I’ve never had a hangover before. Hell, I’ve never had anymore than a sip of alcohol. But as the light slipped in through the windows of the teacher’s lounge and woke me up, the minute my eyes popped open, I realized what a hangover must feel like.
It sucked.
I rolled over onto my other side, my shoulder cracking in the process and a pounding sensation settling into my frontal lobe. It was like someone dropped weights on my eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force sleep, but it was no use. The senses came rushing in. My throat as scratchy as a wool sweater; my mouth stuffed with cotton; my face hot from salty tear residue. My legs ached like I had just ran a mile, and don’t even get me started on my mess of a neck. It was like a toddler was given my neck muscles to play with while I was asleep, to tangle and chew on as he pleased.
I pulled myself off the linoleum floor. A rush of panic hit me as my blurry eyes took in the teacher’s lounge, but the memories from last night crawled back piece by piece. The last thing I remembered was calling my mother in a frenzied state, sobbing apologies about the violin lesson and trying not to get more upset from her sigh of disdain.
I didn’t bother to tell her the real reason I was crying.
The recollection of that red-haired bastard threatened to bring a new wave of tears. Why him? Of all the people to be stuck with, why him?
I rubbed my eyes, wandering into the kitchenette. I figured if I was going to be stuck here for four days, I might as well use my resources. Besides, I was already the radical whole stole a Coke. Maybe this was the start of my teenage rebellion. I could go join a gang, sell drugs, or date five guys at once.
That is, right after I hunted and sold one of those flying pigs on the black market.
I tugged open the fridge, wincing at the rush of cold air. The room was already assaulting my senses with all the light, now this? I squinted. In the back corner was a Tupperware of sliced apples that would go bad soon if no one ate them. I decided to attack that first. Shutting the fridge door, I set my sights on the coffee maker in the corner.
See, there was one problem. I came from one of those families, the kind that…. Well, didn’t make it’s own coffee. Our maid, Josephina, usually brewed a pot in the morning while I was up in my bedroom deciding between purple or blue laces for my Converse that day. But really, how hard could it be?
Two failed pots later, I realized that coffee brewing was more difficult than solving the lovechild equation of theoretical quantum physics and aerospace engineering.
I plopped myself down at the cream worktable with a sigh, holding a fizzing Coke in my hand. I picked up an apple, scraping the brown side with my thumbnail mindlessly. My mind wandered.
I thought of the first time I met Lucas Reynolds. It hadn’t been pleasant. It was right after I discovered my first anime, something comparable to finding a first love. I was in sixth grade and the lucky “boy” was Sebastian from Black Butler. I was head over heels. From the amazing action scenes, to unraveling Ciel’s past, to every Japanese song in between--it was bliss. So there I was, sitting on a swing, moving side to side lightly from pushing my sneaker into the sand. In my lap was the third copy of the manga, and I was just getting to the really good part of an action scene when a voice yelled:
“Hey, you’re in my spot!” I looked up and was met by a pair of steel blue eyes. It took me a second to realize it was the new kid. On his back hung a frayed satchel, marker smudges on the straps and a broken zipper on the second pocket. In his hand was a Game Boy with peeled away stickers on the front, one of which I could make out to be Iron Man.
“How is this your spot?” I asked. He couldn’t have a spot. He had only went to our school for a month.
“I sit here everyday before the buses come, so move,” he demanded. I rolled my eyes.
“No you don’t, I’ve sat here for the past three days,” I replied. It was true. The minute my mother reluctantly agreed that I could buy one of those “time-consuming comic books,” I abandoned the group I usually sat with for the buses and found a quiet place to read. Note that I said group, not friends. That had been three days ago and not once had I seen this boy.
“I’ve been sick. So just move already,” replied Lucas. I let my manga fall on my lap, crossing my arms over the white-button up shirt my mother still forced me to wear to school.
“No,” I replied. Lucas clenched his jaw and balled a fist.
“I’ll tell a teacher,” he said. I shook my head.
“What’s that going to do? Anyone is allowed to use the swing,” I said.
“Well it ain’t your spot!” he replied.
“Isn’t!” I snapped “ ‘Ain’t’ is not a word.” At this point I had stood up, rising a good foot above him. Mind you, this is before middle school, so all of the girls were taller than the boys. Lucas puffed up his chest, glaring at me with as much force a twelve year old boy could muster.
“You’re a goody two shoes,” he said “And a loser.”
“I’m not a loser!” I said.
“Go ahead, have my swing. You obviously need it more to read your stupid Japanese book thing. I’m going to talk to real people now, goodbye,” and with that, little Lucas turned on his heels and marched away. I stared after him, trying to ignore the lump in the back of my throat.
A sharp tapping on door brought me back to reality.
“Natalie?”
It was Lucas.
A/N-- So I hope this chapter didn't seem to filler-y. I just wanted to provide a little backstory about Nat and Lucas, as well as start onto her family life. There will be a lot more of that to come, as well as some romance in the next chapter. Please leave a comment and vote. Thanks!