TWO
DARREN
The sun beamed down upon the scruffy neck of a boy of about fifteen. He had brownish hair that reflected the sun, and eyes that did the same. He was tall for his age, and in the town of Arden, there were many tall lads.
His name was Darren, and he had only just come here from somewhere else, though where that somewhere was, Darren had no clue.
The Seas at the edge of the port gleamed ahead of him as he drove the streamer (a mechanical motorcycle that hovered over the roads) toward it. His friend, a beauty of a girl who toiled away in the engineer's shop downtown, made the streamer. Sometimes it seemed as though all Angel cared for was mechanical things. She could build with the best of the strong lads, and could make things out of the crudest things. She was an inventor at heart, and would stay that way her whole life. Many housewives in the village thought it un-ladylike of her to work on machines like the boys of the town, but Angel was different. She hated cooking the fish brought in from the port, and she hated cleaning up after a mess, both of which were jobs expected that a woman would do.
By going against such a stereotype, all of Angel's friends who were girls had abandoned her, and she was left with only the lads who volunteered in the shop. She did not care, however. Her friends were her machines, and she was their friend. She worked with engines, power cells for the hover vehicles, and anything she could use to create. She was an artist, and a fine one at that.
Darren maneuvered the hovercraft so that it flew over a set of crates coming into port, and then continued down toward the water. He already had a sunburn, and it was only ten o'clock in the morning. The skin was beginning to peel, and he could feel a slight burning sensation. Darren did not think of it, though. The port was close, and he was now on the pier.
He zoomed across it, his exhilaration level rising, feeling the wind in his long hair...
And then he saw something that made him sick. A robot porter was crossing the pier toward the streamer. Darren couldn't stop at this speed, and he couldn't slow down...
"So, you're saying that you ruined this streamer because a porter was on the pier? Geez, they otta' have a license for these things."
Angel's tone carried no hint of anger; to her, this only seemed humorous. Stuff like this happened often to Darren, and she had learned to accept it as part of his personality.
"So, did you total it this time?" she asked, grinning slightly.
"Well, no, but..."
"I get it. I'll get to work on it right away. I swear, Darren, I turn my back on you for one minute, and something gets broken. Guess I've gotta keep a closer eye on you."
Angel turned, grinning even more broadly, and went into the shop, leaving Darren to reach behind him and grab the bag of the streamer's remains. He felt foolish enough in front of Angel, but now that he had broken three of her streamers in one month, he felt even more so.
Regardless of how many times he wrecked one of her creations, she did not scold him, or anything. She treated him like a friend all the time. Darren made his way, slowly, into the shop.
Her grease-stained shirt was fluttering as a light breeze from the ocean flowed in through the window. He felt even more foolish. His cheeks red, he heaved the bag over to her.
He told himself that he had to help her fix it. It was the least he could do. She put on her goggles, and gazed at the contents of the bag.
"Oh, well, it doesn't look that bad," she said, sifting through the rubble, "I'm positive I can fix it. It doesn't matter anyway. I make these blasted things all the time. Hey, at least now I know that it won't work so well with porter collisions, right?"
She laughed sweetly. Darren laughed too.
"Sorry, Angel."
"Hey, don't worry about it. At least you were careful. I'm just glad you weren't hurt."
Darren smiled again. He had been lucky. He had swerved to the left at the last second, and the streamer had knocked him off, into the water. It had hit barely missed the robotic porter's head. Had he damaged the android terribly, there would have been serious consequences for Darren. Arden was very protective over its robots.
Now that he had apologized and he was sure that she wasn't mad at him, he decided to ask the question he had wanted to ask for over a week now. There was a town dance tonight, and he desperately needed a date. It was down by the beach, and there would be dinner included.
"Angel?" he asked, his voice cracking as he spoke.
"Yeah?"
"There's this dance... tonight...and I was wondering..."
"If I'd go with you?"
Again, he felt foolish. His cheeks grew as red as his neck.
"Um... yeah."
"Of course I'd go with you."
He felt relief spread over him.
