The Life Of A Teen

the life of a teen; chapter 5

so here is chapter 5. kinda short again . . . sorry. i just have so much course work! anyway, enjoy! :)

Chapter 5

This was possibly one of my favourite places in the entire world. I loved everything about it, from the cotton candy to the over flowing bins - well not so much the bins, but I think that it added character to the place.

There were a good dozen people crowded around a huge booth at the front as I walked in with Vicky at my side. I looked over to her to see her eyes light up as she caught the sight of the huge roller coasters that had been set up temporarily. I watched as she skimmed the whole of the park with her eyes, mouth gaping open, not really knowing what to do first.

If somebody were to say that Vicky and I were completely obsessed with the fair, then you would only be half right. Although I did love the fair, I wasn't the one that could be caught with a calendar under her bed, like a little kid, waiting for the fair to arrive.

Yes, I will admit it; my best friend is a little bit of a narcissist. Although this fair isn't about her, she likes to make it appear so.

Every year they have a beauty competition, and every year Vicky takes part in and wins it. She is so shallow when it comes to things like this, but I can't blame her - I just let her have her fun.

So, naturally, that's the first place that she headed to. I tried to keep up with her as she made her way through the crowd, and I'll admit; it was majorly difficult!

I decided that the easiest way to make it out of here alive was to grab onto Vicky's hand, and so I did. I grabbed her hand tighter than ever before, and prayed for dear life that I didn't let go accidentally.

After about five minutes, we arrived at a tent that had been set up. It was inconspicuous and out of the way at the back of the park that the fair was in, by the skate ramps. I had always loved this park. It was where all of the 'cool' kids liked to hang. Now I'm not one to complain about stereotypes, but this park was generally for people like me; skaters, emos, punk people, Goths, so on and so forth. The problem with my town was that there was always a lack of people like me. I didn't know one person who listened to the same music as me. It would make me sad sometimes, but then I would remind myself that I was being stupid - that I shouldn't even care.

As we entered the tent, I was suddenly hit by an aroma of expensive foundation and Aloe Vera and lavender. Although I usually liked these smells, I just couldn't find them appealing, while I was stuck in a hot tent with them.

I looked up at Vicky, to shout and scream at her for nearly loosing

me, when I took a look at the hand that I was grabbing onto.

It wasn't Vicky hand - defiantly not! This hand looked masculine, in a delicate way. It was slightly tan and had good fingers. It looked . . . appealing. As odd as that sounded, it was the best way that I could describe it. It was the kind of hand that you would want to hold and never let go.

Of course, in my sudden round of gawking, I had completely forgotten that I was holding somebody's hand - and that somebody was not the hand of my best friend. Now, in some cliché Hollywood movie, this would be the hand of Ryan. He would be here to apologise for his behaviour at the dance, but this was real life not Hollywood.

I looked up to find myself caught in the gaze of some of the most beautiful, mint green, eyes that I had ever seen. It looked like nature had tried to catch its very essence in a pair of eyes - these eyes.

I looked from his eyes to the rest of his face - this defiantly was not Ryan. He had jet black hair - the kind that you can tell is natural - mint green eyes - everything about his face seemed perfect. I would have kept searching and studying his face, but I realised that I must seem like such an idiot, just standing here like I wasn't capable of thinking for myself.

I grabbed my hand away from his and his eyes looked almost disheartened by my minor rejection. i wasn't entirely sure that he had understood that my intent was not to get away from him - far from that - but to make him feel more comfortable - I was grabbing tightly onto his wrist after all!

I really hadn't ever been in a situation like this so was unsure of what to say, so I just said the first thing that popped into my head, stupid or not.

'I'm sorry!' I blurted out, all in a blundering slur of words, 'I was trying to find my friend Vicky but I guess I grabbed onto the wrong hand.' I was so glad, at that point in time, that I wasn't one of these girls that would blush at every opportunity. To be perfectly honest, I never blushed - I didn't even know how to. It just wasn't something that I did, but I wasn't one to get embarrassed a lot either though.

I felt as . . . awkward . . . as I stood there, awaiting this mystery guys reply. He looked me straight in the eyes, as if recognising something there, before he decided to answer me.

'That's fine,' he replied with a warm smile on his face, 'I was glad to be of service. Hey, do I know you from anywhere - I feel like I recognise you, but I don't know where from . . .' he trailed off, while his forehead creased considerably, as if in thought, making his long mop of hair flop into his face in the cutest way possible.

'I don't think so,' I think I would have remembered somebody like him, but I couldn't say that - it wasn't like I had made a great first impression as it is. 'I'm Erin by the way, it's nice to meet you,' I greeted him, all be it slightly too late, while all too eagerly grabbing his hand again to shake it. I know that I had only just met him and all, but I really did like the feel of his skin on mine, as I felt my heart beat speed up erratically as if it had created a mind of its own.

He seemed to smile at the small insignificant gesture, before replying to my conversation breaker.

'Hello, I'm Spike. Well, that's what everybody calls me anyway,' spike, what an unusual nickname.

'Spike, why do they call you that?' hmmm . . . he was cute and mysterious - he seemed like a generally nice guy.

He seemed to blush at that - oh, he was a blusher, but in a cute and slightly adorable way. 'Well, umm . . . see we do javelin in P.E once and I accidently threw one and I hit my teacher with it. He was okay,' he added as he caught the sight of my worried face, 'it's just that I could never remember what they called Javelins so I just shouted out "oh no, I got a spike in his leg" much to the amusement of my friends, so the name stuck since then. 'I looked up to his sincere eyes, trying to take his story seriously, without giggling, and failing miserably.

'Well, it's nice to meet you spike.'

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Xx