Sequel: Saving Sloane Winters ›
Status: COMPLETE! Check out the sequel 'Saving Sloane Winters'.
Finding Sloane Winters Crazy
F I V E
Sloane Erin Mallory Winters
Glastonbury College for Girls
Visual Arts College Captain
Edelstein (Burgundy) House Captain
Student No #13783
There was a time I saw this exam question.
‘The dynamics of first impressions’, said the question.
I remember snorting, “Are you serious?” The supervisor frowned at me for speaking out loud.
I scowled at her, and looked down at my test paper.
My first impression of this question is that it sucks.
Nothing so far, has happened to change my mind.
There is also the first time I saw Teak Richardson.
Shall I tell you about it?
Lunchtime of the first day at Xavier College for Boys.
Bess followed Sarah who sat at the cross country boys table. Kayla in the Art rooms with a boy who subscribed to Vogue magazine and discussing the Summer Spring 2008 Versace collection.
I see the boy with the dirt smudged on his face, the boy at the supermarket in his soccer uniform, remember? The one with the nice smile, and a mop of curly brown hair on his head. He's laughing to something a Year Twelve Glastonbury girl said, her name was Ellen Morrett or something. Talented with soccer and computers.
Then there's an empty table in the far right of the room. Looks clean, so why were people avoiding it? I wasn't one to avoid, so I sit and take out Catcher in the Rye.
Sarah came up to me, “Look Sloane, the guys say you really shouldn’t be sitting here.”
I picked at my baguette, “Yeah, well, I don’t really give a rat’s arse what the ‘guys’ say, alright Sarah?”
She sighed, and flounced back to her table, where Bess sat, her legs crossed tightly, gingerly eating her salad. Doc Osztreicher's dream of her daughter becoming a sort of sex icon was currently going down the drain.
“Who are you?"
I barely glance up, only seeing the regular white shirt and black tie of Xavier and turn the page. Another over-achieving boy whose parents pay a crapload of money for them to graduate with no respect for women and a big ego. "Sloane. Don't mind if I sit on this table, eh?"
There's a contemplative silence that follows, as if this boy is deciding whether or not I'm worthy enough to be kicked off the bench.
“I do,” He murmurs. There was absolutely nothing extraordinary about his voice. It was normal, Australian and rough. "Only me and friend sit here."
"My friend and I." I correct, and look up, and suddenly I probably get an idea why nobody really sat at this table.
He didn't look very cheery. Black mop of hair that looked like it hadn't been brushed for a millennia, a brooding look about his pale face, and glaring grey eyes. He was as normal as his voice, but that's not what got me an idea.
It was his arms.
Sleeves rolled up, and pictures and illustrations permanently inked all over it. Sleeve tattoos, Kay called them. She said they looked horrible.
But on this tall, lanky and glaring teenager, it looked absolutely wonderful.
Dangerous wonderful. The kind of wonderful you get when you ride a motorbike with a boy exactly like this one, when steal a candy from the class jar in fourth grade.
Bess didn't tell you? I love danger. I'm a sucker for dangerous boys, so I had to stop myself from swooning.
He walked away, and I thought he was going to leave the cafeteria, but he sat right across me, brooding and thinking. I could feel Bess’ eyes burning in my back worriedly, and Sarah’s hungry gaze at the mysterious new stranger.
“Hey,” He said shortly, his head tilting to the side. That was cool, I thought it looked ditzy, but I reckon this guy could've twirled his hair and still look badass.
"Hey?” I mutter uncertainly, then I felt my cheeks go hot.
He raised an eyebrow, dammit that is so cool. "What's your name again?
Badarse guy with short term memory loss. I answered anyway, because his stare was so intense, “Sloane,” I said slowly, “Sloane Winters.”
“Never heard the name 'Sloane' for a girl,” he mused. “I’m Teak. Teak Richardson.” He mimicked me.
I nearly scowled, “Never head the name Teak for a prepubescent boy."
He held his hands up defensively, his eyes had this wicked glint. The glint you'd get on boys you're mothers would warn you about. He was everything that any sane parent wouldn't want associated with their own kid. “I'm hardly prepubescent. How old are you then, fourteen? You haven't got a chest. Flat as a wall, it is."
"I'm seventeen in May!" I reply hotly. "And as for that wall my chest resembles, it may very well have a big bump in it."
"No. I don't know what sort of walls you've seen, girly, but you've got no chest."
I ignore him, I don't know how to reply to that. "You've been looking at my chest?"
