Kendall Hansley is a sixteen-year-old high school student navigating a challenging home life marked by her father's behavior. Despite her struggles, she finds solace in her close relationship with her protective older brother, Asher. At school, Ken...
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I walk alongside Asher, my seventeen-year-old brother. Our school isn't far from our house, so we usually walk unless it's pouring. I hate the rain. If we aren't walking, we take the bus.
Asher reaches over, gently guiding me by the shoulders to the middle of the sidewalk. "Giant puddle, Kendall," he says, evidently saving my shoes, taking a few steps back before moving to my right side, closest to the street. Yes, he's doing the sidewalk rule again. He's always been pretty protective of me, especially after everything we've been through.
I spot Nora hurrying toward us across the parking lot. Nora, my best friend since before the fourth grade, is probably my only real friend. I'm not exactly popular, but Asher? He's one of the quarterbacks on the high school football team. When he's not at our house, at Avery's, or at work, he's training. I think football is his therapy, like how some people say music is theirs.
We turn right, crossing the street, and enter the school lot. Nora reaches us, squealing when she sees me, but her expression falters as soon as she notices the bruise and bandage on my face. Shit. I hear Asher talking before I can shut him up. This is not a conversation I want him to have with Nora, she doesn't need to worry about what happened during my father's whiskey tantrum the night before.
"She fell down the last three steps on the stairs last night, the side of her head must have hit the banister." He rolls off the lie like it's an everyday occurrence. I guess it is for us. Though he claims all his bruises from our so-called father are from football.
I let out a relieved sigh and walk toward the entrance, leaving them to hurry behind me.
Once inside, I navigate the crowded hallway, managing to dodge most of the students and reach the stairs to the second floor within a few minutes. At my locker, I set my backpack down and shrug off my jacket, hanging it inside. After picking my backpack back up and slipping it on, I quickly close my locker and head toward the girls bathroom.
Inside, I go straight to the mirrors. I peel off the bandage on the side of my face and take a fresh one from my back pocket. Carefully, I unwrap it and position the gauze over the wound, making sure the adhesive doesn't touch the wound. After tossing the wrapping in the trash, I take a deep breath, reassuring myself before walking out.i
I turn the corner and bump into a hard chest. Before I know it, I'm on my ass.
"Fuck, are you okay?" the guy I walked into asks, concern etched across his face. I groan, trying to get up, but my backpack weighs me down, keeping me on the floor. If I wasn't embarrassed before, I'm definitely embarrassed now.
He holds his hand out to me, pausing for a moment as if deciding what to do. Then he bends down and hoists me up by my underarms with surprising ease. What the heck. His touch is firm yet gentle, sending a rush of warmth through me. He sets me down, looking me over head to toe, and his eyes light up, as if he's just solved a puzzle. Before I know it, he's taking my backpack off.
"I'm okay," I whisper, staring at the ground, my cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink.
He places his hands on my shoulders, and I look up, confused by the intensity in his gaze. That's when I realize I'm swaying, my head pounding. "Maybe you should sit down for a second," he says, concern creeping back into his voice.
I nod slowly, trying to shake off the fog, but all I can think about is how close he is and how steady his hands feel on me. "Thanks," I manage to say, feeling a mix of embarrassment and something else, something thrilling and terrifying all at once.
He guides me over to a bench across the hall and helps me sit down. As I look down, a strand of hair falls into my face. He tucks it behind my ear, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. Just as quickly, he stands up, clearing his throat as if suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment.
"Sorry," he says, running a hand through his hair, a hint of embarrassment in his demeanor. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," I interrupt, my voice quiet, trying to brush off the sudden awkwardness. "I wasn't paying attention."
"My name's Hughes, I'm a junior." He says, trying to change the topic.
"Kendall," I reply.
Thanks for reading the first chapter of my short and upcoming novel! I'll be posting chapters hopefully every week, eventually there will be a set day of each week where I post chapters strictly on that day!
Please let me know what you think so far, I am a teen writer, so please excuse any mistakes you may catch! Thanks, B. 💗
