Just One Voice

•Pressing The Ultimate Restart Button•

~10~

Parting with Kenzie before our second flight had been a bit of a sad moment, but now that I'm standing at the main campus entrance to MACC high, the girl is completely wiped from my focus.

I'm finally here. Hello to warmer weather, salty air and palm trees all packed into my previously accustomed city life. Hello, San Clemente. And most importantly, hello to my future at the Modern Arts of Coastal California high school.

"Might wanna close your mouth, B. You'll attract flies."

The only acknowledgment Max receives is my silent blinking, trying to somehow comprehend what's really happening. A certain pride I don't recognize falls over me. I'm not even sure how I've made it this far, but it's definitely quite the feat.

I, Brooklyn Hope, am at one of the most prestigious art schools in the country. Though not just attending, but wanted to be doing so. I'm wanted at a place that is wholesomely dedicated to furthering this generation's talent, through hard work and professional coaching. And of course, probably some insane amounts of competition and undeniable pressure.

On second thought, never mind any feelings of pride, now I'm just going to be sick to my stomach.

My thoughts are rudely thrusted aside as I become aware of the sharp collision between me and another body.

"Ouch!" I squeak as I watch half of the contents from my arms suddenly crumble to the concrete below, "I'm so sorry—" I instinctively respond.

"Watch it." Expresses a dark haired figure with clothes to match, "Next time I probably won't forgive you either," he calls back at me, with no intention of slowing his reckless pace. I never saw his face, but his words clearly paint out the evident smirk he probably owns in my mind.

He didn't apologize, nor offer to help me with my now scattered belongings. Unless bidding a quick, sarcastic response is a courteous gesture here in California, that guy is a jerk.

"Jerk," Max mutters for me, as we simultaneously stoop to gather everything I dropped in the process of being plowed over.

A silent gasp catches in my throat as I see my iPhone face down on the sidewalk. I hesitantly pick it up, cringing before I can even see the screen.

"It still works, but the screen is shattered," I frustratedly report to Max.

"I volunteer to make bulldozer guy pay for it." His jaw clenches just like it always does when he's being overprotective.

I take note of the name bulldozer.

"I can easily afford another, M," I say, "there's a new version out anyway."

Max's eyes cool and the little bit of tension quickly releases. I think he's too much of an easygoing type to ever do any of the things he can talk. Max is not a guy immune to hurting anyone, and I can't imagine that ever changing.

Once all my possessions were juggled back into my grasp, I turn once again to the very intimidating sight before me.

There are three buildings, causing the campus to not really look like any high school I have seen before. Back home, everything was intentionally crammed together to fit as much as possible into any given space. Here, the buildings aren't too far from each other, but feel a lot less crowded with the bit of breathing space between.