He shrugged. "I'm a boy, remember?"
I scowl.
“Tell me, Sloane,” he drawled, “Why did you choose to sit here?"
I nodded over to where Sarah is, “See that girl? With the brown-ish blond-ish hair? She’s my friend, and she’s already got herself a target,” He glanced at the blonde boy, “And the other one? The one that looks shy? She’s my other friend, and was too chicken to sit next to me.”
He nodded slowly, “Why didn’t you sit with them?”
I scoffed, “What? Is this an interrogation or shit? This table's clean, I like clean, and I also like peace."
He has a vegemite sandwich wrapped in glad wrap in his hand. That comforted me, that even if he was some badass cool guy that people were scared enough of that they didn't dare approach his clean table--he still ate Vegemite.
Vegemite was cool.
My first impression of Teak Richardson was that he was bad, dangerous even, and yet absolutely, positively, utterly, entirely, completely, unconditionally, unreservedly and irrevocably perfect.
Oh my God, I sound like Bella Swan.
But back to the dynamic of my first impression of this Teak Richardson boy, nothing so far, has happened to change my mind.
You’re yawning, folks, I can see your drooping eyes.
You’re thinking Sloane, boring, Teak, gorgeous, Bess, likes, Riley, school, fire, therapist, crazy, Mrs Schuster, fat, ugly, Sarah, is, a, slut, Kay, is, in, Queensland, mini, cooper, guitar, let me quietly die of boredom, let me slip so far in my chair that my chin smacks the edge of the desk and my teeth go through my tongue.
You’d prefer a much more interesting story.
Let’s see, Harry Potter saves a ball point pen from Bess’ hand which is flying across her leather bound diary, or Edward Cullen suddenly bites you, making you forever his eternally damned beautiful Goddess.
Too bad.
I’m not here to satisfy your silly needs, or the crazy tendencies of my best friend, no, Edward Cullen isn’t going to bite you, and if he ever did, it’s because I have turned him into an ugly dog with only three legs, and his wife Bella Swan with not turn into a beautiful swan, but rather an ugly duckling which will never ever, ever turn into something remotely close to beautiful. Stephenie Meyer should die, she’s brainwashed you all. Even Kay’s mum.
Let’s see? What shall I write about now?
A story? Oh, about my whole entire life, in fact?
Wake up.
Then I'll tell you the story.
Glastonbury College for Girls
Visual Arts College Captain
Edelstein (Burgundy) House Captain
Student No #13783
There was a time I saw this exam question.
‘The dynamics of first impressions’, said the question.
I remember snorting, “Are you serious?” The supervisor frowned at me for speaking out loud.
I scowled at her, and looked down at my test paper.
My first impression of this question is that it sucks.
Nothing so far, has happened to change my mind.
There is also the first time I saw Teak Richardson.
Shall I tell you about it?
Lunchtime of the first day at Xavier College for Boys.
Bess followed Sarah who sat at the cross country boys table. Kayla in the Art rooms with a boy who subscribed to Vogue magazine and discussing the Summer Spring 2008 Versace collection.
I see the boy with the dirt smudged on his face, the boy at the supermarket in his soccer uniform, remember? The one with the nice smile, and a mop of curly brown hair on his head. He's laughing to something a Year Twelve Glastonbury girl said, her name was Ellen Morrett or something. Talented with soccer and computers.
Then there's an empty table in the far right of the room. Looks clean, so why were people avoiding it? I wasn't one to avoid, so I sit and take out Catcher in the Rye.
Sarah came up to me, “Look Sloane, the guys say you really shouldn’t be sitting here.”
I picked at my baguette, “Yeah, well, I don’t really give a rat’s arse what the ‘guys’ say, alright Sarah?”
She sighed, and flounced back to her table, where Bess sat, her legs crossed tightly, gingerly eating her salad. Doc Osztreicher's dream of her daughter becoming a sort of sex icon was currently going down the drain.
“Who are you?"
I barely glance up, only seeing the regular white shirt and black tie of Xavier and turn the page. Another over-achieving boy whose parents pay a crapload of money for them to graduate with no respect for women and a big ego. "Sloane. Don't mind if I sit on this table, eh?"
There's a contemplative silence that follows, as if this boy is deciding whether or not I'm worthy enough to be kicked off the bench.
“I do,” He murmurs. There was absolutely nothing extraordinary about his voice. It was normal, Australian and rough. "Only me and friend sit here."
"My friend and I." I correct, and look up, and suddenly I probably get an idea why nobody really sat at this table.
