All of Her

Clair

CHAPTER ONE

Clair’s knee.  It looks so soft, creamy white.  A couple freckles. 

Really nice.

“How about if I kick your eyes back into your head?”

She was standing over me, Clair was.  I was blocking her locker, sitting right in front of it.  The first day of Senior year, and I’m already in trouble. 

I tried to gather my stuff, and ended sliding over, out of her way.  She stuck her foot on the locker next to me, blocking my slide. Her black, ankle high Doc Martin boot was planted near my right ear, nearly chucked my cheek as she swooped it past.  I could smell the leather, and the danger. The boot gave way to knee length white gym socks, with orange and brown bands around the top.  Above was Clair’s knee.  Again.  I feel this soft tugging in myself. I can’t stop just at the knee, and my eyes trail up further, above the sock, above Clair’s knee, and under her tartan school girl skirt to the underside of her cool, white thigh.

I looked up at Clair, looking down at me. 

She wasn’t angry.  At least it didn’t look like she was, but I’m terrible at guessing people’s moods.  She looked, actually, like she was sort of daring me to look  But at the same time, she looked as if she’d swing the Doc Martin into my jaw if I did.  That sideways slant of her lips -- is it a grin?  Maybe a frown. Crap, I hate being so stupid.  Either way, I risked a broken jaw and looked.

I took that risk.

FUCK IT.

They were, surprisingly, pink.  I didn’t picture Clair (“no E, bitch” she’d tell the teachers) wearing pink underwear.  Then again, she was kind of her own person.  She used to be a Goth.  Then an Emo. Then some other clique term I don’t remember.  But now, she’s found her own path.  She still dies her rich orange hair black, for some reason or another, I don’t know why.  She was like this model type with incredible red hair and green eyes, and she had an agent and everything.  But, then again, maybe that’s why.  She wasn’t much for following the trends anymore.  She’s all about doing her thing.

Right there, on the front center of her pink underwear were the words: FUCK IT.

My reaction was my Mother’s: shock.  I recoiled.  But, in my own mind, I wanted to see it again. And I took a second, stupid look.  FUCK IT.

She pulled her leg away, her Doc Martin kicking past my nose.

“Pervert.”

“Sorry!

“What for?”

God, I can’t figure her out!

FUCK IT.  That was exactly her attitude.  She was always the don't-give-two-craps type.  Always not bothered by what people thought.  She didn’t care that I saw those words, right there by…  Or, does it mean something else.  FUCK IT…?!  Oh my gawd!