CHAPTER TWO | TRYING TO BELIEVE IN YOUR SILENT OWN WAY

"I am home," I said loudly as I walked through the threshold, dropping my skates on the carpet. Evan the Asshole wasn't in the room, but there was the sound of water running so I assumed he was in the bathroom. "Home, sweet home."

Even I was surprised at how fake that sounded.

Sighing, I noticed my bag wasn't on the floor of the den anymore. Evan must've moved it ... to someplace.

I wandered around the dormitory until I found a door, and a note stuck onto it. On it were the words, Your room.

Cautiously opening the door, I stepped inside and surveyed the area. There was nothing in the room except a bare bed and my bag. I sighed deeply through my nose, stepping further in and shutting the door behind me, making sure to tear off the paper. 

It was nearing one o'clock now. We'd spent way too much time at Jackson and Rye, and I was tired. Drained. 

Stripping of my leggings and shirt, I pulled on plain flannel pyjama pants and a loose Ramones top. I sighed, flopping back onto the bed and scrunching my nose at the musty scent of my room. I heard the water shut off but I didn't make any move to greet my new dorm mate. He was an ass, plain and simple.

My eyes were wide open as I stared up at the off-white ceiling. I had half the mind to pack my iPod, but I found myself too lazy to get it. 

Great.

Outside, I heard a door shut and then lock. The dorm's walls, I assumed, were paper-thin. I could hear him twisting the lock and a loud groan sounded from across the hall. I smirked to myself. He could actually be a normal teenager, not some sardonic asshole.

Shifting my shoulders to find a more comfortable position, I threw my head back and, with wide eyes, looked out the window on the opposite side of the room.

Rain pattered softly on the pane, most likely wetting everything outside.

I sighed. Great.

***

 The clock read eight thirty-seven as I loped around the small kitchen, trying to find something edible to cook. There was a lot of junk food, actually. How could Evan live off of just that?

Maybe we have a canteen or something.

Eh.

Opening the refrigerator, I grabbed a pack of sliced turkey meat and some mayonnaise, deciding to make a sandwich with what little provisions we had. Turning around, I saw my dark haired dorm mate by the doorway of the kitchen, making me gasp.

"Holy fuck!" I cried, dropping the mayonnaise and turkey.

"What's up, twinkle toes?" He stepped forward, wearing only a big sweater that practically showed half of his chest, and picked up the dropped sandwich supplies.

"Don't call me that," I said automatically. He shrugged. "And I'm making dinner with what little edible food we have."

He glanced at the mayonnaise and turkey in his hands, then back at me. "Edible? You're some health nut?"

My cheeks flamed. "No. I'm just trying not to die of a cardiac arrest by the end of the term."

Evan rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Your uniforms came in, by the way. A week ago."

"And you didn't tell me?" I raised a brow skeptically. 

"Nope," casually placing the sandwich fixings on the marble counter, he reached up and opened a cabinet, taking a glass out. "They're in the sliding door closet of your room. In a box. I think they sent a medium."

Was he playing civil now? "Thanks," my voice was flatter then I'd originally intended. 

He turned slightly to glare at me, a glass cup in hand. "You could be nicer, you know."

I rubbed my palm over my face, closing my eyes and sighing. "Mm, whatever. We need to go grocery shopping or something, because the food we have is ridiculous."

"You're bloody ridiculous."

"Your face is bloody ridiculous," I shot back lamely, suddenly not hungry anymore. I put the untouched food away, as he filled the cup with water from the tap. 

"Whatever, twinkle toes," a smirk tugged at the edges of his lips and I rolled my eyes.

"I'm going to sleep. Goodnight."

"School starts at eight thirty," he reminded as I walked out of the dimly lit kitchen.

"Mm," although he couldn't see me, I couldn't help but raise my middle finger into the air. 

***

"Miss Bristol Martyn, what a pleasure," I walked into the Physics room. I was in upper sixth, whatever that meant. The bus had come at eight fifteen and I was still incredibly jet lagged, meaning my hair was a frizzy mess and my face was probably still sleep-filled.

"Mhm, yeah," I glanced at my new Physics teacher, and she nodded. She took out a large book from under her desk, handing it to me.

"I'm Mrs. Moore, your new Physics teacher," Jesus, how long could she talk? My back pack felt heavy on my shoulders, though it was filled with nothing but two binders and a few notebooks. In my hands was the Physics textbook I was given.

"Yup," the class was talking quietly amongst themselves. 

