Yeah, That's Funny
1131 Words
"Snow? C'mon." She smacked me playfully on my super white knee.
I couldn't help but notice how sun-kissed and perfectly shaved her legs were compared to mine. I'd missed a spot or two - or three - in the shower this morning.
Sighing, I nodded reluctantly and pulled up my tube socks.
"What's the only thing that runs slower than Snow White?"
I double-knotted my shoelaces, waiting.
"Come on, ask."
"Fine." I grimaced, leaning my elbows on my thighs. "What?"
A strangled snicker escaped her glossed lips. "A snowman," she said, laughing hysterically. "Get it? Because it's snow, and it can't run because it has to legs."
I forced a smile. "Yeah, that's funny." Standing, I slammed my locker with more oomph than intended. The noise reverberated through the locker room.
I wasn't angry.
No point.
It was true.
Running and me were like oil and water, or rocks and battery acid; we didn't mix.
Still, I didn't enjoy hearing the jokes very much.
"I'll see you later." I stood, clutching my fists at my sides.
"Hey, we still watching a movie tonight?" She took hold of my wrist, her voice pouty, and I knew I'd hurt her feelings.
That wasn't my intention. She hadn't come up with the joke, after all.
Without a doubt, I knew she wouldn't do that.
"Of course. Want to meet at the regular spot around nine?" I asked, trying to relax the strain out of my face.
A brilliant smile lit her up. "Yep, I'll see you after my shift at Bertilini's. Invite the guys if you want."
The guys she referred to were my next-door neighbors, who also happened to be my best friends.
Their names were Bart, Sebastian, Daniel, Dorian, Gabriel, Heathcliff, and Salvatore.
They lived in a mansion with an old professor by the name of Adam Henry.
I called him Professor Pops because that's what the guys called him.
He wasn't their real father as far as genetics went, but I'd never seen a man love his sons more than Professor Pops loved his adopted boys.
Sometimes I got a little jealous since my dad and stepmother were gone a lot - like right now.
They were in St. Bart's doing what, I had no idea.
Staying away from me, probably.
"Cool. See ya." I raised a hand in farewell and pushed open the door that led out onto the field behind the school.
"Au revoir," she returned, waving.
I smiled to myself as I went outside.
It seemed French was the latest foreign language Cindy decided to study in her free time. She'd already tried to learn Italian, Chinese, and Spanish.
Chewing a nail, I headed down the stairs. One of my steps was too big, and I started to fall forward. Stretching out my arms, I braced for the inevitable, closing my eyes out of habit.
Skinned hands and bruised knees, along with embedded pavement rock, would be a part of my very near future, along with a possible trip to the ER.
But the fall never came.
Someone had a hold of me.
He or she smelled like sweat and spicy cologne: oranges and cinnamon, maybe.
The chest felt taut, and the hands seemed large. I was betting a guy caught me.
Slowly I peered through my lashes.
Dazzling hazel eyes watched me. His lips turned up in a half-smirk.
"You should be more careful. That fall would've hurt."
"You're singing to the choir, buddy," I said, blushing as I flopped around like a dying fish.
Then made matters worse by trying to stand and smacked him in the mouth with my forehead.
A drop of rosy, red blood immediately formed on his bottom lip.
He helped me onto my feet, amusement dancing in his eyes.
I was shocked he didn't immediately run away.
All guys did.
"Sorry about that," I said, studying his handsome features.
His hair was a sandy blond, and he was tanned.
I absently noticed that he was at least six inches taller than me, making my heart do an excited pitter, skippity-skip, pat since most guys were either shorter or as tall.
I'd always had a thing for taller guys, not that it mattered. I'd never had a real boyfriend, and I was pushing sixteen.
"It's okay," he said, a strange look on his face.
I couldn't figure it out but guessed it fell somewhere between abhorrence and shock.
I touched his lip with my thumb and wiped the blood on my shorts.
Yeah, not the most enchanting of moves. "No, it isn't. Really, is there anything I can do? Help you find the nurse? Get you an ice pack?"
I guessed that since I hadn't seen him around before, he must be the new guy all the girls had been gossiping about.
Not that I could blame them.
Salem, Massachusetts, wasn't very big, and most of the families had lived here for generations, so a new student propelled the school into a frenzy the way blood excited sharks.
"Nah, I'll be fine." I noticed his black shorts hung low on his hips, and, if it wasn't for the white tank, I might've seen more than I'd bargained for.
As it was, I was able to see a lot. Muscles rippled down his arms. He had a trim waist and great-looking legs.
I blushed brighter, guessing both cheeks were now the color of radishes.
"Okay." I glanced at his running shoes. "Are you on the track team?"
"I hope so. Coach is having me try out."
Oh, no. If he didn't do well, it'd be my fault.
"Good luck," I said, looking up.
"Thanks, but I don't need luck." He smiled, showing two straight rows of white teeth. Reminded me of a toothpaste commercial. "You wanna watch me?"
"Yes, sure." I smiled back.
He didn't seem upset or hurt, and his lip wasn't even swollen.
"I'm Chace Charming," he said as we headed toward the field.
I snickered, and he gave me a sideways look.
"It's nice to meet you, Charming. My name is Snow White."
One glance was all it took to know he understood what was so funny.
"What were our parents thinking?" he asked. "I've considered having my last name changed. But if you can deal with yours, I guess I can deal with mine."
He bumped into my side. I would've gone flying, except faster than I thought possible, he grabbed hold of my arm and held me vertical.
"I know, right?" I couldn't help the punch of excitement running through my veins.
I was glad Chace and I walked together because I tripped two more times before he led me to a bench, where I gave the coach a thumbs-up and happily sat for the duration of practice.
- Writer
