With that, I slammed my locker shut, turned on the heel of my boot, and stomped away, leaving Beck dumbfounded, with one finger still touching the handles of that pair of scissors in the door.

Author's Note: Like it? Yes? No? :)

I plan on really ramping up the angst and romance pretty soon. Plus, it's going to be Bade. Who doesn't love Bade?

As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated!