Matters of the Hart

Chapter 5 - No one takes a blonde-hair bad boy seriously.

When we are teenagers, we think that the time we have in high school is the only time we get to really live the life. You know - act reckless, get the belly button pierced, or worse- a tattoo, maybe a couple STDs to go with it since everybody sticks to the 'get permanent body damage for free' theme.

Also, put our names on the waiting list for liver donation since alcohol poisoning will obviously take care of the part where you reach that stage. It goes without saying - always keep a donor handy. Ninety-percent people I knew were self-diagnosed alcohol addicts who felt proud of the fact that they were eighteen and consuming heavy amounts of alcohol already.

Now you ask me where I was going with this. The answer is simple. Which is the one place, which runs a tattoo business, played passing the parcel with girls and gave eighteen year-olds liver injury? That's right. It's a five-lettered word. Par-ty.

Most people acted like there wasn't a world in the universe beyond parties. People came to parties sober, went back drunk or drunk and with a black-eye because they tried to kiss another guy's girl. Some of them came with girl A, but left with girl B.

Then there were people like my sister, who got drunk off her face and asked me to help her back to the dorms since Cole could get to make it till the East Court but he was not to enter the gate of the girls' dormitory, although I think that would be like his dream come true. Creepy Cole.

In the beginning of the year I had made Lia promise that she wouldn't go alone and get s**t-drunk and put herself in danger and then drunk-dial me to help 'a sister in need,' which was her plan A all along. But then came plan B.

"But Thea," she began reasoning, "...it's our last year and we deserve to have all the fun we can. Once we walk out of those black iron gates - no more lying drunk on footpaths, no more dorm hook-ups." She plopped down on her back, across my single bed, her elbows digging into the mattress -supporting her torso in the air.

"Only responsibilities," she pouted, banging her head back down on the mattress, our hair flying in of our faces due to the strong wind coming from the large open window with a small-spaced balcony.

"I mean, there is this party tonight..." she said in a quiet voice, closing her eyes and testing the words lightly. I shook my head, sitting with my back against the wall at the head of the bed (single bunks and no head-boards) in my night suit pyjamas and a totally mismatched camisole (because comfort over fashion), my legs crossed Indian style, while my sister was bunking at the foot of the bed.

The bed was small, and when I said small. I meant it wouldn't even fit my entire length. I had about four inches to move about on either side and my feet always hung in the air at the foot of the bed when I slept.

I was currently revising the theorems of trigonometry; not because I suddenly loved trigonometry or anything like that. I needed to pass that class with a good grade this year.

"You should go if you want to, Lia. Just don't drink your ass off because I'm not getting up in the middle of the night to help you sneak into the room." I looked up from my text book, a warning look in my eyes. She was the only family I had left and I couldn't bear it if something happened to her.

In truth, I'd go back for her every time. She was my sister, and you don't leave family behind.

Cue Plan B.

"But I want to go with my sister," she whined. Yes, my sister Amelia Hart, the mother of Danaerys Targaryen who was the mother of dragons, she whined and if you thought that I didn't know where this conversation was heading, let me remind you that we may not have twin-telepathy but sometimes I knew my sister. I sighed, closing my book.

"After all, you don't leave family behind."

Melodramatic twin alert.

"I can't. I have to study Trig." I shook my head.

"Why?" she pouted. That pout would have worked on anyone on this planet, anyone except someone who had the exact same pout when they wanted something and that would be me exactly - twin things.

"Because I have problems to solve," I said in a duh tone.

"You're missing out on a party because of problems? Ugh, there are worse problems in the world, like…like population explosion! But do you see people crying about it? Do you? Do you? Let me tell you the answer to that. No! They don't cry about it. They drown themselves in cheap wine and pop out twins nine months later."

Any other time, I would laughed at her logic and little lecture about the relevance of population explosion to me attending a party but I had to hold my ground. "But this is not population explosion." I leaned back into the hard, white wall.

"Exactly my point!" she remarked loudly, getting off the bed and then all of a sudden she jumped back on the bed, landing on her knees. I wasn't even surprised. Sometimes that girl was like a six year old kid who had been fed cake and candies and Reese's pieces, all together and was on a permanent sugar rush. I sighed again.

"You only want me to come with so that you have a ride back home, right?" I raised my eyebrows at her and her face contorted into a sheepish smile as she smiled back cutely. We had the same smile, Lia and I. Dad always said we had our mother's smile but I never wanted to pay heed to it. I didn't have a mother.

"Please?" she stood back up on the bed, now standing straight. I looked at her confused but she only had to smirk back once and I knew what was about to come next.

"Pretty please with cherry named Lia on top. Please please please please please." Amelia Hart had started jumping on my bunk. Literally.

