Time Again

prologue

• 2002
"i will always remember."
anne-marie •

🐾

5 years ago

🐾

    SOFTENED VOICES LINGER in the air of the assembly hall, here and there hushed discussion barely grasping his attention as he chances a glance sideways, blurring out the grey-haired teacher talking animatedly about god knows what and completely focusing on yet another teacher sneaking out the room supposedly unnoticed.

    He tips his head back.

    He's considering making a run for it, eyes flitting to the front, then back again. It's possible. But the odds of not earning himself a Saturday detention are slim and he can't afford that, at least not right now. So with a stormy exhale he checks his watch.

    Just 10 excruciatingly long minutes, surely he can do that.

    "Hey McFadden, you staying to watch the football match today?" Anson asks under his breath, jolting Atlas from his daze with a sidewards sharp kick to the ankle.

    He winces. "Nah, I'm busy."

    "Busy? " Anson snickers, pushing his shoulder against Atlas's. "Come off it."

    Atlas shrugs and checks his watch again. No change. This can't be right. He shakes his wrist, waiting a mere second before bringing the watch into eyesight. Still, no change.

    He sighs and Anson visibly straightens up.

    "Wait, you actually mean it. Mate. You basically never miss a match."

    Never. Not 'basically' never. He has never missed a match. But today he feels, no, he knows he has to. The ever-growing need to see that girl again made everything else seem so minuscule comparing and yet strangely he knows nothing of her. Except that she's always at the park that's minutes from his house.

    In the morning as he walked to school with his friends, she was there. In the afternoon, when he trudged home tired, she was there, and even in the evenings, coming back from swim practice, he could still see her there as the car zoomed past.

    In all fairness, it's because of this that he's found himself so intrigued and extremely curious, even by his standards.

    Because it never fails to surprise him that out of all the things she can do, she decides the best way to spend her time is to hang upon the highest branch of the tallest tree by the gentle grasp of her legs where the calf met the thigh, as if the blood that rushes to her head means nothing.

    Regardless, he isn't about to tell his bestfriend that he's ditching him for a girl that he can't even approach because he's that scared. He has some pride.

    "I know," he says. "But my dad wants to have the talk today."

     He's not completely lying. His dad had definitely hinted about having THE talk recently, even though Atlas thinks it's completely unnecessary at his age. He's 13 for god's sake. He knows his way around the internet, the browsing history and also, he's admittedly very well acquainted with his right hand.