"Really?"
"Sure. I don't have anyone to go with, either."
"Awesome!"
His voice cracked on that word, and he turned away, smiling widely. At that moment, another kid walked into the shop.
He was tall, and had been in the Elite, a group of rich kids in Arden who thought they were better than everyone else. He was thin, muscular, with green eyes, and oily black hair that went down to his shoulders. His name was Drake, and his father, unsurprisingly to Darren, was mayor of Arden.
He went over to Angel's desk, and placed a muffler on it. It was dented, and it had been split at the center.
"I got this at your shop," he said, his voice carrying his tone of domineering superiority, "As you can see, it broke. I require a new one. Now."
Angel looked at him sternly, and Darren knew she was fixing him with her disapproving stare, the one she reserved especially for those who belonged to the Elite.
"Sure," she said, her tone just as disgusted as her mood, "Just let me get it."
She disappeared into the back of the shop. Moments later, she came back with a large bundle in her hands.
"Here it is," she said, handing it to him briskly.
His manner changed in an instant. He went from the domineering Drake to an oily, charming Drake.
"Angel, you know, there's a dance tonight. I'm sure that you'll love to have the honor of being my date at this social gathering. I'll pick you up at seven o'clock tonight."
Angel put on an utterly disgusted face, as though she'd first eat excrement.
He turned to go, but Angel called him back.
"For your information, Drake, I've already been asked," she said, looking deeply into his eyes and staring him down. "And just so you know, I'd rather swallow daggers than go with you, anyway."
He looked livid.
"And who is the unworthy boy you're attending the dance with?"
"Him."
She gestured to Darren.
"What, that street trash?"
This time, Angel slapped him straight across the face with all the strength she could build up, which, for her, was quite a lot.
"His name is Darren, you blundering idiot! And he's ten times the man you'll ever be! Now, you take your muffler and GET OUT OF MY SHOP!"
Drake, shocked, sped out of the store without further conversation. Angel turned back to Darren.
"What a jerk," she said, and went back to fixing the streamer.
DARREN
The sun beamed down upon the scruffy neck of a boy of about fifteen. He had brownish hair that reflected the sun, and eyes that did the same. He was tall for his age, and in the town of Arden, there were many tall lads.
His name was Darren, and he had only just come here from somewhere else, though where that somewhere was, Darren had no clue.
The Seas at the edge of the port gleamed ahead of him as he drove the streamer (a mechanical motorcycle that hovered over the roads) toward it. His friend, a beauty of a girl who toiled away in the engineer's shop downtown, made the streamer. Sometimes it seemed as though all Angel cared for was mechanical things. She could build with the best of the strong lads, and could make things out of the crudest things. She was an inventor at heart, and would stay that way her whole life. Many housewives in the village thought it un-ladylike of her to work on machines like the boys of the town, but Angel was different. She hated cooking the fish brought in from the port, and she hated cleaning up after a mess, both of which were jobs expected that a woman would do.
By going against such a stereotype, all of Angel's friends who were girls had abandoned her, and she was left with only the lads who volunteered in the shop. She did not care, however. Her friends were her machines, and she was their friend. She worked with engines, power cells for the hover vehicles, and anything she could use to create. She was an artist, and a fine one at that.
Darren maneuvered the hovercraft so that it flew over a set of crates coming into port, and then continued down toward the water. He already had a sunburn, and it was only ten o'clock in the morning. The skin was beginning to peel, and he could feel a slight burning sensation. Darren did not think of it, though. The port was close, and he was now on the pier.
He zoomed across it, his exhilaration level rising, feeling the wind in his long hair...
And then he saw something that made him sick. A robot porter was crossing the pier toward the streamer. Darren couldn't stop at this speed, and he couldn't slow down...
"So, you're saying that you ruined this streamer because a porter was on the pier? Geez, they otta' have a license for these things."
Angel's tone carried no hint of anger; to her, this only seemed humorous. Stuff like this happened often to Darren, and she had learned to accept it as part of his personality.
