Head Over Sneakers | on hold

[ 1 ]

   CLICHÉ WAS SO OVERRATED. Everything about it screamed cheesy and filmy and so far from reality that I couldn't ever grasp the concept of it. With every living fibre, I hated cliché and everything that it stood for. Unfortunately for me, I lived a very cliché life.
    Spread around corners of St. George's high school were cliques. There was all sorts—fresh out of a cliché teen movie. The very thought caused me to roll my eyes.
   You had the nerds, the athletes, the cheerleaders, the freaks and the theatre geeks. The teens that were actually going somewhere in life: they were so driven and focused, it was hard to see them anything but successful and you had the teens who would be working for those very people.
   I was an athlete. I was already a walking cliché. I lived and breathed sports and I played so many different types that I lost count.
   My favourite had to be track. I loved how free I felt as the wind blew through my hair and how the ground below me shook as I landed, step by step. My worries no longer weighing me down and my mind focusing on anything but my problems and deepest worries. 
   A sigh escaped my lips as the soles of my dirtied trainers rubbed against the squeaky clean floors. The contrast was great and I'd received many looks as the squelching sounds were both loud and annoying.
   I had gotten used to such looks since I'd received them quite a lot growing up. I didn't mind all that much because I'd gotten used to them.
   Being the only girl in a group of boys was probably one of the main reasons. I was a pick me girl. If you wanted to put a label on it. I was always made the centre of attention because of that very reason and it caused me utter anguish from the never-ending jibes and teasing.
   Contrary to belief, I didn't want to be a 'pick me' girl. If it were my choice, I'd have befriended some of the girls I frequently spoke to in classes and after. The only issue with that was I never knew if they wanted to be friends with me for the same reasons. When you've grown up with the towns 'golden boy' as your brother, you sort of become a shadow and in my case, the stepping stone to get to him.   
   I didn't mind being a shadow though. I was always more of an observer. It wasn't to say I was quiet per-se...I just liked to watch from the sidelines; judge from afar, if you will. 
   Then I thought of the second reason as to why I had given up on making friends outside the group of my brother's friends that I automatically joined by purely being associated with him.
   A name flashed in my mind and it disappeared as quick as it appeared.
   I dropped the blue tray in my hand onto the surface of the cheap lunch-table. The clattering sound caught the attention of my brother who was the first to speak up, acknowledging my presence.
   Michael, or Mike, rather, was my twin brother. He was born just four stupid minutes before me. Despite being only a little older than me, he never failed to remind me that he was in fact the eldest child and therefore had the ability to command me to do whatever he asked. Though, just because he demanded, didn't mean I would actually listen to him.
   "What's wrong, sis?" He asked, bitting into his BLT and talking with a mouthful of the food which earned him a nasty look from Byron—he was the only guy of the group that was both polite and decent.
   Differentiating greatly from Byron was Jay. He was a player. Again, it was another cliché character, but it didn't make much difference since everyone fit into some sort of category here.
   Even when some of us didn't want to.
   Jay played girls like it was a game of badminton: always back and forward and just like a match, it always ended. Someone always lost and Jay was always the winner.
   Sitting between Michael and Byron was Cam. Cam was a joker and he never failed to turn a serious situation into something comedic.
   "Look around you. He isn't even back yet and he's already causing a ruckus." I snapped at Mike.
   With a dark raised brow, his eyes swept across the room, returning to meet my glare.
   My dark brown locks fell down my back in waves and my hazel eyes shone with discontent. Feeling frustration brew within, I gathered my loose hair and pulled it up into a high pony tail. It was a habit of mine that I'd acquired when feeling agitated.
   And agitation didn't even sum up a quarter of how I was feeling.
   Girls from all cliques and groups had rosy blushes tinting their expertly painted faces as their lashes fluttered like the wings of elegant butterflies.
   Each of them were dressed in their best outfits: some comparing and others judging each others as they whispered and gossiped about the arrival of someone.
   He was the bane of my existence and the epitome of cliché.
   The bad boy.
   "What's so great about him anyway?" Jay mumbled under his breath, his forest green eyes flashing with annoyance as he too was frustrated with the newfound revelation.
   Since Jay was a hardcore player, he liked having the attention from all the girls solely on him. But due to the retuning addition to our year, Jay was far from pleased.
   He was apart of our group and just so happened to Mike's best friend.
   Lucky me.
   His name was Devon Hunters. The very thought of his name caused my hands to fist at my sides and the blazing anger in my eyes to intensify.
   I'd known Devon since I was very young. He and my brother were as thick as thieves and I'd hated him for as long as I could remember.
   Unlike myself, Jay didn't hate him. He just disliked the competition. He too was best friends with his competitor; Devon. The whole group loved him because he brought some sort of excitement to their lives.
   Not me though. I hated him.
   It just so happened that after two years of boarding school for being the troublesome teen he was, he was returning to St. George's to finish his final year of high school alongside his friends.
   On hearing the news of his return, I went through the five stages of grief and now anything—even one wrong look could set me off.
   Devon was the bane of my existence and from day one he took it upon himself to annoy the hell out of me at any chance he got. He liked when he got a reaction so I swore to myself that when he returned, that was exactly what I wouldn't give to him.
   Picking up the clear bottle of water, I unscrewed the lid and downed a few sips, placing it gently in the corner of the tray. "Why the hell is he even coming back?!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the air and crying out to them.
   Each of them sported an amused look and it only caused my anger to rise.
   "These past two years have been utter bliss. And now that's all ending." Mike shot me a look and laughed.
   "Come on, Mikaela, he isn't that bad. You're just overreacting."
   My right brow twitched all of sudden. "Mike."
   I spoke gently and Jay's lips straightened into a thin line, Byron shrunk back into his seat and Cam's eyes widened.
   All three of them weren't as stupid as my brother because they knew that telling a girl she was 'just overreacting' was the wrong thing to do...unless he wanted a right good doing.
   It would seem as though Mike had realised the wrong he'd done as he opened his mouth to apologise, when suddenly, all the talk around us had come to a brisk halt and a thick silence swept throughout the lunch hall.
   Heads turned to the main doors and following everyone's immediate reactions, I turned to look too. The snarl that hung from my lips had disappeared and was replaced with a look of utter horror.
   Making his way towards us was was the very second reason that led to me receiving unwanted attention and constant looks.
   He was a little taller than I last remembered and as much as I hated to admit it, his looks had only just improved. I wouldn't ever say that to him though, his ego was already the size of not even an elephant, but the whole damn zoo.
   Gulping down the lump that had formed in my throat, Devon Hunter's strode in our table's direction like a tornado. He reeked havoc everywhere he went.
   All eyes were glued to his eye-catching figure as the girls ogled the walking cliché with lust filled eyes and blushes that could out do the rich colour of tomatoes that grew in my mom's backyard.
   He had returned. And I just knew, deep down that it would all go downhill from here and on. His brown eyes shone with mischief and the smirk upon his lips widened when his eyes met my own.
   Disgust filled within as I saw the way his eyes wandered over me. Then his eyes met my own once again and he broke out into a devilishly handsome grin.
   His lips parted and his words flowed effortlessly like fine silk. The simple sentence was enough to have my eyes narrowing and my lips pulling up into a straight and unamused smile. "Miss me, Ace?"
   I certainly did not.