She was jumping and laughing like my bed was a freaking trampoline, her hair flying all over the place as she held no intention to stop. I couldn't help but chuckle. Who wouldn't? I was seventeen but my twin was still stuck at six years of age.

Honestly, I also feared that either she would break something of her body or I would have to sleep on the floor for the rest of the year. Told you, the girl was on a self-induced adrenaline rush.

"Fine, just get off my bed first," I laughed lightly and gripped her forearm just above her flailing wrist so she would stop jumping around like a hyper-valiant pre-teen that she acted like.

"Great! Now let's pick outfits." Obviously as you guessed, she got off the bed and ran before I could blink.

"But what about my homework?" I yelled but she had already begun picking outfits.

Lia looked back at me dramatically, her expression resembling one of offence. Slowly but dramatically, she put her right hand on her hip just below her sponge-bob pyjama top. Then, very intricately, she put her shoulder-length honey-brown hair over her shoulder and ended the whole one-minute dramatic solo with a hair flip. "Homework is for the weak."

Amelia Hart, ladies and gentlemen.

**********

The music was loud when we entered; and by loud I meant I-might-lose-my-hearing-if-I-stayed-any-longer kind of loud. The guy who threw the party - Troy Dawson - he was a senior, on the soccer team, and he was rich. Filthy rich.

I mean he called this house a bungalow when he sent out invites, and it turned out to be a mansion. I could only imagine; his mansion would probably be the size of Croatia.

I was in high waist black fitting jeggings and an onion-pink camisole that ended right above where my pants began. My waist-length hair were left open and straightened and my mascara and nude lipstick were in place.

I had paired it with black boots of three-inch heels which they went up to my mid-calf, fitting perfectly and my black bomber jacket to compete the overall look.

My sister went off with Cole and some of his barbaric friends, after making sure that I was okay. I didn't need her to babysit me. After all, she wanted to come to the party. I was forced to tag along. So I thought I should let her enjoy.

I was sitting alone by the platform in the kitchen, with a Kool-Aid in my hand. Growing up, I didn't have a lot of friends, but whoever I had considered friends were special to me.

I wasn't exactly anti-social as a lot of girls would in-aptly call me, but I wasn't a social butterfly who gave air-kisses either. Sometimes keeping to yourself was the best idea.

And although I wouldn't have minded holding a conversation with anyone right now, barring a few sober faces, most of them were pissed drunk.

Kids were dancing on the makeshift dance floor right in the centre of the room. Their sweaty bodies colliding with each other and they called it dancing. As if. Dancing was my first love. This, what they were doing was somewhere between twerking and dry-humping. I shuddered at the thought.

Instant couples were going upstairs, both drunk into un-knowingness and leaning on each other. I only silently prayed that they didn't tumble down and break their necks.

At the far corner, a puny guy was puking his guts out in a very expensive looking flower vase. Yuck.

"Hi, Thea." I heard my two-syllabled name and I turned around. Leaning across the kitchen counter was Noah, dressed in his signature black shirt, black jeans and of course, a black leather jacket. No surprise there. The only difference being the smile on his face. Is the world coming to an end or what?

"Hey Noah," I smiled back out of courtesy. I still had to figure out what this guy was playing at but a party was no place to do that.

One thing I had learnt in my seventeen years of existence was to never not believe in your instincts. My instinct was screaming at me, telling me that the last few weeks were not a co-incidence.

"You look bored," he c****d an eyebrow, opening a can of chilled beer and sipping on it casually. Well, I was bored and the puke-worthy scenery around me was not helping one bit. I just shrugged, hugging my jacket tighter to my upper body.

I wasn't cold. I just wanted to feel secure.

"Good observation, genius," I dead-panned." Lia should be around here but I lost sight of her. I am definitely very bored, Noah."

"Oh," he shook his head, exaggerating the 'o' so much that the 'h' got left behind, although his tone held way too much amusement than I could actually gauge.

"Lady Lia - child of Hades. Come to set the house on fire," he laughed out loudly, taking a perfect aim to throw the empty can of beer into the black spider-man themed trash-can (webs and all) about ten metres away, diagonally to my right.

Noah held the green can in the middle, between his thumb and the middle finger and the index finger resting at the lower end of the empty ready to propel it. His eyes narrowed as his stance tensed, now concentrating solely on his target, ready to get the shot in. Not so soon, mister. His wrist was extended, ready for the throw.

Opportunity was knocking at my door and I was taught at a very young age - to never let them go. So what did I do?

Naturally, I took it.

By it- I meant that very moment to push his very same arm. He staggered, obviously caught unawares, and he missed. The can landed right next to the bin. Star basket-ball player, my butt.

I laughed out so loud, I swear I saw some heads turning our way. One-half were laughing along with me (I kid you not) in their drunk state. The other half was made of two halves again. One half of which wondered why I was laughing, the other half - why I was laughing at Noah.

