Can I Have Your Attention Please

Chapter 4: Befriend

QOC: Here's the question that must be asked if we wish to be friends: #SMArmy or #BTSArmy?

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Sam's POV
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I am unsurprisingly tolerant with pain. And I say unsurprisingly because it isn't a shocker that someone who lives outside has been physically hurt many times before. So I'm used to getting scrapes and bleeding a little. It isn't the end of the world, especially if I find a way to disinfect the small wound before it gets all crusty and stuff.

One time, I got a fever when I cut my forehead on the edge of a cement rooftop, much like the one I camp out on. I was hanging off of the edge to reach the stepping stool I made for myself out of baskets and other random items. I looked down and deeply cut my skin doing so. I didn't think it was that bad until I began vomiting later on in the night. But then I was fine in the morning, and I don't even have a scar from it now.

Anyway, my point is, this cut I have on my knee isn't life threatening, and it only stings a bit. It's not stitches-worthy or anything like that. Regardless, I have to punch myself inside my head for being so careless before blowing on it for a little.

Then I stand up again, and I'm about to be on my way. But of course, because I am the luckiest person on the planet, the roar of a bike engine and then a bike stopping next to me stops me from leaving.

I look at the person quizzically before she removes her helmet, making her long and shiny brown hair fall onto her shoulders even messier than when I ride my skateboard downhill. Her face is one of minor concern for a fellow stranger.

"Hey. You good?"

Ugh, even her voice is perfect. How many perfect people attend this school?

"Just a scratch," I say. "I think I'll survive...maybe."

The girl chuckles to herself and shuts off the engine before climbing off of the bike. She pulls out the kickstand and lets it sit next to the sidewalk as she approaches me. Then, she smiles.

"My name's Ryhawks. Kassidy Ryhawks." When I nod, she quirks an eyebrow, grinning familiarly. I swear I've seen her before. Or maybe it's someone else I know that looks like her? "You're not from Westland High, are you?" She asks.

I scoff. "Do I look like I'm on the top of the social pyramid, Kassidy Ryhawks? No, I don't attend Westland. And I don't think I would even if I had the dough."

Alright, so I see we're taking a rude approach. I think it's because I'm jealous. Go away, female hormones.

Kassidy's grin morphs into a smirk, and the twinkle in her eye peaks. She crosses her arms. "I like you. What's your name?"

"Sam."

"Short for Samantha?"

"No."

She shrugs her upper facial hair. "Hm," Kassidy hums. "Well, do ya wanna go get some coffee or something? That's where I'm going. My brother took mine - well, I actually let him have it. Everyone knows he wouldn't stand a chance at getting my coffee unless I allowed it."

A lightbulb goes off in my head, and I gnaw on my bottom lip for two seconds. "Was your brother wearing a grey hoodie by any chance?"