Have you ever looked at your best friend and thought, Whatever you do, DO NOT FALL FOR THEM?
Yeah. Me too.
But then again, when do we ever listen to ourselves? It's like my heart heard my thoughts and went lol nope.
Sigh.
I didn't mean to burden you with all that, but let me put this simply for you.
My name is Providence Cooper.
And my best friend is Luke Hemmings.
• CHAPTER ONE •
When I say Luke Hemmings is my best friend, I mean Luke Hemmings is my best friend. Not my twitter best friend; my in real life best friend (yes, there's a difference.)
Rather, he was.
Luke and I met in primary school, when I tripped over my shoelaces and Luke tripped over, well, me.
At the age of eleven, I was the literal definition of a bull in a china shop. If it was breakable, I'd break it. If it wasn't, I'd find a way to at least seriously mar the object.
Or, in this case, the person.
I was walking from class to recess when my lame excuse for a shoelace decided to untie itself and trip me.
A tiny yelp slipped from my lips as I fell towards the green grass. As I fell, I thought, It looks pretty soft. It'll cushion me.
I was so wrong.
As I slammed onto the grass, I could almost hear the fates sitting at their stupid loom laughing at me.
Lifting my head, I managed to spit out a few blades of grass before I saw a completely different sight hurtling towards me.
I barely managed to piece together the thought soccer ball when it rammed into my shoulder.
I expected that to be the end of it, but no, of course not. A few seconds after, I felt someone's shoe catch on my leg, and then a heavy weight drop onto my right side.
Two screams: one from me, a high, girly, "EW GRASS EW PERSON EW EW EW" scream. One from the person on top of me, an actual cry of pain.
I wriggled out from the weight and my mouth dropped open at the sight of a boy cradling his left leg. His face was scrunched up in pain, tears welling up in his light eyes (at least, where I could see them through the blonde fringe covering them.)
"I'm so sorry," I gasped, and he shook his head, clenching his teeth.
"It's okay," he said, obviously with effort.
And that was the first interaction I had with Luke Hemmings, something he would mercilessly tease me about for years to come.
But eleven year old Luke Hemmings was much too injured and much too unacquainted to make that sort of joke to eleven year old me. We just sat on the field, Luke sucking in breaths through his clenched teeth while I watched him, too fascinated to think about going and getting a yard supervisor.
Eventually, a teacher spotted us, and I was given the job of escorting Luke to the nurse's office. He slung an arm over my shoulder, and I did my best to support him.
"I'm really sorry," I apologized again as we hobbled to the nurse's office; Luke limping because of his leg, myself staggering under his weight (I was puny in year five.)
"It's okay," he said, his jaw clenched.
"What's your name?" I asked after we'd made our way down a hallway
"Luke. You?"
"Providence."
And that was all the conversation Luke and I could have, because once we entered the nurse's office, there wasn't much time for chit chat.
Luke ended up being sent home, and despite my best efforts, I couldn't convince the office ladies to let me escort him there. The next day, he came to school on crutches, his left leg encased in white plaster.
By the time I plucked up the courage to approach him at recess a week later, the cast was covered in the messy scrawl fifth years liked to call signatures. Apparently, Luke was quite a bit more popular than I was. Which wasn't all that difficult.
"Sign my cast?" he asked after we greeted each other, holding out a pen.
Delighted, I took it and neatly printed my name, along with the word, "Sorry."
I handed him his pen, and he craned his neck to read my memo. "Nice," he said, giving me a grin.
I still felt awful about what my clumsiness had caused, but I couldn't help smiling back; his smile was infectious.
"My mum wants to thank you, by the way," Luke said, still grinning. "She's been looking for an excuse to get me to quit soccer."
"Why?" I asked, intrigued.
Luke laughed, "She's a maths teacher, and she hates that I'd rather score goals than score well on tests."
"I could help you with your maths, if you want," I blurted.
Looking back, that was the stupidest question I could've asked, for the following reasons:
1) Luke's mum was a maths teacher. If he needed help, she'd've been helping him.
2) By now, I'd gathered that Luke wasn't stupid. He just preferred the field to his desk.
3) I wasn't even that good at maths myself.
But I don't regret asking it. If I hadn't, Luke and I would've never been friends.
Thankfully, Luke didn't think of any of those things. Or maybe he did, and he disregarded it. "Really? Would you come over today?"
"I have to ask my mum, but I'll see," I said.
My mum was fine with me going over, if a little confused by the reason (she knew I wasn't a maths wizard.) However, once we got to Luke's house, it was discovered by Luke and his mum that I was in no way qualified to help him with the subject. It ended with Luke's mum helping us both and an invitation to work on maths homework with them the next week.
If the fact that our friendship was built on the fact that I lied about being able to help Luke with his maths homework doesn't tell you about our friendship, I don't know what will.
Very few things are stronger than the bond formed over a shared lie (mine being that I could do maths, Luke's being that he couldn't.)
It would be my horrible luck that he would find them.
**USED TO BE TITLED "My Best Friend Luke Hemmings"**
A/N
Hi! Thank you so much for reading :) Votes and comments are appreciated! xx
-H
