Shining Star (BoyxBoy)

6

Tris's POV (2 years ago)

I tried fitting in, I really did. I didn't wish to be like this. More often than not, I would try to change my personality to suit other people's needs. It never worked.

The thing with me is that I can't be something that I'm not. Changing my personality, acting, being fake; not my thing. One night, I read something on Instagram (cause Instagram is life) that lifted my spirits. It said that people with a higher IQ tend to have less friends, because they are picky about who they want to be friends with.

The next day, at school, I powered through the shoves, the mean comments and the insults, and walked through the halls with my head held high. Clifford High School is the worst place to be if you're me. I'm constantly accused of dying my hair blond, because, you know, this school...I'm also made fun of my freckles. I used to have glasses, but I got eye contacts to stop the teasing.

I hadn't a single friend in the world, no sibling and no significant other. I was usually alone. At lunch time, I would usually eat my lunch in the art class with Miss Palmer, or skip lunch altogether. In every class, I usually sat at the back, and when we needed to do presentations, I would tell the teacher that I had social anxiety, so he or she would allow me to do it during my lunch period or at the end of the day.

I was lonely, no doubt. After school, I would spend at least an hour sitting by the stands (everyone else calls them bleachers, but I'm gonna say stands) by the soccer field. That day was different though.

The soccer team had been practicing since the third period (we have nine) and most of them were drenched in sweat. I couldn't help but notice Pierce, the captain...I think, I'm not really sure. I don't get involved in anyone's business.

Pierce was the bulkiest guy on the field (surprising considering they do a lot of cardio), and he was either a mid-fielder or a striker (I really don't know, I'm not even sure if these are actual positions or not). His hair stuck to his wet forehead and his thin white shirt became see-through because of the sweat. His toned chest was exposed.

I sat in the stands with my sketch pad (as always), and started drawing someone. I'm not sure who though. It had taken me time to get a good outline of the person. It was a soccer player, in the same uniform as the Clifford High Soccer Team. As I began detailing, Pierce walked up the stands in my direction. I stared at him as he walked up to me. He had a smile on his face as he approached.

"So, are you a soccer fan or are you just as clueless as the rest of America?" he asked jokingly, making me smile. I looked up at his towering figure and tried to come up with something to say.

"Um...nah, I usually just come up here and draw," I said, still a bit surprised that he came up to me and started a conversation with me.
He made a face, a face of genuine impressiveness, and it made me feel good inside. A kind of good I only felt when I was with my parents, cause, they're really the only ones that love me. "My name's Pierce," he said, extending his hand out towards me.

I look at it for a while, then realise that I had to say something. I reached out and had an unusually tight grip on his hand, and said, "I'm Tristan, but call me Tris and I'm sorry about your hand...and I'm still holding it, I'm sorry," I said, finally letting his hand go, looking down at my own.

"No, it's okay, I like someone with a tight grip," he said, before he continued to say, "You're really funny."

He looked at me with a genuine smile, and I returned the favour with a nice little smile of my own. "Um, I gotta go, I just came up here cause the air is really cool," he said before he jogged down the stands, back onto the field.

I looked down to my page, and realised that with all the tension I was holding in, I had dragged my pencil across my page and over my drawing, with a dark, jagged line trailing behind it. I cursed under my breath and decided that I had enough for today, and started to pack up my things.

As I made my way to the main entrance/exit of the school, I had a sick feeling in my stomach. Not like I was about to vomit, like something was moving around, but not in like a 'shit, I need a doctor' kind of way. No. More like, 'a bunch if butterflies just invaded my stomach'.

The very next day was a Wednesday. I had all my subjects on Wednesday. I took Physical Sciences, Biology, Geography, English Creative Writing, French, Trigonometry (or Math, as most people like to call it) and Home Economics (cause I gotta learn how to cook for my significant other).

Wednesdays always dragged on. Not because of the period length, but because we always had two consecutive periods of French (I don't even know what I don't know in that class) and two consecutive periods of French (if you don't have a crazy French teacher, then he or she is not French).

When I woke up, and looked out the window, I saw that the weather was overcast, so I put on a Nike hoodie, some jeans and Adidas running shoes. That was usually my outfit for any day, really. If there was a heatwave, you'd most probably find me at home, in one of those thick ass blankets.

I endured the whole day without any inner panic attacks and without ripping somebody's throat out. After school, I went to the soccer field, and the soccer team wasn't there, much to my disappointment.

I sighed in disbelief, and took my sketch pad out to finish the previous day's drawing. I had managed to erase the line without messing up my drawing, but it still showed a bit.

An hour passed, and I realised who I'd been drawing, Pierce. I drew him running. He had very well defined calf muscles in the drawing, had a much squarer jaw, but didn't have the right sparkle that I saw in his eyes the other day.

I started packing up, satisfied with the drawing I had made. It wasn't perfect, but it was something. As I put my sketch pad into my bag, I saw Pierce walk up the stand to the top (where I usually sit, because there's a lot of air). I froze, and he had something in his hand.

When he got to me, I wondered what he had in his hand. He stuck his hand out, and it was revealed to be a piece of paper with a number written on. "For you, you know, for when we're not in the same place, we could still talk," he said, smiling.

I took the piece of paper reluctantly, and put it inside of my sketch pad before putting it away in my bag. "You're really good you know, at soccer," I said. Now, I may not know how soccer works, but that doesn't mean that I don't recognise when somebody is good at something. All the pats on the back he received yesterday was proof of my statement.

"Thanks man, I kinda just grew up with soccer. My dad was a referee and now he's a coach for some Premier League soccer team," he said, completely losing me after mentioning some league.

We sat, and surprisingly, we had a lot to talk about. He asked me to join him at lunch the next day with some of his friends.

The next day during my lunch period (which was also his lunch period and his friends' lunch periods) I went to go and sit with Pierce and his friends, Tyler and Amy.

We really connected, and from that day, the bullying stopped. Nobody really payed much attention to me anymore.

I had to contain myself around Pierce, or else I would say something that would be impossible to take back. Fast forward two years, and we're in New York City, on a road trip, with me still trying to contain myself around Pierce.