"You're no fun," he frowned playfully, rubbing the spot where I had pushed him. I hadn't even pushed that hard; it was a light shove but of course Noah was such a drama queen that he exaggerated it as if I had chopped his arm off.

"Oh Nonah, Nonah," I shook my head dramatically. "I never did endeavour for you to miss your shot, Nonah." I said, sighing playfully. "Maybe, you're just weak."

Noah tried to seem like he was very offended by my words, but the guy was trying hard to fight back the evidence of his true mood - a slowly growing smile. Useless efforts. Tsk tsk.

Thea -2 Noah -0.

But wait, I spoke too soon since Broody Noah was back- sullen expression, furrowed eyebrows, intent staring at my face for what felt like a very long time. I mean it wasn't unnerving, but his broody alter-ego was not much appreciated by me.

Remember how I spoke about instincts?

My instinct took the very same moment to bless me with some kickass advice- to run.

But since I was a brave girl who could hand Noah Stark his sorry ass by taking him down with the power of English grammar, I assured my instincts that I had already encountered every aspect to Noah Stark this year. Also, rude-boy Caleb Ridgewood seemed to hatefully acknowledge my presence too.

It can't get worse than this.

"You called me Nonah," began Noah, now wearing a slowly forming, knowing grin on his stupid face, "...which reminds me, Luke wants to say hi," he added innocently.

Why do I say these things?

After a long pause, I'd probably expected Noah to tell me something along the lines of, "Listen, I can't do the whole friendship thing. I was better off ignoring your existence. See you never!"

Never in a million years would I have ever, ever thought that I would end up calling him by his old pet-name that I had given him, and that me accidentally calling him that would make him smile this wide.

Surely, there was a catch? I needed to figure this out. Oh God, at this rate, I'd be needing a psychologist very soon, especially one that specialised with teens and teen-life crises.

Speaking of figuring things out, Lucas Roe wanted to say hi? Oh, Luke…

Ever since man understood Neuro-science, psychology has been researched vastly for non-organic disorders of the brain. Mania, Schizophrenia, Delusion-syndromes and so much more.

But Lucas Alexander Roe didn't fit into any of these. Yes, Alexander because he always took pride in his middle name. Lucas was, if I had to put it lightly, was a slight deviation from the average homo sapien. How he was with the Broody Brothers was a mystery to the universe too; it certainly remained and shall always remain a mystery to me.

Lucas was blonde.

Literally. Only a few people actually know that he dyes his hair a couple of shades darker so it would look more...well, dark, broody and themed since the others were naturally dark-haired. It is an attempt at fitting in, really.

Lucas' parents, Lulea and Victor were rich, rich and snobbishly rich people who were away cruising eleven months of the year, and the one month that they spent at home, they took mini-vacations away from home, always leaving poor Lucas behind. He had no siblings.

Most of the time he was just a lonely soul around campus, who tries hard to get accepted for how he was and who he was - which is how he got girls.

The Broody Brothers never wanted him to change; they were okay with the fact that his natural hair colour was golden-blonde. Only Lucas wasn't; he said and I quote, "No one in this world takes a blonde-hair bad boy seriously."

Bad boy, yeah right, I scoffed. I wouldn't take him seriously anyway - blonde or brunette. That guy was worse than five kids on a sugar rush going 'trick or treat'-ing on Christmas! Yup, that was the level of crazy this guy was on - it was pretty much impossible to match it.

Obviously, his physical appearance resembled that of a true bad-boy. It's just his personality that didn't match it. I had nothing against Luke.

In fact, he and I used to be really good friends once, him always goofing around; sneaking out of the dorms to spray-paint cars and throw eggs on random people at night - I was his partner in crime when Noah wasn't available.

Luke used to be on the soccer team once too and he scored all the time - for the opposition team.

Poor guy never got the fact that a defender is supposed to guard the goal-post and the goal-keeper. Luke here, just wanted to goal. So he would dribble the ball and kick it into his own goal-post, giving the other team a point. Of course, he wasn't on the team anymore. Funnily enough, he got kicked out.

And that was an uneventful day in the life of Lucas Roe.

"Oh?" I whispered, now focusing back at him. I realised that I had been staring at the guy for the past ten minutes. He probably already thought that I needed mental help.

"Yeah, and the best part is - he's been here all long, hiding behind that pillar right there!" Noah pointed out happily to the giant white, round pillar around five feet away from where I was perched on a stool. Following Noah's finger, I turned my head to take a good look at that supposedly suspicious pillar, before pointedly looking back at Noah.

I didn't believe Noah one bit here; Luke wouldn't just hide behind a pillar and stay hidden in one place for so long. He didn't have that kind of patience.

"Dude, you can't drop the bomb on her like that. You got to be subtle!" came an urgent voice - from behind the same white, pleated pillar.

What was I thinking?