Krigare

nio

If it was allowed to be all over the fucking tabloids, you bet your ass it would be, they told me.

The very next morning when I got called on for nodding off in class - half the class erupted into smirks and snickers. And not even the usual kinds that read, Ha, fucker. Have fun getting demerited. These lot understood what I meant when I apologised and replied with, "I was working late last night, sir." Mr Bane, however, simply chuckled and proceeded with his lesson, not bothering to question why in the least bit, and thank God for it.

Walking down the halls of Sherlock High, over half the people that usually minded their own shit and kept their mouths sewn, ended up taking the time to congratulate me, to the extent I got stopped by a friend of Avan's - Talisa, I believe her name was. I only knew her because she starred in every season's school play as the lead, regardless of what the role happened to be. Her confusion as her faint-seawater coloured eyes dwelt upon me was of the most genuine sort, however.

"What happened to your nose? And why is everyone congratulating you?" she asked with a shake of her head, to which I simply cocked my eyebrows and replied with a bucket-load of bullshit.

"I just gave birth to triplets. Caesarean," I told her and walked on.

The small flock that had heard me were left cracked up as I left Talisa standing in the dust of her completely self-sewn confusion.

You were daft if you thought I wasn't sore. Bloody right I was sore, but when wasn't I? I did enough gym visits a week to have sore become the norm. The word sore was a bloody ten-pound bench press at this point.

Of course, now that that was over, all I had to focus on (besides nailing my grades) was the international blah-blah. Even the acronym was too bloody long for me to remember, or give a fuck about. Whatever it may be, it meant that my strength training was to resume, and my cardio had to be doubled along with my tri-weekly spars with the other school fighters - guys and girls.

It was Jaimë who insisted I trained with girls too, instead of just boys. The truth was the girls were getting boring. Same patterns, same moves, everything became calculable, - and in this industry, when you become calculable to the opponent, you are no longer an opponent to them. You become an easy win and I didn't know about the rest, but I didn't box to merely win easy. But that isn't news.

"Oliver!" I hear Raven holler from a distance, as I'm dragging my feet in the direction my locker, my fingers running over the bridge of my nose. I turn to face the direction of her voice as my hand drops to my side, and wait for the crowd to clear up enough to see her pat her right hip twice, and then lift four fingers, before taking back off.

The signal puts a spring in my feet. Tightening my single-hand grip on my book bag, I spin on my heel, and take off in the opposite direction, Alastair's name on my tongue, and Axelyn's on my mind. I realise the plaid skirt wasn't for athletics, but I had to make my way to Alastair's Latin History hall before they did.

I slow down once I'm outside the twelve-foot tall oak-rimmed mahogany doors to the Latin History auditorium. One is half-ajar, at an angle that gives me an advantage.

I peek in, and catch sight of Alastair towards the extreme right. I pull out my phone and send him a quick text to help him grasp the situation.

Gingerbread. is all the text contains. As soon as he reads it, he swiftly raises a hand to ask for a pardon, and he receives it. I step backwards and lean back upon the mosaic-tiled Yellowstone wall behind the opened door. I lift my head, pressing my eyes shut. If I was on track, we had about 5 minutes.

The second he's out the doors, he begins to bounce down the north corridor, and I go, "Hey!" and gain his attention. Swivelling upon the sound of my voice, he turns southward and walks with me.