"Class," she called everyone to attention. "We have a new student."

"No shit," I heard someone mumble under their breath.

"Would you like to introduce yourself, Bristol?"

"Not really, no." I shrugged. 

A small crinkle appeared between her eyebrows. "Ah. Well then. You may go take your seat next to Hillary. Hillary, please, raise your hand."

The tall, preppy looking girl in the near back of the room quickly shot her hand up, looking out of place in the room of bright-eyed teens. 

What? I liked to observe.

I made my way there, sitting quietly at the wooden desk beside her. My eyes concentrated on the words carved into the glazed surface.

"Hi," she said excitedly. "I'm Hilary, but most people call me Hilly."

I turned slightly, tucking a strand of dark hair behind my ear. Her platinum hair was short, pixie-cut, and her fringe was falling into her warm brown eyes. A small smile crept onto my lips as we locked eyes.

"Bristol," I said easily. A small pang went through me as I thought; she looked like someone from back in Canada. But her attitude was way different.

Hilly raised her shapely eyebrows, which were nearly the same silvery shade as her hair. "You're in the figure skating championship, yeah?"

"Mhm, how can you tell?" I glanced up for a moment to see we still had a good two minutes before class actually begun. 

"Because you speak more-so like a Canadian, but there's a lot of other accents in there that I can't exactly figure out," she full-on grinned at me, and I found myself smiling back.

"Canadians mostly sound like Americans, eh?"

"The eh, I knew it," she shook her head, amusingly. "Plus, some words sound really weird."

"Thanks." My voice was flatter than intended.

"Not as an insult," she insisted. 

"As many of you know," Mrs. Moore broke in, slamming her teacher's hand guide onto her large desk top. "Physics is the study of matter and energy in space and time. Everything is Physics. How energy and time are related, mass, volume - everything. Now, please open your text to page one forty-six, and who'd like to volunteer for the first paragraph?"

Class went on uneventfully, mostly explaining how the universe works and what is matter. I would've been studying this back in Canada so it wasn't anything new. The teachers had prepped us for this at the end of the year.

"This is so boring," Hilly leaned back in her seat; we still had a good fifteen minutes of class left.

"I find it interesting," the concept of time and everything had always intrigued me. The endless universe, theories of how the beginning of time had started, everything was very interesting to me. It was the most part as to why I wanted to be either a Physics or Astronomy major. 

She grumbled something under her breath. "What class you've got next?"

"Geo."

"What?"

"Geography, woman." I shrugged, flipping the page in my text. Shaking my hair out of my eyes, I silently wished for a hair tie to magically appear.

As if reading my mind, Hilly pulled an extra band tie from her blazer pocket, "Here. It looks like you need one."

"Thanks," I whispered back, tying my dark locks into a messy bun. She smiled at me.

"It sucks, I've got theatre studies next," she shrugged, blowing a few strands of platinum fringe out of her eyes, only for the strings of blonde to fall back into her vision. "Fuck."

A shrill, drawn-out sound brought my attention to the front of the room. Mrs. Moore clapped her hands, and set a dozen packs of papers on the edge of her desk.

"Take a study guide on your way out! It'll help for your first quiz," she insisted. I stood from my seat, as did Hilly. My new seat mate glanced at me.

"The guides do shit to help you, just to let you know. It's bull, just a bunch of fill-in-the-blank malarkey that has nothing to do with actual physics. Most of us just take it to make it seem like we've studied." So, following her advice, I stuffed a packet into my back pack on the way out.

***

"I usually eat lunch in the common room," Hilly explained as we made our way through the thickening hallway, which was thriving with upper and lower sixth form. "I'm not much of a people person."

"I'm not really, either," I admitted. "But I have a few friends going here ... maybe we'll run into them."

I was actually hoping to run into Fritz and James at the moment. They made everything so light and frilly and it was fun to watch them horse around.

"So I heard you're co-ed-ing with Evan Fraver," she spoke casually.

"Who told you?"

"No one had to. I saw you both leave the same dorm this morning," she thought for a moment. "Well, him first ... you came out, like, fifteen minutes later, looking like shit."

I groaned. "My alarm didn't wake me."

"That, or you hit snooze nine times?" I had to laugh at this. It was true - I might've actually broken the screen from slamming my hand on snooze more than once.

"Yeah, maybe," we strolled down to what she called the common room, which was made up of several chairs and a couple of tables. The lights hanging from the ceiling made the room feel cozy.

