Random

Red Rules

Rule #1) don't mess with the basketball team or the gangs in school associated with the basketball team.
Rule #2) especially do not mess with the girlfriends or boyfriends of the basketball team or gangs associated with the team
Rule #3: If any of said rules are broken, the perpetrator would be dealt with un-tastefully.

These were the rules of my high school, sadly, but they were unspoken rules set in place by none other than the basketball team.
Every year at least two freshman ignore this rule, thinking it's only a rumor, then suddenly find themselves in the dumpster outback after hitting on a point guards girlfriend, or saying something bad about the power forward.
That's why I never went near the team, or the guys who wore red sneakers (to symbolized the blood of their enemies that was spilt, blah blah blah), in case I accidentally offended them.
But I made the mistake of getting sick, and missing a day of history, to come back and find we were assigned a huge partner project. So when I got to class, everyone had already had a partner, except for one student. That student also happened to be the gang leader and the star of the basketball team. And of course, we were partnered up, and my streak was broken. My three year streak, from my freshman to junior year, was destroyed.
"Hey," my partner said hesitantly as he slid into the seat next to me, "I guess we're partners."
"Yeah, I guess so!" I snapped at him. He eyed me with a bored look. I glared back at him, taking the time to actually pay attention to what he looked like. He had dark eyes, with thin glasses to help them see, but long dark hair that hid his face. His cheeks were a little hollow, and suddenly he grinned. I gasped quietly. His grin was sharp at the corners of his mouth, like a knife. No wonder he's gang leader, his smile alone is scary.
"Well if you're done staring at me, I think we should get to work. C'mon," he stands, and I notice his lean-thin frame. I follow him to the computers and watch him log in.
"What's your name anyways?" I ask him, suddenly drawing a blank.
"James," he said, "and you?"
"Raychel," I told him.
"I know," he replied.
"Then why'd you ask?" He shrugs.
"I was a tiny bit insulted you didn't know my name."
"I'm sorry I didn't make it my priority to know you're name," I grab the keyboard as he goes to press enter on the Google search "porn hub".
"Pervert.." I whisper as I redirect the search to "major events of the 80's".
"Well anyways, I need your phone number. If we're gonna complete this project together and get an A, we need to work on it outside of class," James rips a large chip of paint off the wall then fishes a sharpie out of his pocket and hands it to me.
"I don't have a phone, so this is my house number," I write it down on the paint chip and push it towards him, then pull it back and write a second number down. "If you need to text me a quick question, you can send it to this number, but ask for me," I write down my name as well so he doesn't spell it wrong.
"Alright, thanks, now let's get started on this, I have a game in ten minutes."
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To be continued...