He didn't look very cheery. Black mop of hair that looked like it hadn't been brushed for a millennia, a brooding look about his pale face, and glaring grey eyes. He was as normal as his voice, but that's not what got me an idea.
It was his arms.
Sleeves rolled up, and pictures and illustrations permanently inked all over it. Sleeve tattoos, Kay called them. She said they looked horrible.
But on this tall, lanky and glaring teenager, it looked absolutely wonderful.
Dangerous wonderful. The kind of wonderful you get when you ride a motorbike with a boy exactly like this one, when steal a candy from the class jar in fourth grade.
Bess didn't tell you? I love danger. I'm a sucker for dangerous boys, so I had to stop myself from swooning.
He walked away, and I thought he was going to leave the cafeteria, but he sat right across me, brooding and thinking. I could feel Bess’ eyes burning in my back worriedly, and Sarah’s hungry gaze at the mysterious new stranger.
“Hey,” He said shortly, his head tilting to the side. That was cool, I thought it looked ditzy, but I reckon this guy could've twirled his hair and still look badass.
"Hey?” I mutter uncertainly, then I felt my cheeks go hot.
He raised an eyebrow, dammit that is so cool. "What's your name again?
Badarse guy with short term memory loss. I answered anyway, because his stare was so intense, “Sloane,” I said slowly, “Sloane Winters.”
“Never heard the name 'Sloane' for a girl,” he mused. “I’m Teak. Teak Richardson.” He mimicked me.
I nearly scowled, “Never head the name Teak for a prepubescent boy."
He held his hands up defensively, his eyes had this wicked glint. The glint you'd get on boys you're mothers would warn you about. He was everything that any sane parent wouldn't want associated with their own kid. “I'm hardly prepubescent. How old are you then, fourteen? You haven't got a chest. Flat as a wall, it is."
"I'm seventeen in May!" I reply hotly. "And as for that wall my chest resembles, it may very well have a big bump in it."
"No. I don't know what sort of walls you've seen, girly, but you've got no chest."
I ignore him, I don't know how to reply to that. "You've been looking at my chest?"
He shrugged. "I'm a boy, remember?"
I scowl.
“Tell me, Sloane,” he drawled, “Why did you choose to sit here?"
I nodded over to where Sarah is, “See that girl? With the brown-ish blond-ish hair? She’s my friend, and she’s already got herself a target,” He glanced at the blonde boy, “And the other one? The one that looks shy? She’s my other friend, and was too chicken to sit next to me.”
He nodded slowly, “Why didn’t you sit with them?”
I scoffed, “What? Is this an interrogation or shit? This table's clean, I like clean, and I also like peace."
He has a vegemite sandwich wrapped in glad wrap in his hand. That comforted me, that even if he was some badass cool guy that people were scared enough of that they didn't dare approach his clean table--he still ate Vegemite.
Vegemite was cool.
My first impression of Teak Richardson was that he was bad, dangerous even, and yet absolutely, positively, utterly, entirely, completely, unconditionally, unreservedly and irrevocably perfect.
Oh my God, I sound like Bella Swan.
But back to the dynamic of my first impression of this Teak Richardson boy, nothing so far, has happened to change my mind.
You’re yawning, folks, I can see your drooping eyes.
You’re thinking Sloane, boring, Teak, gorgeous, Bess, likes, Riley, school, fire, therapist, crazy, Mrs Schuster, fat, ugly, Sarah, is, a, slut, Kay, is, in, Queensland, mini, cooper, guitar, let me quietly die of boredom, let me slip so far in my chair that my chin smacks the edge of the desk and my teeth go through my tongue.
You’d prefer a much more interesting story.
Let’s see, Harry Potter saves a ball point pen from Bess’ hand which is flying across her leather bound diary, or Edward Cullen suddenly bites you, making you forever his eternally damned beautiful Goddess.
Too bad.
I’m not here to satisfy your silly needs, or the crazy tendencies of my best friend, no, Edward Cullen isn’t going to bite you, and if he ever did, it’s because I have turned him into an ugly dog with only three legs, and his wife Bella Swan with not turn into a beautiful swan, but rather an ugly duckling which will never ever, ever turn into something remotely close to beautiful. Stephenie Meyer should die, she’s brainwashed you all. Even Kay’s mum.
Let’s see? What shall I write about now?
A story? Oh, about my whole entire life, in fact?
Wake up.
Then I'll tell you the story.
♠ ♠ ♠
disclaimer