I glanced around the room, "Are we in Hogwarts or something?" I asked playfully. There were a couple year elevens gossiping in the corner, and sixth form people everywhere.

Hilly grinned at me. "Close."

"Hey, Bristol!" I glanced to see who was calling my name and found James, his fiery hair combed perfectly into place. "Hi! I was waiting for Fritz, he was getting drinks."

Hilly sent me a confused glance.

"Oh," I said quickly, my eyes flashing between the two of them. "Hilly, this is James. James, this is Hilly."

James gave Hilly a quick once-over. He scrutinised her white-blonde hair to the skirt that she wore. "Hm ... you aren't here to corrupt my Bristol in to cheerleading or whatever?"

Hilly grimaced. "Of course not."

The scowl was immediately wiped off of James's face, and in its place was a bright grin. "Then I think we'll be great friends."

***

My Maths folder was already heavy by the time I trudged to the bus stop. Mr. Clayworth had made us take so many notes I was pretty sure my right hand had cramped.

"You don't look happy," I turned my head and, sure enough, Evan was leaning against the metal pole of the stop, giving me an amused look as he raised a cigarette to his mouth.

"No shit," I muttered. I was in a shitty mood because Hilly had no other classes with me except Physics, and I only had a total of three classes with Fritz and James.

Not to mention I felt like my hand was about to fall off my arm.

"Isn't it a bit illegal to be smoking right now?" I was surprised there were no other students at the stop. "Where are all the other people, why aren't they here?"

"Here, being where?" He took a puff from the cancer-stick and tilted his head back, letting the ribbons of smoke draw into the cool air.

"The bus stop."

"There's a football game, or, as the Americans call it, soccer," he glanced at me.

"For the record, I'm not American."

"I know."

I rolled my eyes, and kicked away a stone that was sat in front of my ballet flats. I'd no figure skating practise 'til Wednesday, and I was thankful. I could barely wear sneakers without my feet screaming in protest.

"Can I see your feet?" I turned to Evan with wide eyes, and he gave me a pointed look back.

"What?" I gave him a disbelieving stare. "No, you creep! Why?"

"I heard that figure skater's feet are really fucked up," he rolled his eyes. "I don't have a foot fetish, I swear."

"Still, no! That's fucking weird, you know?" His dark eyes pierced mine as I denied to let him look at my feet. My feet weren't that bad, just bony and pale and they seemed to small for my 5'8 stance. 

"Sorry, twinkle toes. Didn't know I touched a nerve," Evan grinned at me, the bastard. Come to think of it, most of my body was kinda pale and bony ...

Now is not the time to cry over how you're built like a thirteen-year-old, Bristol!

"Isn't smoking illegal? Aren't you like, sixteen?" I asked once more.

He shrugged, tossing it down and stepping on it to put out the ashed flame. "And? I'm not sure I care about the law. Seventeen, by the way."

"Mm." I literally had nothing else to say. I was rooming with this mysterious, infuriating, now bordering delinquent boy, for a year.

A bloody year!

The double-decker bus approached the stop, and I flexed my fingers to get the feeling back in them. Sighing, I moved towards the entrance and drop two quid into the small collecting-box, situating by a window at the far side of the vehicle.

Taking my iPod from my pocket, I managed to maneuver my headphones onto my head with one hand and turn up the volume. All I could think of was the shitload of homework I had and how was I supposed to balance homework and skating like this?

The most recent song I'd picked for a skating competition was actually off of a video game. Iron was a last resort, but it was a good one. And that was the song I was listening to as my head tipped back, glancing out the window.

I thought of the rink back in Canada, where I'd fractured my wrist from braking wrong and had to wear a brace for a petty competition. I thought of the cold airwaves emitting, even in the heated summers. Skating was my way of coping with my shit life.

I unconsciously rubbed my inner left wrist where the messy break was, and winced slightly as I knew my fingers were trailing over a scar that would mark me for years. The bone had come straight out of my arm. It wasn't a pretty sight.

The music hit a pitch and I felt goosebumps rise over my arms at the promise and sincerity of the piece. I'd skated to this as a young fourteen-year-old, naive and carving figure eights into the ice with sharp blades.

If only I'd known what a figure eight my life would've turned.

A/N:

I'm not sure if many people enjoy this story ... I mean, if no one likes it, what's the point in writing it?

Off to the side is Iron by Woodkid, the song our Bristol interpreted at the age of fourteen. Also to the side is Bristol!

Tell me if it's ... good? :(

Hope you enjoyed.

Until next time,

~Jayy