The Misunderstanding of Fate

Chapter 2 - First Meetings

As another Monday rolls around, I find myself frowning at the weather. It wasn't exactly freezing here but the rain meant I was colder than I should be in my burgundy skirt. As I make my way downstairs, I notice my dad has already left for work. He has left some bacon in the microwave so I make a quick sandwich before heading towards the bus station. I could walk, and often do, but the drizzle of rain would soak me more than a downpour. Letting out a breath, I remind myself: It's just another week you can tick off the list.

During lunch, I sit on my usual bench while reading The Great Gatsby. The dark clouds above steal my glances as I await the unavoidable rain. With an orange juice in one hand and the book in the other, I attempt to keep my focus on the page in front of me. The last time I had checked, there were twenty five minutes left of lunch. Still, I decide against the crisps in my bag. I would have them on the way home. It might have been because of the bigger breakfast I had, or the snacks I just ate, or the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching me, but I couldn't eat them now.

As I finally become engulfed in the story, I feel a warm presence on my left. It takes me a few moments to drag my stare away from the words and towards the mystery person who has made themselves comfortable beside me. My first guess is that it's somebody who just wants a seat or another person looking for a bit of peace and quiet.

However, my guess is wrong. Obviously.

Looking straight at me, rather intently, is none other than George Mason. Dark clothes? Check. Dark hair? Check. Dark eyes? Check. Well, nothing's changed then. Great. For a while, we sit looking at each other. My stare is one of shock while his is, rather nicely, allowing me the time to come to my sense. After a few generous moments are over, he smirks at me. A little dimple appears on his cheek when he does this and it's the most surprising thing I have seen in weeks. But that is all I get for a moment. A smirk. Nothing more and nothing less. In response, my face remains passive. He was going to have to speak first or I would simply allow him to sit here quietly.

"What I want to know," his voice is husky, low, and almost demanding, "is why on earth you would be avoiding me like the plague?"

That's it. That's the first person to speak to me and the first words to be uttered. First, I wonder how this guy could be so self-absorbed to think my avoidance was of him alone. Generally, I was avoiding the whole school. Did I make an extra effort with him? Sure. He didn't need to know that though. George Mason was probably not used to avoidance. Adoration? Yes. Avoidance? Absolutely not.

I make a quick decision not to reply. Slowly, I turn back to my book leaving him with a rather uninterested look. From the corner of my eye I can see his eyebrows furrowing as he watches me. The laughter that follows throws me off and forces me to face him once again. Instead of furrowed eyebrows, his face is now plastered with that same smirk.

"I didn't fully believe it but sitting here now proves it all."

It's my turn to furrow my eyebrows, "Proves what?"

I don't miss the shine in his eyes as I communicate with him which allows his smirk to increase. "They said you were avoiding me," he motions towards his group, "I thought that couldn't be true. I mean, princesses like yourself usually love a bad boy. Right? So I decided to see for myself."

The princess comment sparks something inside me. The stereotypical reference making me want to roll my eyes at him. Pushing that aside, I continue, "And what did you discover?"

He leans forward, inching towards me, as the smell of smoke and vanilla invade my senses. When he speaks, his voice has dropped to an almost-whisper, "You're avoiding me. But what I can't figure out is why."

Despite my efforts not to, I roll my eyes at the arrogant boy. "I'm sorry," he leans back a little, "Who are you?"

At my question, a look of pure shock runs over his face before it quickly disappears. His fingers fidget a little while I keep my face blank. It was a lie, I knew his name and had heard the stories, but he needed to be put in his place. I wait for a response for a few moments before turning back to my book. Even when I pretend to be engrossed in Gatsby, George still sits quietly.

"Listen, kid," I begin while watching his eyebrows raise slightly, "I don't know who you are. Therefore, why would I need to avoid you? Now, if you're going to stay, you can at least not stare."

His eyebrows raise further. I knew and he knew that I had a point. It was a lie, yes, but it was a valid point. As the seconds pass, his eyebrows lower into a furrow. In our matched silence, he eyes me. And I mean all of me. My boots, my tights, my skirt, even my hair that is up in a bobble. He's clearly assessing me. In my all-around uncomfortable feeling, I divert my eyes back to the pages in my book. Moments pass and we sit in silence. I wonder if he is attempting to come up with a smart answer for me. Gosh, this was the first person I had properly spoken to here and, so far, the experience had been disastrous.

After a few more silent moments, George scoffs while mumbling something under his breath. Suddenly, I feel a finger twirling a piece of my hair until it is wrapped around its width before pulling it slightly. My face follows the tug until I have to choice but to look at him again. He keeps pulling my hair closer, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough for me to have to follow.

"You must have missed the warning signs, princess. Which is shocking since there are oh-so many."

His face is close now and the vanilla and smoke are inescapable. George tilts his own head, slightly mirroring mine, as he stops pulling my hair. Now, he's not pulling or twirling or being harsh but the presence is still there. As I wonder how to reply, his thumb comes up to twirl the hair attached to his finger. The action falsely allows my body to relax at the sensation of hair-playing.

I manage to keep my eyes uncaring, "Are you threatening me?"

Instead of a smirk, I get a smile. Before he answers, George shift his body even closer so that his hips are right next to mine. While the one hand remains playing with the stand of hair, his other remains on his own leg. He's the image of relaxed while, internally, I was freaking out. I had so, so much to freak out about and yet all I could focus on was how white his teeth are. It was surprising and less than expected for a smoker.

"I don't threaten," he says lowly, "but I don't like liars. Surely, you've heard all about me from the children in this schools. Am I right?" He asks but the pace he's speaking leaves no room for answers as he slightly pulls my hair so that I'm even closer, "You know what I can do, princess."

His eyes scan my face when he finishes. He's looking for an emotion that I have failed to provide him with. Despite the fact he has a smile on his face, his eyebrows are still furrowed. I've obviously hit a nerve. I hate to admit it but the pet name was getting real old real soon. Quickly, I assess the situation. He's invading my personal space, had a lock on me with my hair, and he's undermining. What a catch.

Trying to look bored, I reply in a hushed tone, "Is that supposed to scare me?"

Instantly, his eyes show fire. Being disobeyed by a 'child' in this school was certainly not what he had expected from me, I bet. His fingers stop the both firm and soothing movements in my hair as he realises he cannot trick me with the false sensation of relaxation. Taking the opportunity, I stand up from the bench while placing the book back in my bag and straightening out my skirt. The bad boy doesn't stand as I barely glance at him before making my way inside. Luckily I have a free hour now. Unluckily I felt his stare on my back the whole walk into school. 

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It begins :)