Author's note: I wrote this when I woke up from developing a character with a hard exterior. As a result,... Show full author's note »
Chapter OneCHAPTER ONE
"Hey brainiac!" some football player called to me. "I bet you passed that science test, didn't you?" He howled with the rest of hid dumb jock friends. "Why don't you just go to college?"
"Come on guys," one of his buddies puts in. "There are some geeks that can't make the cut."
So much for that. Did I ever mention I hate jocks? Well, if I didn't, now you know. My Name is Lila — scratch that— Melonie Furrow. I have a three year-old brother named
I walked away, ignoring the idiotic activity of the primates that have been labeled as 'athletes'. I think they should be labeled as something that fits. They should be called something like numbskulls or schmucks. Seriously, we don't want to confuse them too much.
"Miss Furrow," Mr. Kerminson calls. He's the principle and basketball coach of Davidson High, probably in his early fifties and is pretty cool if you fallow the curriculum. As long as you're passing, he couldn't care less about PDA's by lockers and water fountains. Let me tell you, this would not fly in middle school. At least, not at the middle school I went to. Davidson Jr. High had strict rules against public displays of affection, due to the custodian finding a pregnancy test in someone's locker. Anyway, I'm getting way off topic.
I walked to Mr. Kerminson, curious about what he wanted. He looked very serious. Which is strange, so I assumed I must have done something wrong—which I would just like to point out is very unlikely. "Yes sir?"
"I assume you are aware that our school's best basketball player is flunking English and Mathematics.
I'm actually surprised those are the only classes he's failing.
"I would appreciate it if you were to help him. It'll look great on your college application."
And those are the seven words that will get me to do almost anything. Almost. "Actually sir, I—"
"Hey, coach," Jeremy Watson a.k.a the schools star basketball player says. "How's it going?" He's the best basketball player the schools had since 1967. He's got brown hair, brown eyes, and when he smiled at me, I noticed a dimple on the bottom right corner of his mouth. He's kind of tall. He's attractive too I guess.
"Well, Miss Furrow as just agreed to tutor you in English and Math. Isn't that right?"
I have? I wasn't aware that I had agreed to anything. "Sure thing." I guess.
"This girl is our best student here. With her help, you should be passing your classes in time for the championships. What do you say about that?"
"That sounds good to me," Jeremy answered.
"You win that game, and you can most likely guarantee that scholarship is yours."
I don't get the purpose of sports. I think it's just an excuse for guys to show off for girls in little shirts and short skirts. Those little zombies who dance around like hookers. My used-to-be friend, Lindsey Carr is a cheerleader. When she started high school, she still hadn't forgiven me for leaving her in middle school. Now, she doesn't talk to me. I don't really care. She's one of them now.
Speaking of Lindsey, here she comes down the hallway. She's talking to Victor Garene, the top football player the school's had since 1974. Apparently, athletes are a great asset to the school. O f course I don't see what sports have to do with English and Science. Anyway, Lindsey and Victor had been going out for about three weeks and I've already seen them making out at least eight times today.
Lindsey flips her long blond hair, then kisses Victor on the mouth. (Gross!) "See you after class," she smiles. It's been hard skipping two grades and being ignored by the one person I couldn't wait to see this year. She's spent three days giving me the stink-eye and two months acting like I don't exist. I watched as Victor kissed her back and she walked into remedial Math. Lindsey never was good with numbers.
"Lila?" asks Mr. Kerminson.
That name. I hated it. I look to see both Mr. Kerminson and Jeremy staring at me in confusion. "Yes sir?" I ask, coming back to the present situation of the schools all-star.
"When are you free to start tutoring?"
"Whenever," I shrug. It doesn't really matter. I have all my assignments through the third marking period done already.
"Cool," said Jeremy. "So, I'll swing by your place after school then? Where do you live?"
"Excellent," Mr. Kerminson grined, walking away. "You two have fun."
"Actually," I press, when the principle was gone. "Why don't we just meet somewhere else for right now? With my brother home, you'll never be able to concentrate."
"You have a brother? How old is he?"
"Three," I groan.
"Hey, my sister's three. Maybe they can occupy each other while we study. I'm sure it won't be a problem."
"I don't know…"
"It's no big deal. Plus, I really need this and I don't want the others to find out."
Why would I care what the others think about him? At least he'll pass a test this way, before he gives up. "Because I'm tutoring you?" I question.
"Because you're younger than me."
"Oh. Well, I still don't think you should come over—"
"Fine, I understand. Meet me at my place. I live three blocks away at 408H Broadway."
"Okay," he says. "Well, I'll meet you here and we can walk to my place."
What other reasons do I have to hang out with him? He obviously thinks he can get any girl he wants. Well, whatever he throws at me, I'll throw right back.
"Hey!" Jeremy called. "Are you ready to go?"
"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged. My mom knew I was tutoring, I didn't have a social life, so I was ready.
"Hey Jeremy!" Rick Innssonn called from his convertible. It didn't take me long to notice that Lindsey and Victor were in the back seat. She's such a tramp now.
"You're hanging out with her?" she asked, throwing daggers at me with her cold, icy blue eyes.
"Umm…" Jeremy hesitated. My guess is, he didn't want to be made fun of, but he actually wanted to spare my feelings too. What kind of popular person is considerate? I had to help him. Even though it's against what I feel, he doesn't appear to be a total lowlife.
"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to bump into you. I won't do it again." I started to walk off, as I overheard him decline a ride home. I heard Rick's car, before I was hit in the butt with an open water bottle as the convertible came up from behind me. After that they cruised by, laughing their obnoxiously loud cackles, I stared openmouthed at the bottle only Lindsey could've thrown. I didn't need a mirror to see what my backside looked like. I could feel it on my pants. "Great. Wicked little shrew."
"Are you okay?" Jeremy asked, coming to my side. "Wow." Noticing my predicament, he tried to stifle a laugh.
"It's not funny," I growled.
"Sorry. Here," he smiled. Taking of his sweatshirt, he wrapped it around my waist himself. "Thanks for helping me out back there, by the way. I owe you one."
"I think you just repaid me," I laughed. "At least I don't have to walk around looking like I peed my pants now."
"Yeah." He started to laugh to as we walked to his house.