lol chapter one

Chapter One - Andrew:

On the outside, she looked like every other girl from our school - blonde, with light make-up on her eyes, and her skirt pulled up as high as she could get away with before the administration would get involved for violation of our school uniforms. She was, well, a living doll, with her perfectly straight hair and glossed lips. But still, she wasn’t exactly like them either. She’d opted out of the heals that the girls were allowed to wear this year, choosing mary jane’s instead. On her left hand, what I could only assume was a purity ring glistened on her finger - which, combined with the short skirt, was an oxymoron if I’d ever seen one. As a senior, I’d seen plenty of these girls. Living in Southern California, it was almost a rarity to see someone who didn’t look the way that she did. But still, there was something different about her. Something that had me licking my lips in what, lust? There was something about her, and I wanted her.

“Man,” My friend, Josh, says, following my gaze to the girl. He’s slumped against his locker, arms across his chest. I don’t look at him, my eyes are still fixed on the girl. “Andy, why don’t you drool over her.”

“Andy’s got a thing for the Frosh?” Clutch says. Clutch, at one point in time, was called Kevin. But, for reasons that none of us seem to understand anymore, that name faded a long time ago. He looks over at the girl too, then back at me. “Shit, I don’t blame you.”

Josh looks at me, a smirk forming on his lips. “How long before she’s sprawled across the backseat of your car, Andy? You know that’s what you’re thinking about. You want that,” He looks back at her. “And man, can’t say I blame you. Just look at that ass.”

“Shut up, Partington. You too, Clutch,” I say, reaching up and running my hands through my thick red hair. I narrow my eyes. “Neither of you will touch her. I’ve got dibs.”

“Dibs,” Clutch chuckles, nudging Josh. “You know what that means. How long do you think, Josh? A month?”

Josh shakes his head. His eyes find mine, skeptical. I know exactly what he’s thinking. “I bet he’ll have had his way with her and be bored with her by the end of the week.”

“Both of you, shut up,” I say, tightening my hands into fists.

Josh licks his lips. “I can’t wait until you’re bored with her and I get a taste,” He’s looking at me now, teasingly, and sometimes it’s hard to believe that he’s my best friend. And honestly, we probably wouldn’t be if he wasn’t a killer guitarist. About six months ago, Clutch, Josh, and I had gotten together with a friend of ours, Brian, in a pathetic attempt of forming what we’d liked to call the next great American band.

“You won’t,” I say, and while it hadn’t been intentional, it came out in a low hiss. Josh stepped back a little, his eyes narrowing as well. “And I do believe I told you to back off, she’s mine.”

“Fine, fine,” Clutch laughs, putting his hand on Josh’s arm. Clutch, in many ways, is the peacekeeper. Josh and I, while we have been friends since we were in third grade and know each other inside and out, are often down each other’s throats. Clutch is the comic relief, the one that makes us laugh and keeps us from killing each other. “We’ll meet you at lunch, Andy,” He says, his hand clenching on Josh’s arm, leading him away from me. As they walk away, I can hear Josh muttering under his breath about me, and I roll my eyes.

I sigh, turning back to my locker and twisting the combination lock. They had a point, really, I was known for getting bored with girls quickly. I’d want them, and then not long after that I’d take them in the backseat of my convertible, and then I’d be done with them. Lust over. Gone, you can go now. And of course, Josh had a thing for picking up my rebounds, and it was a soft spot with him that he’d never had a girlfriend that I hadn’t dated first.

As a senior, my schedule is kind of a joke, and you can tell that by looking in my locker. It’s full of notebooks and fresh, new binders that will go the entire year without being touched. You see, the majority of my classes are electives, filler classes for seniors that don’t give out homework, or really have any educational value. I chuckle, turning my head and watching all the freshmen struggling under the weight of their books, when one of them crashes into me.

I look down, she’s nearly a foot shorter than me, and realize it’s her. Even just looking at the top of her blonde head as she bends down to pick up the books, notebooks, and dozens of the papers you collect on the first day of school that she’d dropped, I know it’s her. I bend down, carefully picking an English book up with my index finger and thumb, catching her eye.

“I. Am. So. Sorry,” She says, breaking up her words into short sentences. With every word, her cheeks redden more. She slips the book out of my grasp, tucking it under the others and hugging them against her chest. “I was… walking, and I was staring… at my feet. And not… paying attention. And I am so sorry,” She says, and just when I think she’s done apologizing, she opens her mouth to start round three.