wasting time » lh ; mc

one

:: 01 ::

       Michael Clifford: a name many people heard, but some never bothered to know who it belonged to. He was popular, but not popular. This never seemed to bother him; he does his own thing and barely spares people a glance because he doesn't care. If he's only known for the fact that he can practically play any sport the school has, Michael doesn't mind. Though, he's always approached and desperately flirted with, which is cute and flattering and all, but there's no time for that in the hectic life of sports and guitar practice and the amount of sleep Michael has been trying to catch up on in the past five years.

In his short life so far, there's a lot for him to be proud of. And Michael doesn't let anyone go without letting them know how proud of himself he actually is. Like today, everyone he's passed so far in the hallways has congratulated Michael on how well he had done in the last period of their school's hockey game yesterday.

"Man, that was a tough game, though," his friend, Calum, let out, following Michael through the halls as they both held confidence in their stride. Teammates and best friends, Michael and Calum had grown up together and were as close as two brothers.

"Not really," Michael shrugged, though in reality it was to everyone else. He was just a natural born sportsman, it's not Michael's fault he's better than the rest of his team. Half of them were bigger than him, so you'd think they had more of an advantage, but that's not the case and it confused Michael the most.

His father, though, was a good coach for the baseball team that Michael helped out with, which was incredibly weird since the boys on the team were the same age as him. That fact only made it harder for Michael to hold back cocky scoffs and making comments like, 'I could do that in my sleep, it's not that difficult.' If he could, Michael would sign up for the baseball team since the one they have at school is complete shit ("Sorry, dad, but not even a coach like you can help these fucktards."). There's no doubt he would make it better.

Just as these thoughts crossed his mind, Calum had stopped in front of the billboard between the end of the science hallway and the entrance to the intersection of corridors. "I still can't believe our sports run year 'round, who do we even play against?" the dark haired boy said, squinting his eyes to get a better view of the small text hung on the billboard.

Their school had a lot of pride, so there wasn't any stopping at any opportunity to show it off - even if that meant overwhelming students with year-long things to add to the heaping pile of homework. This pride also meant that the walls were a bright red and a fading white, and the billboard had red construction paper stapled to it to add even more of the 'we're proud of how much we actually suck,' thing they had going.

Something caught Michael's eye: the rugby team had been cut, told with simple bold letters as if it wasn't a big deal. EASTON VALLEY HIGH SCHOOL RUGBY TEAM WILL NO LONGER BE PRACTICING, MEETING, OR COMPETING, it read, and Michael was kind of sad. He didn't play rugby, but he also really wanted to. But, one week into school and Michael's hopes had already been sent crumbling to the ground.

"Our rugby team was so good, though," Michael said. "Why are they cutting it?" Not one to pay attention to much of anything unless it involves things that he actually needs, Michael hadn't even heard something as small as a rumor about the school cutting one of the only sports they actually won championships with (besides hockey; Michael's on that team so of course they'd win).

Calum, who had been looking at the flyer for the beginning-of-the-year musical the theatre company always puts on, turned to his friend. "No clue, I think they're trying to focus on more money for the school itself, which makes no sense."

"Everyone here is, like, filthy-fucking-rich, I'm sure they've bribed their way in with thousands of dollars for the school," Michael complained with a scoff. It was true, but not to the full extent. Even if people at Easton Valley were in fact 'filthy-fucking-rich,' most weren't snobby enough to do what Michael accused. Their parents, maybe; themselves, probably one day.

Michael just held a hatred for anyone who had things handed to them—hypocritical, really, since every sports team or teacher has tried to offer him something without even asking if he possessed the ability. Key word: tried. He always turned them down, Michael wanted to prove he was good and show that he didn't need to breeze through life without effort.

Everyone assumed he did, so, though Michael was well aware that he surpassed the definition of good and was absolutely extraordinary, he wanted to make sure people knew it as well.

"Isn't Ashton on it?" Michael remembered Ashton from when they were in a class together last year, while Michael was a sophomore and Ashton, a junior. He was cool, from what Michael could recall.

"Yeah, it was the only thing that he could actually do without tripping over himself and completely failing," Calum let out a chuckle and adjusted the strap to his book bag over his shoulder, nodding his head toward the hallway intersection. "We better go."

       It was during the last period of the day that Michael's daily routine had been interrupted. The enjoyable praises and fist bumps he was getting for the hockey game were cut short by a comment that went along the lines of, "you're not even that great," and caused everyone to turn around with furrowed eyebrows, eyes casting upon a bored, unenthusiastic blonde boy.

"What?" Michael asked incredulously. Sure, there had always been constructive criticism and just plan criticism from much more experienced adults that Michael would never accuse of not being as good as him, because he knew they were that plus even more skill, but never had Michael experienced it from anyone at school. Never so bluntly, either.

"You heard me," the boy scoffed, not affected by the useless glares of the many admirers of Michael. "Everyone's acting like you're Sidney Crosby or something."

"I'm taking offense to the fact that you're comparing me to a player for the Penguins and not the Capitals," Michael said, not having the least bit of hesitance when he grimaced, "but we'll ignore it and give you one more shot. Who are you, anyway?" A sarcastic laugh was attached to his question, almost as if he were mocking the blonde boy and saying, 'yeah, no one really knows.'

Blondie shrugged, saying, "Someone who's been around enough hockey to know when someone isn't as good as they think they are."

"You? Hockey?" Michael laughed, "Sorry, but I don't think so." Not only was this boy far too small (in the muscular sense—his height surpassed every expectation) to ever function properly in a hockey rink, but the length of his legs gave Michael the impression that if this boy even attempted to skate he'd trip over himself.

But, Blondie was (again) unfazed by Michael's attempts to shut him up. If anything, it only fueled him to annoy Michael more than he knew he already was. "Well, if you don't believe me, ever heard of the last name Hemmings?"

Michael choked, everyone else around him looking incredibly confused at the dispute going on in front of them. "Hemmings? Andrew Hemmings?" Seeing the other boy's too-cocky expression, Michael forced himself to recover and said, "Yeah, what about him?"

The bell rang, and everyone became more interested in the end of the day as they left the two boys to be the only ones left in the classroom. "My name's Luke. Luke Hemmings," he said. Luke grew an incredible amount of confidence—as if Michael wasn't bothered by the amount of it he had already—and turned around when he grabbed his bag and made his way closer to Michael. He smirked when reaching an astonished Michael, shaking his head, "Me? Hockey? Sorry, but I think so."

+ + +

michael how dare u insult sidney crosby he's doing better than ovechkin this season u fckin shit

my friend jarrett was over and while i was kicking his ass at guitar hero i was subconsciously coming up w this plot, reason being why the capitals and the penguins are mentioned bc we were also arguing about them while playing

thank u @ guitar hero for brewing my creativity. ur the tru mvp