We walk to the doors and stride back inside, wandering to our next class. I still haven't said anything since he played that song, but I force myself to, anyway.
"You had football prior to lunch, right? So how was it? Did you have fun?" Oh god, this is getting awkward.
"Totally! We practiced basic positions, since there were freshmen on our team. So everything today was a review and so easy!"
I can't help but giggle at what he said, fitting to my dirty mind.
"Oh god, that sounded wrong, and you just made it worse, 'Kinky Kirkland.' Wouldn't think a guy like you would be like that. Well, after today, I don't completely know what kind of person you are anymore. Guess that makes our friendship just that more interesting!"
"Kinky Kirkland?!", I reiterate, half laughing.
"Hell yeah! You're more of a perverted guy than I first thought!"
We giggle like a pair of first graders down the hallway and ride the corner to our classroom. We bump into Ms. Jones, our homeroom and English teacher and Alfred must've thought that pissing off our authority was a good idea.
"Sup, Amelia! Still a cranky bitch?"
"Alfred, seriously. You need to-", I started hissing.
"Yea, since you're here now. Sit your asses down and don't say a word.", She interrupted.
We find 2 empty seats next to each other and Alfred pulls me alongside him. The classroom starts piling up as the minutes pass and Alfred decides to talk, despite Ms. Jones' wishes.
"So hey, there's gonna be football practice after school. Can you come and watch me? You can sit in the bleachers and I'll get the old man to allow it and if you need a ride home I can take you and-"
"Sure, sure. I don't have anything to do, so I guess I'll stay after. But don't think that this will become a regular thing."
Alfred stands up, taking me with him. I swear, these hugs are going to kill me one day.
"OHMYGOSH YOU'RE, LIKE, THE COOLEST EVER, ARTIEEE!"
"You're making a scene, stop it, Alfred.", I manage with most of the wind knocked out of me by the overly muscular American.
Ms. Jones comes into the classroom and Alfred seats me back down.
"Alright, enough chit-chat. We talked this morning and so I'm just gonna finish my orientation that somebody interrupted.", she called, glaring at Alfred.
"Yeah, my bad.", he apologized.
"Okay, this year, we'll be reading a lot of stories that involve romance and tragedy. They're mostly Greek plays, so we'll read them out loud as a class. We'll also read some examples of 'humorous' plays, according to the ancient Greeks. You'd swear they were drunk all the damn time. You'll figure the rest out as the year progresses, Now, sit back for a while until you all leave." She proceeded to sit at her desk computer.
The class went on with their conversations, as Alfred and I do, as well.
"So, dude. I was thinkin' that after practice, we can go do somethin'. Like, go to the mall or get ice cream or whatever. I really wanna get to know ya and be BESTIES.", he emphasized that last word a little too much, making it a creepy remark to me.
"Mmhm. Well, I'm not sure. I might have somethi-"
Wrapping his arms around my petite torso (in comparison to his) and wailing like a baby, he exclaims, "Waah, but Artie! You said you didn't have anything to do! Please, please, please?!"
"Alfred, shut your goddamned pothole, back there.", Ms. Jones said without even looking away from her task.
"Well, damn.", he snarked, still grabbing on to me for dear life.
"Uh, Alfred. Can you-", I start.
"Yeah, bestie?" Like that wasn't totally creepy.
"Let go."
"Are we gonna do somethin' after practice?"
"Sure, sure. Whatever you want. Now please let me go. People must be getting the wrong idea and that's the last thing I need."
"Huh? Sure."
He finally gets off of me and I take in a large, well deserved breath. I haven't even known this idiot for a whole day and he wants to befriend me so badly? Well clearly, this kid knows nothing of personal space. And I have no idea where or what he plans to do with me after practice, but I have a feeling I'm not going to like it. I stare off into space for a good 30 seconds, thinking about all of the possibilities of what must go in in Alfred's head, until that bastard snapped me back into reality.
"Bro!", he calls, waving a hand in my face.
"B-bloody hell. How long have I been 'out of it'?"
"Too long. You were kinda creepin' me out!"
"Oh, and you with your hugging isn't the slightest bit intimidating?"
