Vīgintī duo

-Sunday-

Walking into school the following Monday couldn't happen without the application of a healthy amount of dread and bluster. I haven't heard anything from Brock, and the way that Poe and Ronnie tell the story, he never made it back to the dance after Oakley unceremoniously knocked him the fuck out. There also weren't any stories about how he was found dead in the hallway, so it seems like he managed to survive the hit, even if his ego took a catastrophic blow in the process. I can't find it in myself to give a fuck right now, especially after the way he treated me.

The sun has just begun warming the relatively brisk morning air when the roar of my Harley rumbles through the parking lot, drawing eyes from every corner of the property. This is the first time I've ridden the Harley to school, and the surprised looks from the student body aren't exactly unexpected, but I pay them little mind. Although the adults of this town always regarded my father as some sort of low-life degenerate, I've always been seen as nothing but the perfect girly princess, so I'm sure this comes as a shock to the general student body.

Pulling up next to Poe's car, I put down the kickstand of the bike and shut off the engine. I usually ride the bike with my helmet, but I skipped that today in favor of my painstakingly perfect beach waves. It's like a mile drive, sue me. Nevertheless, I still pluck the stunning hand-painted helmet off of the back of the bike and carry it in with me. I never want to chance someone snagging something this personal of mine. I'll put it in a locker.

Something clicked in my brain the night of the dance. While Oakley and I were locked against one another, wrapped in a lust-filled cocoon and covered in rainfall, sparing exactly zero fucks-- all the bullshit just faded away. I realized that I don't care about appearances. I don't care about my clique and how they look to everyone else. I don't care if I'm the head bitch or not. I don't even care if people love me or hate me as long as all my friends like me. I'm not the girl that I was last year, and that's okay.

This is why, when my yellow threaded docs hit the dilapidated asphalt of the parking lot, the worn and rolled-up boyfriend jeans I'm wearing just kissing the tops of the toes, and the cropped worn black t-shirt, a few sets of eyes dart in my direction. I'm not stupid. I realize that I look like I just went through a reverse version of a makeover montage in a teen movie. I just really don't care. I feel more comfortable in my skin this morning than I have in years. It's like shedding an old skin that was altogether too tight and too loose at the same time.

My helmet dangles precariously from one finger when I swing through the hallway on my way to Veronica's locker. When I glide up to the open locker door, I lean back against the lockers beside it and shoot a warm smile at Veronica and Poe who were already locked in a conversation.

Veronica does a double take letting her eyes wander over my frame, taking in the changes. "Wow, Sunday. You look hot. I think you're officially the only woman that manages to make the grunge look work for you. Of course, you do," she shoots her eyes to mine with a deep sigh. "I'm jealous."

I quirk up the side of my mouth in a playful smirk. I hadn't anticipated that from her. She's always been the first one to remind us that we need to keep up appearances in order to stay on top. Maybe I'm not the only one that's changing this year.

Poe's lips are wrapped around the green straw of her frappucino as she considers me. "Did you ride your bike in today?"

I lift my mirrored aviators off of my eyes and rest them on top of my head before raising up my helmet to bring it into her eye-line. She shoots me a genuine smile before putting her arm around my shoulder in a one-armed hug, reminding me that my friends are ride or die and have been since grade school.

A slight uptick in the level of tension that always soaks the hallways draws my attention to the space behind me where Brock is bumping his chest against Oakley. Brocks's broad chest makes him appear more built than Oak, but ultimately he has no idea who he's trying to square up against.

I take a moment to let my eyes rake over Oakley as he cocks his head, an entertained smirk growing on his lips. God that's sexy. His confidence doesn't waver, nor should it. Although I haven't actually witnessed him fighting anyone, I know that his strength far surpasses Brock's. It far surpasses anyone else's.

I catch his gaze over Brock's shoulder, watching as the fire blooms in the amber depths of his irises when he takes me in. The shift in his attention, causes Brock to shift slightly, turning to see what has caught Oak's awareness, pulling himself to full height when he sees he's looking at me. His nostrils flare and the tops of his ears redden.

"Oh, I see You want my girl, is that it?" Brock's voice rings through the hall, drawing the attention of every last student milling through the din, even those who are trying to pretend that they're not witnessing the most interesting thing they've seen all year.

Pushing off the locker I was leaning against, I stride past Brock and directly to Oakley, before stepping up on my tiptoes and wrapping my arm around the back of his head, kissing him deeply. Oakley's hands immediately fall to my hips as he pulls me more tightly against him, dipping his tongue into my mouth, tasting me with a growl. When we separate, you could hear a pin drop in the hallway. All eyes are now trained on what's happening in front of Brock's locker. The buzz of the hallway came to a veritable halt.

I turn to face Brock, as Oakley snakes his arm around my back, pulling me tightly against his side. "What was that about your girl, Brock?"

The shockwave that tore through the hallway was palpable. Brock's friends are standing there with their brows raised and their jaws dropped while my friends are standing a few feet back, covering their mouths as they break into uproarious laughter.

Brock, on the other hand, looks like he's ready to kill someone. His face is comically red and if this were a cartoon, I'm sure that steam would be billowing out of his ears. Luckily, I see the punch coming before it happens. Having seen the ireful look on Brock's face a few times over the years, I know where this is going.

The moment that Brock lifts his hand to throw the punch, I use the wave of a finger to fling a locker door open, intercepting what would have been a powerful blow. It still was, but it landed against the blue metal door, causing a clangorous thump to ring through the quiet stretch of hallway like an explosion.

Brock bellows out in pain as the door swings back with a visible dent marring the thick metal. Grasping his hand against his chest with his face contorted in pain, he looks at the locker, then at Oakley and me, and back to the locker again as he tries to wrap his mind around what just happened. Good luck figuring it out Brock. It was literally magic.

Cocking my head to the side I give a tut, murmuring "I hope that wasn't your throwing hand," knowing full well that it was. I pull Oakley away from the tangle of football players and down the hall, leaving Brocks's lackeys to provide for him. When I get to Veronica's locker, I lean in and grab the books I'll need for my next couple of classes.

Poe and Ronnie are both fighting tears after watching what just transpired a few feet from them. They knew what Brock had done when I tried to leave the dance due to a painfully long text conversation between the three of us that took up a majority of my Sunday. But, I artfully left out the part about Oakley and me having our movie moment on my front lawn.

"So…" Poe trails off momentarily, "I guess you guys made up?"

I snort, closing the locker and progressing down the hall. Oakley shrugs at her, not knowing how much my friends do or do not know. I'm still not sure that I trust him enough to tell him who Poe is. The last thing I want to do is put her family in danger.

Oakley takes a deep breath, "Yeah, we're cool," he looks down at me, eyes dancing with mirth. "Right? We're cool."

I nod. "The coolest." I turn my attention toward Veronica, half expecting her to be pissed off. After all, what I did was essentially drop a live grenade in the fundamental clique hierarchy in front of the entire student body. The students in the hallway are still focused on us although several of them have the good sense to hide their stares. "I thought you would be pissed that I messed with the group."

Veronica wraps her arms around her books clutched tightly to her chest. "Honestly? Fuck Brock. There are way more important things to be focusing on this year." She comes to a stop in the hallway before looking up thoughtfully. "Who the hell am I?"

Chuckling at the epiphany that has been a long time coming, I wrap my free arm around her and pull her down the hallway with us. "You, Veronica, are a bad bitch that takes no shit from no one, including emotionally stunted football players."