The Brawler meets Miss Perfect

Things would've been different ... if I didn't fight

[Garrett's P.O.V.]

It was the beginning of second semester. Grade eleven had been uneventful for various reasons; it was first period, but I was skipping class, like I usually did. That was everyday.

I pushed my way through the hallways to get to the back of the school, where I hung out with my best friends. "You took forever, Clint! How much longer were ya gonna take?" said my friend, Turk Briggs. Turk was about six foot one, and always wore sleeve-less shirts. His hair was gelled up slightly, but a couple locks always tended to dangle over his forehead. He pulled out a cigarette from his back pocket, then throwing  a pack of them at me. "Want one?" He asked nonchalantly. "Sure, maybe later." I replied frankly. Two more of my friends met up with Turk and I. "Wassup, Clint?" asked Carson Sanders. Carson was short and had a stocky build, and always wore a snapback. Then, there was Dylan Parker, the tallest of the four of us. He was six foot four, always wore a ripped vest over a t-shirt, wore baggy pants, and towered over Carson. Surprisingly enough, he was the quietist of the group. Lastly, there was me. I'm six foot two, always wearing a silver necklace with a collared shirt on top of my undershirt. I'll be honest, we weren't the nicest of people, with the exception of being nice to each other. "So, are we going to meet up with Wilken High's gang for the brawl after school today?" Carson said excitedly. "Yeah, yeah, we're gonna brawl with 'em after school." Turk said with a slight smirk on his face. "Carson, want one?" I asked him, handing him the box of cigarettes Turk gave me earlier. He nodded and took the box.

"Got a light?"

"Always."

I pulled out my lucky lighter to light our cigarettes. It was a small, square, black lighter, about the same colour as my hair, and had white stripe down the middle of it. I can't remember where I had gotten that lighter from, but I had a bad habit of misplacing it. I was bound to lose it sooner or later.

"Should we round up the rest of the younger punks, or should jus' the four of us go? Oh, maybe we can plan a formation or somethin' ..." said Carson. Carson had been rambling on for sometime, and I think Turk was getting pissed.

"Goddamnit, Carson, we get it! Now shut the fu-"

"That's enough Turk. Carson, just shut up okay?" I said in a mediating manner.

"Fine ..." The two made up within seconds. We all had short tempers, with the exception of Dylan being a silent giant.

"Shit, I didn't realize it was this late. Sorry guys, I gotta go." I said looking at my watch and running back into the school. "Why do ya have to go? You're already ditching all your classes anyway. Why do ya still have to go to your stupid English class?" Carson asked, upset with what I was doing. I ignored him and went back to my classroom. English was the only subject I personally cared about. It's the only subject I particularly didn't want to flunk. Maybe there was a reason.

When school ended, Turk, Carson, Dylan and I headed out together to Wilken High, a school about half a mile from Clearview High. "Ready to rumble, boys?" Carson said with a smirk on his face, cracking his knuckles and clenching his fists. "You bet." Turk and I said at the same time. Dylan just nodded, like he always did every time we brawled with other school gangs. We made our way to the back of the school, and saw eight guys, varying in height, waiting for us. One of the gang leaders I recognized. He was Derrick Shelling, someone I used to brawl with on regular basis. "Only four of you? Well, this won't be fun ..." Derrick said, disappointed but still grinning. "Nobody else gets down to fucking business like we do, that's why. You're just going to have to settle for the four of us." Turk said seriously. "All right, all right, let's get this started then shall we?" Derrick pretentiously declared, like he was going to win. "Bring it on, you piece of shit." I said confidently, without breaking a sweat. Eight against four? Just the way I like it.