©Merlin's Chosen Book 5 Risleigh's Return ~Published Work~

Chapter 1 Grease is the Word

Kennon let his body sink lower in the chair he occupied in the corner of the library as he attempted to ignore the group of giggling girls that sat nearby. It wasn't that he wasn't used to such displays, there was usually a group of them trailing him around campus as if he wouldn't notice them. It came with the territory he supposed. He sighed. He was on the football team, tall, good-looking, and the list went on. It was all things he tended to ignore about himself. He played football because he liked the game and it had also gotten him a scholarship, not because he wanted attention for it. The tall, good-looking part he couldn't do much about, that shit he'd inherited from his parents. He knew girls liked the way he looked, he wasn't an idiot. But that wasn't what was important to him, looks weren't everything. He'd seen firsthand what an obsession with looks could do to a person. His cousin, Desdemoynah used her looks to gain what she wanted. The woman ended up tweaked in the head, alone, and very dead.

He would prefer if everyone would stop obsessing about how he looked.

When he ran a hand through his hair it set the girls to giggling and whispering, while shooting not-so-subtle looks in his direction. He wanted to know what was with them and his damn hair. It had always made him wonder, his curiosity got the better of him once and he'd asked a couple of girls he knew about it.

It had been one strange conversation he didn't want to repeat. He shook his head. Mary had told him, with a deep sigh of longing, that it was probably because it looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. That his hair was all tousled and wavy and the girls were probably imagining that he'd just rolled out of their bed. She'd promptly turned red and excused herself before hurrying away. That didn't seem like much of an answer, but he wasn't going to ask again. He allowed himself a derisive snort. He didn't need an adoring fan club, especially if all they cared about were his looks.

It didn't matter how he attempted to tame his hair, it was resistant to all efforts. He could comb it, gel it, and use any other products to plaster it down, didn't matter, it always sprung back up. The waves and curls had a mind of their own. So he didn't bother trying anymore, he ran a hand through it and that was the entirety of his styling routine.

The chorus of tittering laughter wasn't helping his concentration much. The paper he was trying to work on was due in two days and he had barely written half a page so far. The damn thing was supposed to be five pages. Single space. He groaned and stared at the pages of the textbook. He was never going to understand any of this.

"Moron," he muttered. He let his head fall back against the chair and closed his eyes.

"Book giving you a problem?"

He opened his eyes and raised his head to look at the guy who was now standing in front of the chair he occupied. What he saw was an escapee from the drama department and he had no idea why drama boy had decided to stop and speak to him. He didn't know the guy, wasn't even sure he'd ever even spotted him on campus. His eyes swept over the guy. Jeez, were they doing a production of Grease this month? If they weren't then this dude needed some serious fashion assistance. The black leather jacket, white t-shirt, black jeans, and of course the black Converse high tops screamed 1950s biker. It appeared the only thing he skipped out on was the greased-up hair. Though if he went by the dude's hairdo, it would be easy for him to slick it back.

It was difficult to resist the urge to spin the guy around to get a look at the back of his jacket to see if it said T-Birds on the back. Oh great, now all he could hear was Grease is the Word inside his head he was going to kill his sister later for making him watch that damn movie. He shoved the song from his head.

"I'm afraid the problem is with my brain absorbing the words written in the book," he told the guy.

The guy grinned. "Yeah, I ave the same problem sometimes," he replied as he turned to scan the surrounding area as if he were looking for someone. As the guy twisted slightly to look over his shoulder he caught a glimpse of the logo on the back of his jacket, yeah not the T-Birds. Whatever it was, the logo was faded and cracked and he couldn't determine what it was from this angle. Maybe he was waiting to meet someone and this conversation was simply a way for him to kill time. The guy turned and looked back at him. "Is there someplace where we can talk privately?" he asked.