Splatter Painted [luke hemmings]

Chapter 1

And there I was straight out of high school sitting in a quiet, bland hall. Unknown faces sat on either side of me, all facing the front whilst we listened to the headmaster, Mr Drover Hardwood. He was a poor speaker really. The constant patting of his handkerchief on his brow and redoing up the buttons on his bursting black blazer was quite a distraction. This was without pointing out the constant pausing in the middle of a sentence.

I held back a sigh and decided to put my concentration not on the man before me, but on the hall for possibly the thirteenth time in the past twenty minutes of the guy talking. To the left of the hall on the wall was a large overly bright school banner. To the right were the supporter's boards in a long, orderly line. I didn't even realize that universities had supporters seeing as we paid thousands of dollars for a piece of paper that would get us a job somewhere if we were lucky. Then to the front of me was Hardwood and his vice principals or whatever they called them. They had already spoken to us, expressing their love for watching us learn at their school. I'd rolled my eyes, knowing that they actually meant that they loved the cash we gave them.

"Now behind" Hardwood took a deep breath. "You are your guides" Another deep breath. "They'll show..."

By this point I wasn't listening. He'd lost me at the first dramatic pause. To sum it up, he'd lost everyone else too as we all stood up halfway through his 'sentence' and began to turn to the back of the hall where several people stood waiting.

I stood up too and heaved my bags strap onto my shoulder, hand on the bag itself. My navy coloured jeaned legs took me towards a small group that were surrounding their tour guide. Unfortunately, I could see what this person looked like, but at this point I wasn't too concerned. Many of the other guides had already began to leave the hall and into the brightness.

Then I saw him. Soft sandy type hair styled into a quiff, the type you see from one of those surfer boys at the beach, tall, ocean blue eyes, good fashion sense and oh my god is that a lip ring? Wow, just wow. He was incredibly hot hot hot. How was it possible to look that good in just a pair of ripped jeans, a band shirt and a black leather jacket? Even the beanie on his head was pushing it. If having girls come at him from every single angle possible begging for him to sleep with them was what he wanted, he definitely was doing a good job of trying to get it to happen.

"Hi guys, I'm Luke" Was all he said in the first thirty seconds of seeing him and I was already swooning. "I'm your tour guide if you haven't noticed already. If you have any questions while on the tour, feel free to hit me with your best shot"

Was it possible to ask him for his number? Wait, hold up here Dylan. You're getting way too ahead of yourself. I told myself mentally. Just take a chill pill.

We then began our tour. Luke walked at the front, and whenever he turned to face us his roughly clipped on square that gave his name and a picture of his face kept flapping. He didn't seem to care though as he made no attempt to fix it. Instead, he continued to point out the classrooms around the large university block.

And then the little square fell off. Coincidently, it fell right down by my feet. Constant crap crap craps repeated in my mind as I did the right act of kneeling down and retrieving it for him. Now I was going to have to pick up a conversation with him when the plan was to remain silent and watch the eye candy from afar. What if I accidently blurted out that I thought he was incredibly hot and I wanted his number? That would sound rather creepy, and would possibly shoo him away from me when I wanted him to come to me. The pros of being an awkward eighteen year old with a bad experience with boys.

I could feel the groups gaze on me as I locked eyes with Luke for the first time. My cheeks had red in them, my reaction to having so much attention on me at once. It reminded me of speeches at school when you had to stand in front of a group of thirty odd students in which half of them were born with a silver spoon in their mouths and were incredibly snobby, and then you would deliver a speech you hurriedly wrote in the weekend. Definitely not my cup of tea.