chase.

1.1

"Did she mention any names? Say anything specific?" He questions, leaning in closer. Chase shrugs him off, rolling his eyes far enough that some may question whether or not he saw the back of his head.

"No. She didn't and even if she did, why would I give enough of a shit to share that information?"

Nicholas sighs at this, wrapping his arm around his best friend's shoulders, something which Chase takes with a pinch of salt, giving him a side eye. The curly haired boy sighs dramatically and leans forward, putting his free hand up to the sky.

"You see, dickhead, people like me thrive off of the business of everyone else suffering in this shit-hole. I need entertainment." He unwraps his arm from the boy's shoulder and huffs over-dramatically, stealing a chip from his tray. "How else am I supposed to make it through this shit?"

Chase shrugs, eating the last few chips on his tray, then taking a swig of water. He puts both of his hands on the table and pushes himself up.

"Right, Walker, it's been real but I'm going to train. See you some other time." He pats the boy on the back as he chuckles, shaking his head and offering a parting remark before pulling out his phone. To Chase, Nicholas William Walker was a best friend, a brother, and an undeniable idiot. He was the boy to go through phases. He had money and talent, so obviously, he'd tried everything. He'd been in the school band as frontman, he'd been in the art club and the star of many of the school's plays and he was now a member of the renowned tennis club, along with Chase himself and their other friend, James. He'd collected himself a small following of fangirls over his time at the school, particularly a core fanbase from his times in the band, and Chase sometimes wondered what the hell they saw in him, but he was never short of answers.

Pushing through the doors of the male changing room, he finds it surprisingly empty. The room is quiet enough that he can hear the dripping of the leaky water faucet and he lets out a breath, shaking his head. Heading towards his locker and turning the wheel, his mind briefly wonders to Juliette, and whatever reasoning she may have had to talk to him today, and his brain automatically seems to question when it'll happen again if it will ever happen again. His locker pops open and he proceeds to quickly slip out of his uniform and into his tennis attire, rolling his shoulders back and grabbing his racket. He slips out of the changing room and through the double doors down the hall into the humid heat of the indoor tennis courts.

James Miller, resident teen heartthrob and genius, can be found spending time alone on the courts very often, it's just how he likes it. He also recognises he trains more than any of his friends have in a lifetime, in a single week, and so has long stopped asking people to play matches with him in breaks. He glances over at the doors as they open and finds himself smiling slightly at the sight of his childhood best friend walking it.

"What's up, Anderson? You bored?" he calls out, fixated on the other boy as he rolls his shoulders back, swinging his racket.

"Nah, just thought I'd keep your sorry ass company. Wanna play?" He asks, picking up a ball. He doesn't have to wait for an answer to know he'll say yes.

"Are you serving or am I?"

"Go on, I wanna see what you've got." He tosses the ball over to his friend, watching him jog back to the other side of the net. After a nod and a stretch, Chase nods and the boy opposing him serves. He returns his ball with a question attached.

"What's the deal with Juliette? Knight, I mean." He muses, his eyes on the ball, not missing how James almost misses the ball. He swings it back with a grunt, pacing and waiting for the return.

"Straight to the point I see. Why do you want to know?" James questions, pushing his hair out of his eyes, rolling his shoulders as he prepares to hit the ball back. Chase doesn't answer for a few rounds, not until he scores a point and passes the ball back.