Newsies One Shots and Preferences

Thorn

Word Count: 2073

My world isn't too bad, I follow the rules and good things come from it. That being said, I don't live in the most interesting world. I go to school, get good grades, have a close group of friends. Although I live a boring life, it doesn't mean I don't have hobbies, every day after school I go to the band room. Every day for two hours I play the flute, afterward, I go home for dinner. Soon after that though, I give flute lessons. Don't get me wrong I love playing the flute, but it has become my whole identity. Sometimes I just want to rebel against my family. It isn't that they treat me wrong, but being around them is like being wrapped in bubble wrap.
Of course millions of people wish they were in my place, not having any real trouble. Of course, I do have a thorn in my side, but it isn't genocide or even abusive. My life is easy, excluding Albert DaSilva, he just seems to wreak my life. However, he seems to be the only exciting thing about it.
History in the basement seems to be the hardest part of my day.  The temperature is unpredictable, but today it seems to be a sauna. Unfortunately, my top is strapless so I have to keep my flannel on. Not to mention that the permanent thorn in my side just happens to be behind me. If Albert wasn't the only interesting part of my life I would never entertain his notes. Alas, he is though, so I always give in. Each of his notes says some silly pick up line, he is shameless. Almost as shameless for when he says, "you know after 15 minutes we can leave if he doesn't show up". That's another painful thing about this class, the teacher is always late, without a doubt. I am brought back into reality when I hear the boom of Mr. Richardson's voice. That's another thing, he talks way too loud.
"Partner time" an audible sigh leaves every person's mouth. Another thing about History is how he chooses groups. Like in elementary school everyone has their name on a popsicle stick and we choose our fates. The sticks are never nice, I usually get stuck with someone who lets me do all the work. Doing work for two people in half the time. It is almost like the list for everything bad in History is never-ending, Richardson's deadlines are never proportionate. Since today is Friday it will probably be due on Monday "since we have the whole weekend to work on it". Goodbye weekend plans. The project guidelines are being passed out and before I even look at it, I can tell it is one of his rambling masterpieces. Every assignment, without a doubt, he writes four paragraphs to say a simple thing, but he always contradicts himself making his class impossible. It is my only B, straight A's then this blemish.
My inner monologue is cut short by the familiar sound of popsicle sticks hitting a plastic cup. Another simultaneous groan fills the room as people start picking names. That is one plus side to this, you get to look at people as their eyes light up or their soul leaves their body after reading their partner's name. He stands in front of me mixing up the sticks, only one thought crosses my head. Not DaSilva, not DaSilva, not DaSilva. I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation and I let out a breath I've been holding in. Upon opening my eyes I can feel my soul leave my body, Albert DaSilva.
"Don't just stare at it, it isn't going to change?" Richardson says wanting me to announce my partner to the class.
I swallow the saliva that has accumulated in my mouth before saying, "DaSilva". An audible sigh of relief washes over the class. Albert is known for getting on Mr. Richardson's nerves in class and his grade reflects it, and just because it is a group project does not change Mr. Richardson's harsh grades for him. However I don't know why I am not upset, normally the thought of working with Albert is enough to nauseate me, but in practice, it seems to excite me. Why?
After an extensive explanation of the project that somehow doesn't define the project at all, Richardson ends his lecture early to let us make plans with our partners. I spin around in my chair to face the thorn in my side, to see him looking all too pleased. "What are you doing after school, cupcake," He says with a mischievous grin. Why can no one smile normally? Also cupcake? I am not a cupcake! Just ignore him and get this over with.
"To be honest I am surprised you are even planning on doing this project," I say, fully expecting to do all of the work.
He leans farther back on his chair still making eye contact with me, "if you are going to fail the project because of me, it would be impolite not to help" his hand goes over his chest to show mock sincerity. However, as his hand leaves the table he falls backward from his chair. The noise is loud enough to make me jump and I watched it happen. Mr. Richardson yells at him for falling out of his chair. Great, that is another five points off our project.
"I think we can work on the project separately, and just do half the work. I can do the chart, reading, and essay. You can do the PowerPoint and the poster" I say, desperate to not hang out with him.
"But what are you doing after school" Albert persists.
"Band practice, and then I am going home," I say hoping that he just lets it go.
