*EDITED* "Better," But I Still Need Help?
I slammed my green locker shut, the clanging sound echoing down the nearly empty hallway as I adjusted my bag on my shoulder.
"Jade!" I said, and she turned to face me.
I got lost in her beautiful deep blue eyes with flecks of purple and gold. I licked my lips, wishing I could hold and kiss her. Even just once. She was so perfect in every single way. Her slim build, tanned skin, golden ringlets, the way her nose would crinkle and how she threw her head back when she laughed...
"What did you want?" She said impatiently, interrupting my thoughts.
"What?" I asked, hoping she hadn't caught me.
I nervously ran my fingers through my short black hair. I leaned against the lockers, and of course my back jabbed into the lock, I covered it up with what I hoped was a smirk.
"You called?" She looked at me like I was from a different species.
"Oh, right. Are we still on for tonight?" I smiled my most seductive smile, my dimples fully exposed.
"Yeah, the test's still tomorrow, isn't it?" She said with a casual hair flip.
"I-Yeah." I blinked.
"See you later then, Kyle."
This time, I let her walk away, I watched her go, barely resisting the urge to turn my head to the side, or worse, call her back. It was official, I had to have her. And her helping me keep my passing grade in Algebra II? Totally going to work to my advantage.
"Dude!" Shane slapped the side of my head.
I turned towards him, rubbing where he hit me. His singularly colored brown eyes accused me from between his ash blonde hair, his thin lips turned down wards in a grimace.
"Sorry." I was anything but.
"She's my little sisters' best friend, don't be so obvious!"
"I'm anything but!" I insisted, my green eyes flashing in humor.
"Dude, you're drooling."
"Sh*t!"
I wiped my mouth with the back of my scarred hand, and sure enough, he was right. I hated it when that happened. Why did he have to always be right?
"Kyle, you're life is over," Shane said with a smirk, his eyes crinkling around the edges.
He awkwardly patted my broad shoulder with his pianist hands, as I called them. We weren't exactly friends, but we were close enough to it. We hung out and we were both on the football team, but we never really hung out unless it was school or team related.
I shrugged. "It already has been," I said, forcing myself to look like I was just joking.
It was, without a doubt, the hardest thing I had ever done.
"Right, Mister Perfect has a hard home life," he slapped me on the back of my shoulder. "Let's get our sorry asses to practice before Coach kills us with the five mile run in thirty minutes...Again."
@Munch: The reason behind his scarred hand was reviled earlier on in the story, but since I won't be posting that scene, I guess I can tell you. Beware: His friends "little sister" was going to cut herself, and he caught her. He wrapped his hand around the knife and pulled back. And he fought to get said knife out of her hand, and she cut him a few times in her desperation to keep it.
@Holly: This is in about the middle. I just added some more description for here; and for if I decide to change it up and make this the beginning.
@Holly: This is in about the middle. I just added some more description for here; and for if I decide to change it up and make this the beginning.