The Gentleman or The BadBoy?

T W O

Alrighty, this chapter was once again written by Alice

Song for this chapter is Laura Palmer by Bastille.

Just an FYI, i don't know a lot about football/ soccer so if i get anything wrong, please don't kill me :)

Enjoy!

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I pushed through the crowd of rushing pupils, each person stopping and looking at the new kid; aka me. They didn't even try to be subtle, they literally just stopped and stared!

Great, I've been here barely five minutes and everyone was looking down at me as I was some kind of freak.

Since the move from England about a couple of weeks ago, I have hid in my room, reading and doing what I do best- sleeping.  While Harris was out meeting new people, I was in my little cosy pit, peacefully undisturbed. I know, a healthy lifestyle. But that's all I found use for now, like Flint Lockwood from 'Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs' – when everything goes wrong, I just want to hide in a trashcan.

Losing my mother was one of the hardest experiences of my life. Leukaemia stole her away from us and never gave her a chance to fight the infection which in my eyes is god's way of telling me to give up with my life as it had no use anymore. Not without her. Not without my best friend to help me through the pain. No counsellor or therapist could ever do that, could never help ease my sorrows or calm my raging depression and anger at the world.

England was no better. At school, no one turned a blind eye to the poor, lonely girl at the back of the class, quietly sobbing at the loss of her parent, so I had just adapted to living in the shadows of my only friend, Poppy.

But then my dad decided to cart my brother and me away to America, 'to start new,' his words not mine. I didn't- and still don't- want to start a new life without my mother, her keeping my heart intact, only to be shattered when the heart monitor displayed a single line- indicating death.

I still remember the flatline.

I still remember the sinking feeling that I had in that hospital ward, I still remember the burn of the tears in my sleepless eyes and the painful stab in my poor, broken heart.

That's a kind of pain you never forget.

Whilst I was mindlessly thinking, I smacked into a broad chest, the equivalent strength to a brick wall, and I almost fell flat on my back before a pair of long arms wrapped around my torso and saved me.

Looking up, my eyes met chocolate brown irises that complemented brown, muddy hair. A boy, probably my age, smiled and set me back down, a position more comfortable for the both of us.

The boy had a slightly muscular build to him, tanned skin and neat looking uniform, no visible creases whatsoever.

While I looked like a potato, dressed in typical school wear (black skirt, knee high socks and a white tucked shirt, the school crest on it) while he managed to make the look sexy.

"Oh sorry, didn't see you there!" he chimed in a cheery voice, leaving me breathless. It was a mixture of deep and sexy, the ultimate heart sinker.

"Y-yeah me too?" my answer turned into a question, making my cheeks redden embarrassingly.

"Woah, you're British! I like it. My name's Darcey Hart, nice to meet you." He held out his calloused hand out for me to shake and I took the offer, slowly letting go of the warmth it provided. This boy simmered my anxiety of being here, if I met more people like him I think I'd get on better with mankind.