Never Grow Up {Watty Awards 2012: Teen Fiction}

Part One

A/N: As I promised, here's the first chapter! It might sound boring at the first part... LOL what am I saying. It's quite boring. Please stick around for the next two or three chapters maybe and you'll find yourself liking it? :) 

Thanks so much! :) x x

P.S. Vote, comment and fan! :D

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That particular morning, I walked into class and saw the fearful Blake Manson. The first feeling that struck my heart was shock. The second was - still - shock.

He was the boy who sat in the front, nearest to the window. He had a stylish hairdo, with bangs falling over his eyes. His eyes were round and huge as a bushbaby's, shining with a glimmer. His lips were thick and full, and there were a few scars from the incident that happened half a year ago.

Yet, whenever he laughed all the girls' head whipped around to catch his handsome features which would melt anyone into a puddle. That only lasted for a second, though. The dashing, sweet side of him was quickly locked up by the hard barrier he put up to block everyone out.

Half a year ago, Blake was studying at another school. He was the captain of the basketball team and the golden boy. Freshmen looked up to him, his seniors loved him and all the girls were falling for him. He was a sweet, caring guy back then who fit the criteria of a 'perfect boyfriend'.

Back then, he started spiralling downwards due to peer pressure and started underage drinking, smoking and taking drugs. One day, he had a conflict with the rival school's team captain, and brought along some buddies for a confrontation. There was a war of profanities and a bloody exchange of right hooks and black eyes.

By the time the police had arrived, there were already two players on the ground, heaving and moaning heavily as the blood poured from their injuries, soaking the basketball court a crimson and bloody red.

The following day, the local newspaper's front page had his picture on it, warning everyone about his violent behavior.

Blake Manson was sent to the youth rehabilitation centre for two years - both for his offence and his smoking problem.

For the first six months he was sentenced there, his behavior was exceptionally good. The authorities allowed him to go to school in the morning to get proper education, and return to the rehabilitation centre immediately after school.

In order to prevent more unnecessary fighting, he had been told to change schools. He had agreed readily, and I suspected it was because 1) he did not want to see his teammates again as they might have blamed him for the fight and 2) he wanted his freedom and personal space back.

Being locked and watched 24/7 isn't anyone's idea of fun, especially a teenager.

Bad news travelled fast, and as soon as my class heard that the infamous Blake Manson was transferring to their class, they gathered in small groups and started talking about what they were expecting. Tattoos? Piercings?

Their liveliness and all sorts of rambunctious behavior ceased with Blake Manson's moody arrival. The atmosphere was tight and tense, there was a chilly feel in the classroom and it felt as if everyone was strangled and unable to breathe. 

I remembered the first day of him joining our class distinctly. It started off like any other day: everybody was hustling and bustling, minding their own businesses. The jocks were laughing loudly, the cheerleaders were gossiping hushedly, the nerds were studying frantically and so on. When the bell rang, they scattered to their seats.