Jawbreaker ❆ Tom Kaulitz

[ 00 ] Wakeup Call

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00. Wakeup Call
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                "Eikel (Dickhead)."

                "Saskia! What did I say about swearing in Dutch? Keep it off the ice, please," Coach Meyer snaps her fingers in my direction and I let out a huff, digging my toe pick into the ice as I come to a full stop in front of her.

                "Sorry, Coach," I offer her a sheepish smile before pushing outwards, adjusting to the friction of the ice underneath the blades of my skates.

                I pull my face into a scowl at the lingering feeling of watchful (perverted) brown eyes boring into me as I circle the rink, glaring over my shoulder across the other side of the rink towards the boys on the hockey team. A familiar head of black braids stands ahead of the others, arms crossed over his chest and his lips pulled into his signature smirk.

"Chin up, Saskia!" Coach bellows from behind the glass.

Groaning quietly, I lift my head as I glide along steadily, attempting to focus on the task at hand rather than the little shit distracting me on the opposite end of the ice.

Coach's words seem to satisfy him to some degree, as he calls out, "You can do better than that, Jung!"

Holding up my middle finger towards him, I yell in response, "Kus mijn kont, Kaulitz (Kiss my ass)!"

It's barely seven in the morning and Tom Kaulitz has already set out to ruin my day. A Saturday too, no less. It doesn't come as a surprise to me, of course — he has managed to do this every single day for the past six or so years, without fail. I'm almost one hundred percent certain he was put on this Earth for the specific purpose of making my life miserable.

                He would say the exact same thing about me, I'm sure.

                Coach beckons me off the ice and I slide slowly towards her, shaking my hair loose from my ridiculously tight ponytail. As I reach the door, I hoist my legs up over the edge and trudge towards the bench nearby.

                Yanking my waterbottle out of my duffel bag, I hastily bring it to my lips and gulp down the remaining water. Coach tuts at me, one hand on her hip.

                "You are so distracted. You need to focus, Saskia."

                "It's not my fault he keeps heckling me!" I sigh, propping my elbows up on my thighs as I run my hands over my flushed face.

                "Worry less about Mr. Kaulitz and more about your long program," It's a warning, and I take it as such — if I want any shred of a chance of making it to the Olympics, I need to get my shit together. But Tom makes it near fucking impossible.

"Got it, thanks Coach," I mumble, slipping on my skate guards and carefully untying my laces. I breathe a loud sigh of relief as I slide the skates off, shoving them at the bottom of my skating bag and placing it inside my duffel bag.