And here is chapter four! I actually already have chapter five written up, and I kind of want to have some fun with this. Let's just say... that with x number of reviews, I'll upload the next chapter! S review, review, review!
Clare:
Clare sat against her locker, desperately wishing Adam wouldn't come find her and her answer. She didn't want to go to some party and his girlfriend's place; she didn't want to do anything where there were a lot of people. The mere thought of loud music blaring through a system of speakers gave her a throbbing headache, and the idea of drunken teens dancing and slurring around made her shiver. One perk of being a wallflower, no one invited you to parties. She couldn't imagine having to make up multitudes of excuses of why she couldn't ever attend. She was terrible liar, and thrived at either blurting the truth or keeping quiet.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed something that easily stood out from this insipid place. That something was clad in black, wearing a guitar-pick necklace around his neck and a black-stoned ring on his thumb. That something was Elijah Goldsworthy.
She quickly ducked her head, remembering her previous vow to stay away from him. This boy just screamed trouble, and trouble was the last thing she needed.
"I can still see you, Edwards," he smirked, stopping right before her. His boots were almost touching her dainty shoes, and she could feel her toes curling at the proximity.
"And I can still see you," she said, getting on her feet. "Glad we cleared this up."
His eyes shined with amusement.
"Um." She glanced around uncomfortably. "Why are you here?"
"Well, it all started out seventeen years ago, when my parents decided to physically explore their relationship-"
"That's not what I meant," she glared, looking repulsed.
"Well, then, enlighten me, Edwards. What did you mean," he challenged, raising one brow. The smirk still played on his lips, and his snarky comments were beginning to infuriate her even more. Yesterday, he was all but pelting fireballs in her face, and today, he was teasing her?
She composed herself, drawing a patient breath. "What do you want, Goldsworthy?" she asked wearily, brushing the dirty off her skirt and looking up at him with no fear.
He pressed his lips together in a tight line, catching on to her foul mood. "My locker's here."
"Oh, well, I'll just get out of the way, then," she said breezily, intending to leave as quickly as she could. But Saint Clare could not leave knowing that she had left someone with a frown on his face, and against her better judgement, stayed.
"Can I help you?" he asked softly, repeating what he had said the previous day.
She bit her lip, feeling out of herself. It wasn't like her to force conversation like this, but she felt like she had a responsibility to make things right with this person. "I don't think…think that we got off on the right foot. Maybe we could start over?"
He gazed at her, clearly amused by the turn of table. "Maybe. And maybe you could explain to me why you were looking at me so strangely yesterday."
"And maybe you could explain to me why you snapped at me yesterday."
"Touché, "he said, earning a small, shy smile from the girl peering curiously at her.
"I think you have nice eyes," she blurted, averting her gaze at once. She could not believe she had just said that out loud. He must think she was a freak now. "Your irises, I mean. T-they're a pretty colour."
"I thought that was you," he smiled genuinely. Not a smirk, but a smile. Clare looked shyly at him, feeling her insides bubble with a new, joyful feeling. Her heart was beating erratically, and her palms were sweaty, but she for once in her life, she felt elated. So elated, in fact, she didn't think she would need her journal at all today.
"Are you going to tell me why you were so harsh yesterday?" she asked warily, careful not press. Simply, she just wanted to keep the conversation going, all heedful warnings pushed aside.
"That was wrong of me," he said, smile dropping at once. "I-I didn't know you, so I didn't know how to react."
"It's okay," I said soothingly, trying to erase any guilt he held even when truthfully, his excuse was invalid.
"But I do feel like I know you more," he blurted, taking his turn to look away.
Clare looked confused; Eli simply dismissed his last comment with a shake of his head, feeling quite flustered and upset with himself. Clare didn't know that someone with an exterior as hard as Eli's was even capable of flustering, and this amused her greatly.
Eli looked up at her again, groaning when he saw that she was still staring intently at him.
"What?" she asked innocently.
"You're making me nervous with your staring and everything," he muttered, embarrassed with him. Clare giggled angelically as he ruffled his hair, looking sheepish.
"Who, me?" she asked, feigning innocence, now leaning against his locker door. Eli took this moment to drink her in, starting from the petite-sized moccasins she wore on her feet, working his way to her light-washed jeans and chunky knit sweater. Her curly hair was mussed and tucked behind her ear, short and hassle-free. Already Eli gathered that Clare was a girl who preferred simplicity, despite the many convoluted feelings her journal expressed. He took a liking in this without realizing it.
Clare, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel captivated by his gothic attire. Eli didn't strike her as the type who craved attention, but his clothing choice certainly didn't do a very good job at blending in. He had a mysterious air to him that she imagined, would only spark interest. Her thoughts ventured a little further, and soon she began to wonder if he was the type to have many girlfriends within the short span of a month, like Drew. Sure, he wasn't the traditional representation of 'good-looking', per say, but Eli was very attractive in himself. But that didn't necessarily mean she liked him, did it?
When Eli didn't respond right away (Clare couldn't see with his face in his locker, trying to cool his face down) she decided, for a reason she could not fathom, to open the conversation a bit wider. "You're new here, aren't you?" she inquired softly. "I don't think I've seen your face before."
"That might be a good thing," he chuckled.
Clare just pursed her lips to the side, contemplating asking him to join her and Adam for lunch considering he wasn't as familiar with the picnic tables and cafeterias and such. Then, in an instance, she realized how uncomfortable she felt about spending lunch with a stranger in spite of the recent progress. Suddenly, she was anxious, feeling much too out of herself. This wasn't who she was. She wasn't the type to be randomly asking people to spend time with her, and this change felt too different for her. After all, she was a shrinking violet. And once a shrinking violet, always a shrinking violet.
Purely out of fear, Clare kept her mouth shut, not wanting to encourage the boy and give him the wrong idea. They could not be friends, not just because he reeked of trouble, but also because she was incapable of doing so.
"We should get to homeroom," he said with a rueful smile, feeling reluctant to move even an inch. He had to suppress himself from moving any closer- how on Earth was he supposed to move away?
"I have science," she offered, anxiously rolling all her weight on one foot. Departing was the only thing on her mind now.
"Gym," he scowled. The bell rang just as he shut his locker, and Clare instinctively began to recede. What was she going to say now? I'll see you around was vague, but gave the idea that she really did intend on seeing him around. Have fun in P.E would be a stupid thing to say, considering it obvious he took no liking in this class.
"Bye," she murmured brusquely, not daring one last look at him before shambling away. Immediately she was consumed with guilt for leaving the boy who was kind enough to converse with her so abruptly. So guilty, in fact, that she considered risking being tardy for her science class just to write down all her feelings in her journal. She knew she's feel better after that, she was sure of it. However, Clare wanted to prove herself that she was stronger than that- it was unhealthy to rely so heavily on inanimate object, regardless of how useful it was to her. When 2010 comes rolling around, she had promised herself to learn to be more independent, and going cold-turkey would probably be too much to handle. For the next month and half, she would train herself by limiting her number of entries per day- instead of the average twenty per day, it would be much, much less.
She shivered as the open door she walked past enveloped her with a frosty breeze, but didn't think much of it. With her decision, she suddenly felt very deprived and vulnerable, as if she had just turned her back on a piece of herself. And it wasn't just her journal she was leaving behind.