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
“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
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
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
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.”