A Small World

The Start

"Ace, why are you always in your room?" My dad walks into my room only to complain for the tenth time today about how I never leave the house.

"Well it's summer vacation and I have no life."

"Go hang out with your friends or something."

"My only friend is MacKenzie and she's with her grandparents today."

"Oh yeah I forgot you're antisocial."

"Antisocial and Social anxiety are two completely different things dad."

"Explain it please."

"Social anxiety isn't a choice. Being antisocial is."

"Well get over it and get out and do something."

"Wow dad, thanks for that. You just telling me to stop having social anxiety is just gonna make it go away. Oh and while you're at it, tell a cancer patient to stop having cancer!" I get up and shove him out my room. I sigh and slide down my door in frustration. My social anxiety has caused me to not have friends and my main reason for my depression. Not that my parents make it better. I hop back on to my bed and get back on YouTube since that's all I'm really on.

"Ace I'm sick of this. Get up and go to the park across the street now!" My dad yells from outside my door.

"Why?"

"Tell me when the last time you left the house was."

"Yesterday."

"And why was that?"

"You had gas."

"Get dressed and go to the park."

"Dad it's 112 degrees outside."

"I can't control the Vegas weather. Pack some water and get out of this house. And don't come back until the sun sets."

"That's three hours away," I groan.

"Exactly."

"Fine." I stand up and change into my black sports bra, white and blue Pierce the Veil tank top, and my black ripped shorts that are pretty short, but he's lucky I'm not going outside in my bikini.

I'm black, which means I don't get sun burnt, I get darker. Hell, I've never used sun screen in my life. And I'm not shy about my body because good genes. Except my height because I'm 5 feet. I'm not going be taller then 5'3, I'm sure of it. And I may be 12, almost 13, but my body is much more developed I guess. But that's not my favorite part of me.

I like that I'm not stupid like kids my age. I actually have common sense and I don't care about peer pressure. But I do have a huge issue about being in social situations. It's like my mind and body shut down. It's like I'm suffocating in large groups. Or I feel so alone when I'm surrounded. That's why I'm always in my room. I can't be judged or hated. No one can hurt me except me.

I grab my little bag and put my journal and pen inside. I slip my converse on and open my door. There stands my dad with an annoyed look on face. "Be home by 8."

"Whatever." I walk into the kitchen and grab 3 water bottles. And my basketball just in case. I open the door and hot air hits me like an explosion. I shut the door and plug my earphones in. I blast The First Punch by Pierce the Veil as I walk down the alley that's connected to the park.

It's a small park that's only ever have people skating or playing basketball. And I'm not gonna lie, the guys that skate here are pretty hot. I make it to the park and walk across the grass to get to the basketball court which is right next to the skate park which is crowded today. There's about 15-20 guys my age or a little older.

I find the spot I usually sit at when I'm here and pull my bag off my back. I sit it beside me and pull out my lyric journal. Instead of telling people about my emotions or problems, I write it down in a song. It feels so much better. But no one reads it except me. I tie my hair in a bushy bun and start writing.

"Kiss the scars that define me. Tell me it's not alright because your lies hurt worse. It's too much for me to handle," I pull an earphone out to scratch my ear.

"Your handwriting is horrible," a deep voice says from behind me. My notebook and pen fly out of my hand out of shock. I stand up and grab my notebook. I turn around to see three boys that look a bit older then me.

All three of them are taller then me, no doubt. They look about my dad's height so about 5'11.

One's a white guy with black, shoulder length hair with bangs that cover his right eye. His eyes are grey though. He's in Khaki shorts and a plain white T-shirt.

The other is Mexican for sure. He has brown, jelled back hair. And brown eyes. He's wearing black basketball shorts and a white Drake shirt.

The other is black, but he's darker then me. He has brown hair that's shaved on the sides and twists in the middle. And brown eyes. He's also wearing Khaki shorts and a light blue Nike shirt.

All three of then are really cute, no doubt, but I'm confused as to why they're talking to me. I mean I'm not special or anything. Just a mess of a person.

"It's because I don't want people to understand what I'm writing." I dust the dirt off the back of my pants.

"You're doing a good job," the black guys says.

"What do you guys want anyways?"

"Well we were skating and saw you over here alone so we came over to say hi. But you had your earphones in," the Mexican says. He has a little accent but it's not that noticeable.

"Well hi. Can I have my pen back?" I point to my black pen in his hand.

"Only if you give us your number."

"Can I at least get your names first?"

"I'm Skyler, but you can call me Sky," the white guys says.

"I'm Andy," the Mexican guy says.

"And I'm Oliver," the black guy says.

"I'm Acedemicia, but just call me Ace."

"Nice to meet you," Sky smiles.

"So why do you want my number?"

"I don't know, you just seem like a cool girl," Andy shrugs and do the rest.

"Okay." I rip a little piece of paper out of my notebook. They give me my pen back and I write down my number. "Here you go." I hand them the paper and they smile.

"We'll text you later tonight." They all pull me into a little hug. "Sorry we're huggers," Sky says before they all skate away. What just happened?