"Nope! It means I'm comfortable 'round ya, dude!" This guy was a total idiot.
But, wait. Did he just say that he was comfortable with me? Has anyone ever told me that? I know my bad attitude and bushy eyebrows must be off putting, but, oh hell. What is this guy's fucking problem? No one in my entire life has tried this hard in hopes of becoming my friend. I usually would push the other kids away, whatever ones that made an attempt to approach me, when I was small. I never had any friends all throughout primary and secondary school, until now. If you'd even call Alfred a friend. He's so unpredictable and loud. So loud. He kind of reminds me of my brothers back at home. They're always so rambunctious and power-crazed. I was, and always will be, the baby brother, so I got the shit end of the stick in so many different situations. Dylan broke the fine china? Arthur got punished for it. Seamus shot an arrow with its attached stone and hate message to Dylan through the window on 'accident'? Arthur was banned from dinner for that. Allistor broke that really expensive and important vase of fathers'? Arthur got-
"Hey, Artie. You're spacing out again. You look like a total creeper!", giggled a certain American.
I jump after having been in my own little world for so long and give Alfred the stink eye. What the hell is his problem?
"Why can't you let me be? Can't you see I'm perfectly content without your opinion?"
"The bell is, gonna ring soon…", he claimed, sounded like a kicked puppy.
"Oh, sorry about that…" Wait, what the hell am I apologizing for? I hate being wrong, much less apologizing for it. Why am I acting like this?
The bell goes off and everybody floods out the door to the crowd of sweaty students rushing through the hallway. Alfred and I are the last to leave, regarding to I am dragging my feet as much as I possibly can without pissing off the loud mouth. I'm really not looking forward to this. Not really. We walk the hallways and my thoughts automatically drift off. What is everybody going to think? Say? Alfred's a nice kid, so they probably just think that he's just showing the new guy around, helping him fit in, maybe. But if Alfred and I keep hanging around each other, they'll likely think that we're...together? No. I don't even want to think about that outcome, that slim chance.
The students back in London adored picking on me about how I wasn't the 'straightest shooter' out there. Just because I wasn't mindlessly reckless as they and screwing every girl I met, didn't mean that I was still a gentleman. And gentlemen must keep up with their behaviors as such. I am so out of it and lost in thought that I forgot Alfred practiced outside, and that the sun is outside, as well. I cringe my nose and close my eyes when the sweet sun blazed through my cornea like the bitch she was. I stumble over my feet and pause as Alfred continues towards the field. Noticing my absence, he heads back and stays by my side. For an annoying twat, he was quite loyal. Like a puppy dog. Same eyes, too.
"'Kay, bro. Just plop down somewhere on the bleachers and I'm gonna head to the locker room to change, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah. Now beat it, before you get in trouble."
"See ya, Artie!"
I watch Alfred run towards the old and ugly painted-over brick building that was separated from the modernized school as I sit down carefully at the end of the third row. I rest my back against the cool and uncomfortable barrier of the bleacher and pull out my special notebook. Actually, pausing to think, the journal wasn't very special at all. To me, it was. Whenever I get a decent idea for a short story or poem, I'll pull out my notebook and write it down. I write everything down in here. It isn't a diary, but I guess you could say it's a trapper for organizing my writing ideas.
I want to write a book someday in my life, but I can never settle on what it should be about. I've written a lot of good topics to go off of in here, but I never decide and write something completely off key. What I need is some motivation to get started. To write chapters and eventually series. Ooh, motivation. Sounds like a good theme for a poem. I root through my bag for a pencil and flip to a clean page in my journal. The words flow from me to my pencil and dance on the paper.
How is it that you're not a writer yet?
Everything you aspire to be?
Youth is a blossoming flower and will wilt as such.
The clock is jesting you.
You do not have all the time in the world.
The door is closing and you're so far away.
You'll never make it, now.
That nagging voice in your head is me.
I am Discouragement.
I destroy accomplishments and rob Creativity's beautiful burden on you.
What you need is Motivation. He will help you a great deal.
He is known for birthing the new writers of the world
And blessing them as Creativity would.
He is the one they compare to God himself.
