Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Genesis (Part 4)

Hmmm... getting closer I think. I want something that alludes to the beginning of... but, maybe I want something more violent. (Talking titles here peeps, keep up!) ;) Okay... so Part 4 of my new YA Genesis... hmm... dunno, doesn't have that ring I'm looking for.

Anyway... so now things are beginning to get real for my little Flint. First day of school... oh how they suck. :D

The first bell rang and someone jostled into Flint’s back, pushing her into Abel. He gripped her by the shoulders.

“C’mon, before we get run down in this feeding frenzy.”

Flint stuffed her schedule into her back pocket.

“What grade are you in?” she asked.

“Sophmore. My brother’s a Senior, but he’s gonna be in your class. I saw his schedule this morning.”

She frowned. “I’m not in advanced Chem.”

Abel laughed, and again it was a really nice sound. Clear, and rich. “I know. Cain is…” Abel twisted his lips, gripped the black straps of his book bag tighter, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye and then grinned. “Well, he’s Cain.”

He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask, but the cryptic comment did make the curious come out. Abel turned down a hall she hadn’t walked through earlier; probably because all the doors were labeled 300 and up. Until the last one, room 201.

She laughed, glancing back down the hall. “Really?”

Abel was skinny. Pretty much nothing but skin and bones, and super tall. She wouldn’t doubt if he weighed less than her 118, and he towered her five foot seven inch frame by at least 5 inches. He wasn’t exactly swoon worthy, but when he smiled and flashed that deep dimple, it wasn’t hard to see that if he could ever put any meat on his bones, he’d be hotter than Robert Pattinson.

Though, he definitely needed a better sense of fashion. The lumberjack look died in the 90’s.

“Here.” He waved. “I’ve got lunch same hour as you, I’ll save you a seat,” he said and with a grin, before disappearing into the colorful buzzing hive of students.

“New meat,” someone snickered and pressing her lips tight, Flint walked inside.

The teacher, barely out of diapers--with his baby butt smooth skin, and light brown hair--smiled at her and said, “you must be Flint DeLuca.”

Frowning, she nodded mutely; trying to ignore the constant hard stares and chatter of her classmates.

He touched the tip of his nose, just as the final bell rang. “Well, you were either Flint or Cain. Flint sounded slightly more feminine.”

Girls twittered and a boy somewhere in the back of the class snickered. “Stupid name.”

Not the first time she’d heard someone make fun of her odd name. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m Mr. Wickham, and welcome to 11th grade Chemistry, now take your seat.” He turned his back to her, picking up a piece of chalk, he started to draw something on the board.

Clearing her throat, wishing she could just crawl into a hole somewhere and die, she spotted the only seat available.

All the way in the back corner, and sitting next to it was a brooding, giant of a boy. Muscles stacked on muscles and wearing the darkest pair of shades she’d ever seen.

For a second she wondered why he hadn’t been forced to take them off.

Sighing, she walked in between desks, tripping over a bright orange pair of Chucks. A black boy lifted his brows and put his thumb next to his ear and a finger next to his mouth.

“Call me,” he mouthed.

And tripping her was the best way to flirt?

With a huff she scooted past, finally able to drop into her seat.

Why did teachers always feel like they had to do that anyway? Make it obvious that you were new?  

For once she’d love to just walk inside, sit, and be left alone.

“Hello, class, like I said earlier, I’m Mr. Wickham, this year we’ll be learning about…”

He was saying stuff, but she could hardly focus on it. She looked to her left, at the wall of muscle sitting silent as death beside her.

He was tapping his pencil on the corner of the desk, each tap pounding like the hard beat of her heart.

Somebody should have given him the memo that Goth died when Buffy got canceled. Dressed all in black. Black jeans, black Ozzy shirt, black boots, black shades… the typical anti-jock ‘don’t look at me or I’ll kill your kitten’ stereotype.

She licked her lips, body tightening and surging with crazy dips in her lower stomach. He had a nice jaw, square and all hard lines. Especially when he clenched it like he was doing now.

Suddenly she was aware of the growing hum of laughter. Glancing up, she looked into Mr. Wickahm’s humorless gray eyes. He had his arms crossed and was giving her that look.

The one that made her want to slump farther down in her seat. Especially because all eyes were trained on her. Except Goth. He was still looking straight ahead.

“Ms. DeLuca, instead of making mooney eyes at Cain, pay attention. That way next time I call your name four times in a row, you might actually hear me.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, sinking into her chair, wishing she had a hoodie to cover her face with.

Oh jeez, could this day get any worse?

For the rest of the period she refused to glance at Goth boy, a.k.a. Cain, keeping her eyes firmly on the chalkboard in front of her.

But that didn’t mean she’d stopped thinking about him. It didn’t seem possible that friendly, scrawny Abel was brother to the anti-social, hot, muscle ripping--did she mention uber hot?--Goth boy.

She sniffed. He smelled good too. Like that woodsy cologne her mom used to buy Dad. Flint’s heart pounded as his pencil tapping increased.

“Ms. DeLuca. One more time, and it’ll be detention.”

Ugh, it was official, her life sucked.

No comments: