CHAPTER THREE | IN ALL CHAOS, THERE IS CALCULATION

Glide.

Leap.

Breathe.

Fall.

Repeat.

I gritted my teeth in frustration. The task at hand had me so slick with sweat the goosebumps wouldn't raise on my bare arms. I was covered in only leggings and a tank top. My hair fell into my eyes as I picked myself back up, steadying my weight on the side panels and smooth glass.

"You look like you need help," gracefully, Fritz skimmed the surface of the ice, coming to a stop beside me. I shook my head, rubbing my scraped elbow. The ice bit into the skin stinging, but not enough to bleed.

"I'm fine," I gritted out. With no music to inspire me, I was a total lost cause. We weren't allowed to pick songs until we got the main moves down - the leaps, spins, axels. I was going mad from the way they were pushing us.

"What song're you gonna pick?" Fritz covered the area I was struggling with easily, pausing to do a quick butterfly jump a good seven feet away from me when the coach glanced our way. I evened out my breathing and focused on the smooth ice underneath my feet.

The sound of my skating blades cutting into the ice made me calm down a bit as I answered, "Not sure yet."

"I might pick a Katy Perry song or something," he answered, squaring his broad shoulders and lifting his left foot up, skating backwards slightly.

I snorted with laughter, my eyes concentrating on the scratched ice. I let out a small, staccato huff and did a quick bracket turn, cutting Fritz away from me, honestly needing to be alone if not for a few minutes at least. 

Skating was my element. It had been since I was four. The moment my foot had touched the ice I knew - this was it.

I didn't know if I'd ever get to the Olympics, or something big like that. I've made it this far. But what would the odds be for me? I was just some small-town girl, not even a woman yet.

Then again, when was sixteen considered old?

"Martyn!" Lucy's angry tone had my head snapping toward her, so fast stars blotched my sight. "What are you doing? We're practising hydro blading, Bristol! Not willy-nilly!" 

"Sorry," I held myself still, my shoulders slumping in defeat. 

Lucy, still not satisfied, came to stand near where I was. She was wearing Converses. On ice. It ticked me off slightly - this woman was our coach, guidance, instructor for Christ's sake. 

Oh God. I was beginning to sound like my mother.

"Try hyro blading," she hissed, "a deep outside edge, and a triple axel."

"Those don't go too well-" I tried, but she just tapped her foot on the ice impatiently. I gritted my teeth, angrily tightening my pony tail and skating to the inner rim. Taking a deep breath, I poised myself and spun, skating backwards, almost sideways.

Outside edge, I tilted my body backwards and threw my head back, the passing colours on the rim of the edged glass nothing but a blur. My head spun slightly as I angled my arms above my head, and leaped.

One, two, three.

I fell back with a staccato burst of ice, a triumphant grin on my face. Looking up, I saw Lucy looking pleased with my work.

"Now," she said. "Practise those moves."

I nodded once, lifting my arms to start again.

***

"Look, another bitch," Hilly said casually as we drifted through the crowded corridor. We were to meet Fritz and James in front of the gymnasium, and then off to the common room. I followed Hilly'e look to see a girl with dark blond locks and equally dark eyes. I frowned.

"How can you tell?"

"She's our representative for the figure skating," Hilly explained. My mouth formed an 'o' - the girl with the performance dress the first day of practise. That's why she seemed so familiar. "I mean, she's good and all but hot damn she is a class-A bitch. It sucks sharing a name with her."

"Hm?" I raised a brow.

"Her name's Hillary Finnegan. She's in upper sixth and we used to be best friends. Then she became a bitch so I decided to screw off." Hilly thought for a moment, tapping her light blue-coated nails on her English Literature book.

"Mm," I dismissed the subject, wincing when my shoulder got shoved into a wall. "Watch where you're going," I bit out, flipping my hair over my shoulder simultaneously in a 'bitch-don't-fuck-with-me' look.

I could hear the grin in the deep timbre of his voice, "Sorry there, Twinkle Toes. Didn't quite catch you."

I gaped. "Evan?"

"I go here - what, do you expect me to live in the dorms and just not go to classes?" He quirked a brow, and I shook my head.

"Not exactly," I shrugged. "Figured you just inhabit the place. I've not seen you in the halls - or class."

He scoffed. "I'm in four of your classes, you're just too daft to notice."

"Are you calling me stupid?" I accused, setting my hands on my hips. 

He thought for a moment, "No, just incapable to process the sentences that I am forming, directed at you."

I scowled. "You fucking twat."

"Woo-hoo, I'm a vagina," he waved his hands around, "I feel so special."

