Style | Dallas Winston

Chapter One

"You got that James Dean daydream look in your eyes" -Style, Taylor Swift

Maeve never understood why some people were so against fighting. There were always those who'd tell their friends, "Fighting is so violent, I can't believe someone could do that," But still gather around whenever one breaks out. There were those who would desperately try to break up fights, and there were those who stood on the sides and watched.

Maybe it was her anger issues, but if she thought she could win, and it wasn't over something stupid, like a girl, she would do it. Not that she wasn't a good fighter, just that she was 5 '5, and could pass for a 13 or 14 year old, despite having turned 16 just three months earlier. She thought all of this while watching two boys pummel each other in the courtyard. A crowd of students had gathered around. Most of them were rooting for one side or the other, but few were trying to break it up. She couldn't really see what was going on, but fists were flying, and at one point they were tackling each other.

A few feet away from this was Jane Hawkins, tears streaming down her face. She was yelling hysterically for the two of them to stop, trying, unsuccessfully, to break through the crowd of people. Jane Hawkins, in lighter terms, had many suitors. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but apparently boys don't appreciate it. They would talk to and flirt with five girls at once, but god forbid one of them flirts with another guy. Girls just had to be devoted to them. It was honestly fucked up. Maeve could only assume that the two boys were fighting over Jane. It wouldn't be the first time.

Finally, a teacher managed to break up the fight and drag them both off to detention, their faces bloody and bruised, Jane still sobbing after them. The crowd slowly dispersed, their source of entertainment gone.

It was 6th period: study hall. The school day was almost over, and Maeve knew math would be slow that day, so she decided to skip. She stood up from the bench and collected her things. When the teachers had all turned away, Maeve slipped out the front gates of the school, and started down the street to Bernard's Books and Records. Not to buy anything, as she had already spent most of her money there, but instead to read in a quiet space.

She stepped into the small shop, the bell atop the door ringing as she went in. Mrs. Norris glanced over her thick, round glasses at her. Mrs. Norris was a short, elderly lady whose eyesight was going, yet she still managed to stock the books on the right shelves every time.

"Oh, hello Maeve, what a surprise!" Exclaimed Cindy Norris, the late Bernard Norris' wife. She closed the book she was reading."I thought you'd still be in school about now."

"...They let us out early, something about a pipe bursting," Maeve responded, smiling sheepishly.

"Ah," Mrs. Norris remarked. She obviously didn't buy her lame excuse.

"How's Phoebe doing?" Maeve asked, quickly changing the subject. She walked up to the fluffy orange cat sprawled out over the counter and began petting her.

"Oh yes, she's doing better now. It seems her allergies cleared up," Mrs. Norris responded in a chipper tone as she walked off carrying an armful of books.

Maeve made her way to the old couch in the back of the store and sat down, sinking a bit too far down since the supports had long since broken. It didn't take long for Maeve to become enthralled in her murder mystery novel.

A good three hours later, Maeve knew two things; One, her back hurt. And two, the gardener did it. She didn't want to be out walking around after dark, so she picked up her things and headed out the door.

"Have a good evening, Mrs. Norris!" She said to the woman sitting on the floor, surrounded by stacks of books.

"Take care, sweetheart," Mrs. Norris said, barely looking up from the books.