Status: Active :)
I'm No Superhero; Just Your Ordinary Freak
Make Your Mark, Or Atleast Find It
2
“Hey,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. I shoved my books into my locker and rummaged around for my history book, feigning oblivion to the six foot giant hovering centimeters away from me. I snuck a glance through the thin gap in the metal door and saw wide eyes staring at me.
“Hey,” a shaky voice replied. As soon as he knew I had caught him staring he averted his gaze and began digging through his own locker.
I smiled, finally finding my book. “Sick shoes,” I commented. Of course, I had noticed them the minute I had spotted him, but I looked down to add emphasis. They were white Converse All Stars that had been personalized with black marker. I also noted his faded, old jeans and loose grey hoodie.
“Thanks,” I could hear the blush in his voice as he spoke, his head tilting further into his locker.
I pretended to carry on looking for something. “Hey, do you happen to have a black marker on you?” I peaked my head around the metal door, feigning hesitation.
“Uhh, yeah,” he smiled broadly. “Here,” he pulled out a selection of markers, all different sizes. “I knew having a million would come in handy one day.” He had a shy, hesitant smile that I really didn’t think he got to showcase often.
I laughed at his played down excitement and selected a larger one. “Thanks,” I smiled. “Why do you have so many?”
“I like drawing.” He shrugged.
I tugged at the hem of my shirt and pulled it until it was all somewhat even and not creased. I began scribbling over the shiny print, but then stopped when I didn’t know what to write. “What should it say?” I looked up into hazel eyes that were framed with black glasses. He was tall, making me need to look up.
He thought for a moment, and then smiled shyly. “Say something weird, like…” he thought again. “Nerds can do better,” he smiled wickedly. “And then do a little cartoon at the bottom.” He laughed slightly.
“That sounds great,” I agreed, “except for the fact that I can’t draw.” Regardless, though, I began a large ‘N’ and continued with the rest of the letters.
“What’s your name?” I asked, although I already knew. Suddenly I was aware that we were the last ones in the hallway. Class must have begun already.
“Chris,” he replied, watching my hand as I wrote. “You?”
I smiled as I remembered the email I had gotten this morning.
Chris Wilson, born 17 May 1994
Brown hair, hazel eyes
6”
Father: Biological Chemist at St Mary’s Hospital (unknown to the public)
Mother: Biological Chemist at St Andrew’s Hospital (again, unknown to the public)
School: Hill Side High School
Home Address: Parkmore, Street 18B, house 108
Phone no.: 059 277 9836
School Subjects: Art and Design, History, English Language, Mathematics, English Literature, French, ICT, Business Studies
School Activities: None
Objective: prevent and DANGERS entering his life
The title ‘Biological Chemist’ is used very loosely these days…
“Leila. We’re late, you know.”
He gulped visibly. “Yeah, but what the hay? I’ll just say I was showing you around. You are new right?”
I giggled internally. What the hay? I was surprised he had stuck around for so long, but, by my guess, he didn’t really have that many companions – especially at this school.
“Yupp.” I smiled as I finished the last letter. Chris was visibly awkward. I had predicted that. But what I hadn’t predicted was that he would take a liking towards me. Suddenly my job felt a lot easier. “Let’s go,” I hooked my arm in his and pulled him down the hallway.
His face turned scarlet, and his eyes bulged. “Uh,” he stuttered. “H-hi-history is that way,” he pointed over his shoulder.
I stopped abruptly and turned around with a shrug. “Sorry.”
“’Sokay,” he said as he watched the passing tiles, his face still heated.
Yupp, peace-ah-cake.
“Hey,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. I shoved my books into my locker and rummaged around for my history book, feigning oblivion to the six foot giant hovering centimeters away from me. I snuck a glance through the thin gap in the metal door and saw wide eyes staring at me.
“Hey,” a shaky voice replied. As soon as he knew I had caught him staring he averted his gaze and began digging through his own locker.
I smiled, finally finding my book. “Sick shoes,” I commented. Of course, I had noticed them the minute I had spotted him, but I looked down to add emphasis. They were white Converse All Stars that had been personalized with black marker. I also noted his faded, old jeans and loose grey hoodie.
“Thanks,” I could hear the blush in his voice as he spoke, his head tilting further into his locker.
I pretended to carry on looking for something. “Hey, do you happen to have a black marker on you?” I peaked my head around the metal door, feigning hesitation.
“Uhh, yeah,” he smiled broadly. “Here,” he pulled out a selection of markers, all different sizes. “I knew having a million would come in handy one day.” He had a shy, hesitant smile that I really didn’t think he got to showcase often.
I laughed at his played down excitement and selected a larger one. “Thanks,” I smiled. “Why do you have so many?”
“I like drawing.” He shrugged.
I tugged at the hem of my shirt and pulled it until it was all somewhat even and not creased. I began scribbling over the shiny print, but then stopped when I didn’t know what to write. “What should it say?” I looked up into hazel eyes that were framed with black glasses. He was tall, making me need to look up.
He thought for a moment, and then smiled shyly. “Say something weird, like…” he thought again. “Nerds can do better,” he smiled wickedly. “And then do a little cartoon at the bottom.” He laughed slightly.
“That sounds great,” I agreed, “except for the fact that I can’t draw.” Regardless, though, I began a large ‘N’ and continued with the rest of the letters.
“What’s your name?” I asked, although I already knew. Suddenly I was aware that we were the last ones in the hallway. Class must have begun already.
“Chris,” he replied, watching my hand as I wrote. “You?”
I smiled as I remembered the email I had gotten this morning.
Chris Wilson, born 17 May 1994
Brown hair, hazel eyes
6”
Father: Biological Chemist at St Mary’s Hospital (unknown to the public)
Mother: Biological Chemist at St Andrew’s Hospital (again, unknown to the public)
School: Hill Side High School
Home Address: Parkmore, Street 18B, house 108
Phone no.: 059 277 9836
School Subjects: Art and Design, History, English Language, Mathematics, English Literature, French, ICT, Business Studies
School Activities: None
Objective: prevent and DANGERS entering his life
The title ‘Biological Chemist’ is used very loosely these days…
“Leila. We’re late, you know.”
He gulped visibly. “Yeah, but what the hay? I’ll just say I was showing you around. You are new right?”
I giggled internally. What the hay? I was surprised he had stuck around for so long, but, by my guess, he didn’t really have that many companions – especially at this school.
“Yupp.” I smiled as I finished the last letter. Chris was visibly awkward. I had predicted that. But what I hadn’t predicted was that he would take a liking towards me. Suddenly my job felt a lot easier. “Let’s go,” I hooked my arm in his and pulled him down the hallway.
His face turned scarlet, and his eyes bulged. “Uh,” he stuttered. “H-hi-history is that way,” he pointed over his shoulder.
I stopped abruptly and turned around with a shrug. “Sorry.”
“’Sokay,” he said as he watched the passing tiles, his face still heated.
Yupp, peace-ah-cake.
♠ ♠ ♠
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