The only difference between him and me is simple:
Spite.
Motivation does not have or receive, for he is a saint.
I rob you of capability and any hope of you obtaining your dream.
I want what you posses, to have and to hold.
You are left with nothing, hands raised up and clenched
As if to gain back what I've stolen from you.
I guess you can call me a sinner, that of the Devil.
And how I could ever compare with Motivation.
The answer is quite simple again:
I have what you don't.
Something to drive me, guide me to my dream.
Something to go off of.
Something to turn back to.
Motivation.
Satisfied with my work, I proof read it one last time and confirm it finished. I write my name on the bottom right-hand corner in cursive, feeling confident with my work this time. Just as I do so, I see the football team out of the corner of my eye and refocus my attention to their practice. I know American football is different from the football I'm used to, but I've never bothered to watch it. Or learn the game, for that matter. So the rules are foreign to me and the fact it's just so weird doesn't make me want to watch it. I sigh and decide to suck it up and start watching.
"Alfred! Damn, where is that boy? We kinda need a quarterback in order ta' play!", I hear an old man ask/holler at the other players.
Not long after the coach's complaint, I see the prideful blond stride out of the locker room, unconcernedly swaying his helmet between his index finger and his thumb. He's wearing his football uniform, a light, almost sky, blue jersey with a big number 17 on it. He's also wearing white cleats with a black stripe across them and matching pants.
"'Sup, old man! Sorry I'm late. I had to gussy up for somebody since someone finally decided to let me be quarterback this year! Guess it's only natural.", he shrugs. Alfred's going to get beaten up someday for talking shit like that.
"Whatever. I don't care! Now get into position!"
"Geez, oldie! I'm gettin' there!"
Yeah, he's definitely going to get popped in the mouth or something.
Alfred aligns with the other players and begins to bear down. Pfftt. Bear down. The coach screams something like 'Set' or whatever and I'm confused already. Alfred crouches down at the mention of this and looks around the stadium. He catches my eye and winks, with a side of that goofy smile of his. I look around to see if there was a girl he's trying to impress, regarding what he said earlier about 'gussying up', only to find that I'm the only person up here. What an idiot. The coach yells something else noncoherent and the players take off at one another. I see Alfred carrying the football and sprinting down the field. He tosses it to another teammate and this process goes on forever, as far as I'm concerned. I'm bored already and I forgot to ask Alfred when practice ends. And we're doing something afterwards. Ugh.
I pull my cerulean jacket sleeves down more until it overlaps my wrists and folds into my palms, which then I rested my face and casually space out. Ah, blue. Such a beautiful color. Sure, this jacket was nothing special or fancy, but the shade of sky blue made up for that. Certain blues remind me of certain things. A deep blue reminds me of Tumblr. A blue just a tad lighter than that reminds me of the Tardis. A a sky blue (my favorite blue) reminds me of-
"HEY ARTIEE!"
Oh hot damn. How long have I been out it? I notice that Alfred is back into his aviator's jacket and plain jeans, and reality rushes back to me.
"W-what is it?"
"Practice is over, dude. You space out a lot!"
"And why the bloody hell are you watching me instead of the game?"
"It was kinda cute. Now c'mon! Lets start headin' out!"
AN: DUN DUN DUN! I'll leave off at this point and post chapter 4 as quick as I can (please don't fucking kill me). So I actually wrote most of this chapter early one the morning (12 am) and finished at about 4:30-ish later that 'evening'. Haha, and the band I was listening to all throughout writing it was Buckcherry, so that's pretty kickass (and just in case if you wanted to know, Buckcherry accidently blaring through your computer's speakers at 2 am is NOT okay with your mom). This fanfic is going slower than I originally would've liked it to, yet it's moving too fast at the time T-T . So anyway! Thanksgiving break is coming to an end and I'll be back to school Monday, so updates might be a little slow. But it's not like I'll choose HW over fanfiction, so we'll see how it plays out. Keep reading and I'll see you next time! ( ~ )/ * * * (oh, and jsyk, I bought Play-Doh on Friday and got a dirty look from the cashier :\ Like, that's not your job. Please do your job.)