I rolled my eyes. "You're such a kid!"

Evan frowned mockingly. "I thought I was female genitalia?"

I pursed my lips. I was quick to anger and that flame of anger burned for long, believe me. I was also a very, very dangerous person. "Shut up."

"Your comebacks have me at a loss for words."

"If I punched you, you'd be at a loss for words!" I shot back lamely, cringing at the horrible-ness of my comeback. 

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Well ... I suddenly need a cigarette."

"Go suck a-"

Hilly clapped a hand over my mouth. I turned to glare at her, suddenly realising that she was still here. "What?" The sound came out muffled, but harsh.

"Let's just go to the common room, yeah?" She suggested, her eyebrows lifting slightly. I rolled my eyes again but turned to follow her.

"Bye, Twinkle Toes!" Evan called, waving exaggeratedly. I scrunched up my nose and didn't say anything back, just running my hand through my hair - which was smooth for once.

"He's such an ass hole," I muttered through my teeth, and we continued our way through the hall.

Hilly thought for a moment, "You wanna know what I think?"

I turned to her. "Hm?"

She gave me a half-grin. "That you two are just a relationship waiting to happen." At her words my mouth fell open. What the actual hell was she implying?

Not even implying! Laying it out.

"No, I mean," I stuttered, my face flushing with anger. "I hate him! He's such a bitch, and a fucking twit at that!"

"Bristol," she said in a mocking tone. "You do realise how cliche this is."

"What, there's no shirtless werewolves or sparkling vampires?" I asked, cocking a brow up. She tugged a lock of my hair impatiently. 

"No, I mean, a co-ed dorm with the mysterious boy who never talks? Hillary's been having go's at him, she never amounts to anything," with a quick glance backward, she twirled a few strands of her light hair around her index finger. When she let it go, it bounced downwards and she twirled it again. "This is actually the first time he's ever said something in front of all of us that was more than two sentences - three, at the most."

"Probably because I annoy him," I shrugged at that. We were nearing the actual gymnasium, and I couldn't see the two boys anywhere. "They're late," I commented.

Hilly groaned, "When are they not? Jesus. I've got biscuits thought, want some?"

Together we plopped onto the ground, the dust lifting a bit. She took a packet of peanut butter cookies from her back pack and handed me one. I bit into it, looking up as I did so. The sky was darkened with grey clouds.

"Does it rain here a lot?" I asked.

"It's London," she replied instantly. "Of course it does. English weather is something you can't predict."

"Mm," I nodded. I was suddenly yearning for Canada, hell I'd even go as stereotypical as to say I could almost taste my grandmother's home made pancakes with maple syrup. 

***

"Dammit," I squeezed the tube of cinnamon toothpaste once more, willing even a centimeter of cinnamon gel to seep out. But, with the shit luck that I had, nothing happened. "Really."

I had three options.

Option one - I could use the simple mint toothpaste Evan had most likely used, and throw up because it was mint, of all freaking flavours. Mint sucked. I loathed it. The scent of it made me want to retch.

Option two - I could go to sleep without brushing my teeth. I shuddered at the idea. Personal hygene was a big thing to me; the thought of doing nothing to clean my teeth sounded atrocious.

Option three - I could ask Evan where the nearest drug store was, so I could get my normal, cinnamon toothpaste. 

I bit my lip, staring at my reflection in the mirror. It was a Friday night. Evan was actually going to a party in three hours, as he'd so rudely informed me. 

"Evan," I called, outside of his bedroom door.

"What?" He asked. I heard him set something down.

I sighed. Was I really going to do this?

God dammit.

For your freaking toothpaste, Bristol.

"Where's the nearest pharmacy?" I instantly wanted to take those words back and go to sleep without brushing my teeth. I must've sounded like a total prick.

The door swung open, revealing him in a dark grey shirt and straight leg jeans. His hair was messy and the look on his face was sardonic.

Evan definitely looked better than I did at the moment. I was sporting a lazily draped outfit, clad in leggings and a large Yale jacket, which was some extravagant university in America. It wasn't even mine, something I just took last minute from Canada.

He gave me a once-over, "Why do you need to know?"

I stupidly held up my empty toothpaste tube. "Er ... I ran out of toothpaste?"

"There's a full one," he pointed into the washroom. "In there. Unless you can't comprehend what I am saying, do I need to show you?"

I glared at him. "No, you twat. I ... it's yours?" I tried. I wasn't about to explain a fucking sob story over how much I hated the mint flavour. 

"Sharing is caring?"

"But you don't care."

