The Girl With the Red Converse

one

yo dude, movies today?

A sandy-haired teenage boy looks down at the message on his phone. A second later, it begins to ring, ACDC's highway to hell chorus playing as the ringtone. "Dalton," the name pops up. 

"Oliver Baker, you know there's no phones allowed in the class."

The boy looks up with a lazy grin. "Ah, Ms. Martinez. Must have slipped my mind." He winks, and a few girls in the front row blush and giggle. The teacher, a stern black-haired women with big oval glasses, however, does not look impressed.

"Phone. Away. NOW."

"Just a sec." The boy put up a finger and picks up his phone, opening up a text. He types slowly and deliberately, each click infuriating Ms. Martinez a bit more. 

not today bro got rugby tryouts.

As he sends the message, a smile appears on his face. Coach has been hinting that he'd be team captain, and he's confident of it. 

Oliver looks up to see Ms. Martinez standing over him, frowning. "That's it. Go to the office, now. And I'll keep that for the rest of the day, too." She snatches his phone away as he packs his bag, empty of everything except a few crumpled sheets of paper and a stray pencil. She looks in disapprovingly. "That's all you need, Mr. Baker? Seriously?"

He just shrugs, and blows her a kiss as he saunters out the door. The girls once again burst into giggles and whispers. 

"Oli, baby, I missed you!" And suddenly her lips are on his, perfectly manicured nails sliding into his hair. A long, heeled leg wraps around his, sliding up and down. Smiling to himself, he flits his tongue over her lips before pulling away. "Call me later, Lexi."

She flips her red hair over her shoulder and bites her lip, before strutting down the hallway. A few people stare at them with mouths agape. The boys are jealous, the girls are crazy about him. They either love him or hate him, but one thing's for sure. Everyone, everyone knows Oliver Baker. 

As he walks into to principal's office, he dumps his back down and slumps into a chair. "Ah, Garett, good to see you again."

"That's Mr. Johnson to you, young man." The principal, an older man most likely in his late 60s, with grey hair and wrinkles etched into his face, just looks tired. 

"Again, Oliver, really? You've been in thrice this month itself, for fighting, vandalism, and now this?"

Oliver looks down, a somewhat sheepish expression in his brown eyes. 

The principal takes off his glasses and rubs his head somewhat wearily. "What do we do with you, huh?"

Oliver shrugs. "To be very honest, I'm surprised I haven't been expelled yet."

"If it weren't for you 3.9 GPA and you're nearly perfect As throughout you classes, not to mention your stellar rugby skills, I'm sure you would have been."

This makes Oliver shift somewhat uncomfortably. It's strange to hear the things he keeps so secret from everyone else. 

"Why do you do it, Oliver? You would be the perfect student... if not for your misbehaving. why don't you just... be yourself?"

"This is who I am, Mr. Johnson," Oliver smirks, standing up. "Are we done? Can I go now?"

The principal sighs again and waves him out. "Just don't do this again, or at least pretend you won't."

Oliver goes outside and sits on one of the faded sofas, watching the clock's hands move while waiting while the secretary files the slip with the incident in his steadily growing file. 

A tall girl walks in, with bronze skin and long brown hair, covering her downturned blue eyes. She wears a baggy grey sweatshirt and army-print leggings, with a faded baseball cap on her head. She looks up at him, and smiles briefly, before turning away to the secretary. 

"Hi, I was told that this is the admissions office? I'm new here, so..." Her voice is soft and she sounds timid, but she holds her chin up high. Her foot taps on the floor nervously, dirty red converse with untied shoelaces. 

"Yes, dear. I assume you're Reyna?"

"Um, yeah, I just moved here from Boston."

"Well, come along. I'll take you to your first class."

As she walks out of the office, Oliver watches her tall, thin frame leave, before going back to staring at the clock.