"So, did you total it this time?" she asked, grinning slightly.
"Well, no, but..."
"I get it. I'll get to work on it right away. I swear, Darren, I turn my back on you for one minute, and something gets broken. Guess I've gotta keep a closer eye on you."
Angel turned, grinning even more broadly, and went into the shop, leaving Darren to reach behind him and grab the bag of the streamer's remains. He felt foolish enough in front of Angel, but now that he had broken three of her streamers in one month, he felt even more so.
Regardless of how many times he wrecked one of her creations, she did not scold him, or anything. She treated him like a friend all the time. Darren made his way, slowly, into the shop.
Her grease-stained shirt was fluttering as a light breeze from the ocean flowed in through the window. He felt even more foolish. His cheeks red, he heaved the bag over to her.
He told himself that he had to help her fix it. It was the least he could do. She put on her goggles, and gazed at the contents of the bag.
"Oh, well, it doesn't look that bad," she said, sifting through the rubble, "I'm positive I can fix it. It doesn't matter anyway. I make these blasted things all the time. Hey, at least now I know that it won't work so well with porter collisions, right?"
She laughed sweetly. Darren laughed too.
"Sorry, Angel."
"Hey, don't worry about it. At least you were careful. I'm just glad you weren't hurt."
Darren smiled again. He had been lucky. He had swerved to the left at the last second, and the streamer had knocked him off, into the water. It had hit barely missed the robotic porter's head. Had he damaged the android terribly, there would have been serious consequences for Darren. Arden was very protective over its robots.
Now that he had apologized and he was sure that she wasn't mad at him, he decided to ask the question he had wanted to ask for over a week now. There was a town dance tonight, and he desperately needed a date. It was down by the beach, and there would be dinner included.
"Angel?" he asked, his voice cracking as he spoke.
"Yeah?"
"There's this dance... tonight...and I was wondering..."
"If I'd go with you?"
Again, he felt foolish. His cheeks grew as red as his neck.
"Um... yeah."
"Of course I'd go with you."
He felt relief spread over him.
"Really?"
"Sure. I don't have anyone to go with, either."
"Awesome!"
His voice cracked on that word, and he turned away, smiling widely. At that moment, another kid walked into the shop.
He was tall, and had been in the Elite, a group of rich kids in Arden who thought they were better than everyone else. He was thin, muscular, with green eyes, and oily black hair that went down to his shoulders. His name was Drake, and his father, unsurprisingly to Darren, was mayor of Arden.
He went over to Angel's desk, and placed a muffler on it. It was dented, and it had been split at the center.
"I got this at your shop," he said, his voice carrying his tone of domineering superiority, "As you can see, it broke. I require a new one. Now."
Angel looked at him sternly, and Darren knew she was fixing him with her disapproving stare, the one she reserved especially for those who belonged to the Elite.
"Sure," she said, her tone just as disgusted as her mood, "Just let me get it."
She disappeared into the back of the shop. Moments later, she came back with a large bundle in her hands.
"Here it is," she said, handing it to him briskly.
His manner changed in an instant. He went from the domineering Drake to an oily, charming Drake.
"Angel, you know, there's a dance tonight. I'm sure that you'll love to have the honor of being my date at this social gathering. I'll pick you up at seven o'clock tonight."
Angel put on an utterly disgusted face, as though she'd first eat excrement.
He turned to go, but Angel called him back.
"For your information, Drake, I've already been asked," she said, looking deeply into his eyes and staring him down. "And just so you know, I'd rather swallow daggers than go with you, anyway."
He looked livid.
"And who is the unworthy boy you're attending the dance with?"
"Him."
She gestured to Darren.
"What, that street trash?"
This time, Angel slapped him straight across the face with all the strength she could build up, which, for her, was quite a lot.
"His name is Darren, you blundering idiot! And he's ten times the man you'll ever be! Now, you take your muffler and GET OUT OF MY SHOP!"
Drake, shocked, sped out of the store without further conversation. Angel turned back to Darren.
"What a jerk," she said, and went back to fixing the streamer.