He frowned at me, then sighed. "What the actual shit is wrong with my toothpaste?" Evan rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're some mysophobic person. I think that qualifies for OCD, as well."

I gaped. "What? No! I just ..." was this even worth it? "Unless you want to be cleaning up my sick, I suggest you tell me where the nearest drug store is. Or anywhere that sells toothpaste."

Evan pouted. "For the record, it'd be you cleaning it up. Fine. There's an Asda about fifteen minute drive from here, Tesco's only thirty."

"A drive."

"Yes, that's what I said," he backtracked slowly. 

I scowled. "Don't talk to me like that."

"What ever do you mean, Martyn?" Evan's voice still held the deep, mocking tone. My scowl dug deeper into my skin.

"I mean, stop talking to me like I'm five. I don't even have a license, Fraver, how the fuck am I supposed to get there?"

Evan glanced at his watch. "I can take you?" he offered.

If I'd been drinking something, I would've spit it out.

My mouth fell open and I was betting all of my money I looked like a very unattractive fish. "What?" my voice was higher than I intended.

"I can take you...?" And the mocking tone was back. 

I scowled. "I thought you hated me."

"I'm not a great fan of you, I just figured I'd do an acquaintance a favour ... that is, if you're even accepting?" He arched a brow, one hand finding his hip.

My jaw ticked. "Um, yeah, right. That - that'd be great."

When I looked back up at him, he was smirking, twirling his keys round his finger. "Well then, Twinkle Toes, better put on some boots. It's cold outside."

***

"The branch of science concerned with the properties of matter and energy..." I mumbled along as I wrote the words down. "...distinguished from that of chemistry, and biology. Includes heat. mechanics, light, other forms of radiation."

I glanced back to the text in my book. Physics deals with matter on scales ranging from sub-atomic particles - the particles that make up the atom...

I groaned, flexing my sore fingers. "Physics - is - everything." I added at the bottom of the page, my handwriting small and cramped. I sighed in relief - my physics was done. 

I basically put the 'pro' in 'procrastinating'. I'd been a dumb ass and saved all of my homework for Sunday night, like a stupid person.

I glanced down at my English Literature preparing sheet. We'd been studying Tennyson and Coleridge for a while. We were only at unit one, and were studying the Gothic genre.

There was a knock at the door suddenly. My head snapped there so fast my neck felt like it was twisted.

"Ow!" I yelped. "Shit."

Rubbing my neck, I called a, "Who is it?" Evan was out with a project group, down at the library. It was nearing eight o'clock. He wasn't due until nine-ish.

I stood to open the door, rubbing my neck with one hand. Out there stood a tall lady, surly and scary-looking. She stood taller than me, and that was rare. Most women are shorter than me, but I had to tilt my head back to get a good look at her.

"Um ... hi." I bit my lip. Shit, Bristol Martyn. If we get out of here alive I will fucking slap myself. 

"Miss Bristol Martyn, yes?" She cocked a thick brow and I was beginning to wonder if she truly was a woman. She could've been a man in a chic pantsuit for all I knew.

I nodded, my fingers clenching on the door frame. "Yes, that would be me."

"Is that Evan Fraver boy here?"

Oh my God, he's the problem. I will fucking stab him when he gets back.

"Not at the moment, no. Why do you ask?" I was nervous, my stomach in knots. If he'd done something illegal, I'd smack him upside the head.

She scowled. "We always have to double the surprise inspections when it comes to him," my mouth fell open, but should I have been surprised? "Seeing as he isn't here, he'd get a chance to run if he's somewhere else. I'm sorry for interrupting you, miss Martyn."

"That's quite all right," my voice was too high, I'd never gotten into trouble that much. Evan Fraver, you dead man.

Once she retreats down the hall I smal the door closed, my back pressing to it as I snorted with laughter.

Evan fucking Fraver.

A/N: 

I'm so sorry for keeping the wait long! I honestly had NOT meant to! I just lost track of time?

Translation: I've been a lazy shit and I've not come up with many ideas for these chapters.

I hope this chapter was good, and long (that's what she said). Note that this book is in Bristol's point of view, she's originally from Canada.

So ...

A 'toque' is basically a knitted beanie/hat.

Also, we're set in LONDON, ENGLAND. So the terms here also will be different than what some of you might be used to. 

A biscuit is a cookie, and they're not really called cookies much unless they're chocolate chip. At least, that's what I've spoken like.

My secret if I'm American, Canadian, British, or maybe something completely different like Swedish or French. I'll let you figure it out :D Hope you liked the chapter, and there is our Evan Fraver to the side.

Cheers!

Until next time,

~Jayy