This time leaning on his desk, he sets his head in his hands and looks at me. I can see every detail on his face, I can see faint lines connecting his freckles together. It looks like he tried to wash them off but the faint lines are still there. My eyes wander around his face until they land on his hazel eyes. He isn't saying anything but his eyes are begging. I am not giving in, my parents would never let me go to a guy's house that they never met before. That being said I don't have to tell them, but they will worry about me. I continue to argue with myself, but then I look into Albert's eyes again. I am making a mistake, I am making a mistake, my attempts to reason with myself are useless.
"But practice ends at five, you can pick me up by the pool doors" I commit. No going back now. My mom will be waiting for me on the other side of the school, I cannot let her see me get into his car.
DaSilva's eyes light up even more at me giving in, and he is now grinning ear to ear.
The rest of the school day goes by quickly, but all I can think of is, how I am lying to my parents. I am finally going to be free, I am going to live a little. Of course, my idea of living a little is lying to my parents to do homework, but it is living a little not living a lot. After we are dismissed from band, I practically grab my belongings and sprint to the other wing of the school. Usually, I would stay back to help the teacher clean up, but I cannot risk seeing my mom. Once I make it to the pool doors I see Albert leaning against his car. He spots me and smiles, motioning for me to join him outside. The air conditioner is blasting cold air, instinctively making me wrap my flannel around myself tighter. My phone rings and I see that it is my mom calling. Just let it ring, don't answer it.
"Why aren't you answering your phone?" Albert asks looking down at it.
"I don't recognize the number" I lie.
He just kind of gives me a look before saying, "it says mom at the top, and it has a photo of you two together on the screen". Right, instead of answering Albert or the phone, I simply decline the call and turn off my phone. This earns another strange look from Albert. "You could have just said you guys don't get along".
"No, I'm trying to rebel, live a little. I'm never allowed to go anywhere and I'm 17, I deserve some freedom" I say, being way too honest to the thorn in my side. I may call him a thorn but it dawns on me that all he does is mildly annoy me, but calling him a thorn sounds cool.
"You do know your great rebellion is doing homework, right" Albert is now chuckling, "kind of pathetic".
"What if I did this," I say quickly taking off my flannel slightly to reveal a shoulder. Never in a million years did I expect to be laughing with Albert DaSilva in his car rebelling, but here I am. The rest of the car ride, however, was silent and not the good kind either. We resort to listening to the radio instead. With my phone turned off I don't have anything to do, so I go back to studying Albert.
His ginger hair peaks out of his backward baseball cap and his hands are calloused. His lips are chapped and he has licked them 7 times before we reach his house. Pulling into his garage Albert turns off the music. Shuffling around to collect his things from the back. I simply grab my purse and binders and climb out of the vehicle. Shortly after he leads me into his basement. It isn't finished but behind the stairs, there are a couple of bean bag chairs and coffee table.
"My brothers shouldn't bother us down here," he says sitting in one of the two bean bags. I mimic his action and take out my laptop and History project. The thought of it makes me yawn, but then again I hear Albert's stomach grumble. "Why don't we order some pizza?" Albert phrases as a question but immediately start dialing a number, let me know that we are ordering pizza. "It will be here in thirty minutes"
The time before the pizza arrives, I am able to get through about half of the question of the reading, and Albert is still researching for the PowerPoint. However, after the pizza arrives all productivity comes to a halt. Ignoring the boring assignment, we focus on each other. I can feel Albert's eyes studying me while we talk. To be honest, I would usually be offended, but I am loving the attention. Even though Albert is possibly the most interesting person I know my body is just telling me to sleep.
"Before we get back to work, how about a siesta," I say looking at the boy I used to refer to as a thorn but now is tolerable. Albert is attractive, I have known this for a while, but it is easy to ignore when he is bothering you, but now I see the personality that matches the outside. This shouldn't be allowed, no one should be able to be this level of attractive and have this personality, it is unfair to every other person on earth.
"I don't see the harm in a nap," Albert says kicking his feet onto the bean bag I was sitting on. I take this as a cue to rest my torso on his bean bag. At some point, I rest my head on his chest, and I must admit he makes a good pillow too. I can hear his heartbeat against my head and it soothes me. I can feel myself dozing off when I feel Albert's fingers running through my hair. There is no other way to describe this situation other than, it just feels right.
"You know you're cute, cupcake," Albert says, half asleep.
"You're are not so bad yourself DaSilva," I say equally as exhausted. We fall into another silence but this time, it is the good kind. We fall asleep just like that, with my head on his chest studying his heart's rhythm and his hand tangled in my hair. Needless to say, neither of us set alarms, so neither of us woke up until mourning.