Sidelines ✷ Pope Heyward.

00 / Prolouge.

      Pope Heyward's complex infatuation with Quinzelle Reid began when he was merely twelve years old, and his youthful eyes fell upon the multicolored pin advertising the many elements of the periodic table that was attached to the green canvas of her backpack. It was a rather ridiculous reason to fawn over somebody, especially considering he knew absolutely nothing about the girl, but the young Heyward had always been a sucker for all things science.

    And the girl was very pretty. Which was a major addition to the sudden awe he held for the girl.

   Quinnzelle stood before the class of judgemental pre-teens, her hands, which Pope knew were decorated with many colorful rings, for he'd seen when she shook the teachers hand, were crammed into the pockets of her colorful knit cardigan. She seemed nervous, and Pope figured he'd be pretty nervous too if he was the new kid.

  "Welcome to the Outerbanks," Mrs. Nixon, his AP Biology teacher told the girl. Then she turned toward the class, who weren't paying much attention to the exchange, most of the children were gossiping, a few were playing mindless games of tic-tace-toe. "Class, this is Quinzelle Reid, our new student. I expect you'll show her nothing but kindness."

    Quinzelle, that was a name Pope certianly had not heard before. And it fit her, he decided on a whim. Something about the way her pink-rimmed glasses slipped down the freckled bridge of her nose really did give off Quinzelle vibes.

    Mrs. Nixon scanned the classroom before her eyes fell upon the empty seat beside Pope.

  "Pope, raise your hand," Mrs. Nixon commanded sweetly. So, he did. The elder woman then shuffled Quinzelle forward. "Take the empty seat beside him, dear."

    As Quinn made her way down the mindless aisles of students, Pope let himself internally celebrate. Before it turned to panic. The new girl, who just so happened to be a pretty science whiz, was sat beside him.

    She took the seat beside him as instructed. In the least creepy way possible, Pope was ambushed by the sudden scent of some sort of floral arrangement the seemed to follow her. It wasn't overpowering, and it didn't even seem artificial, it was like her the sweet aroma naturally lingered on her skin.

    Quinzelle unzipped her backpack, which was covered in several pins, most of which had something to do an educational topic that most people wouldn't care to learn about, let alone advertise on their bookbags. As she did so, the stacked array of beaded bracelets decorating her wrist clashed against eachother, creating silent commotion.

"Hi," Pope spoke up, subliminally repramanding himself for the way his voice cracked. "I'm Pope."

Quinnzelle turned toward Pope, fishing around for something in her bookbag, before pulling out a teal-and pink striped notebook. It's cover was decorated with glittery stickers.

"I figured when you raised your hand," She said, and her voice sounded exactly the way Pope imagined it would. It was smooth and soft, yet brimming with charecter. Splayed across the surface of her teeth, were light purple braces, they matched with the small lavender flowers littered across her sweater.

"Cool. Yeah," Pope nodded, tapping his fingers on the edge of their shared desk to the rythm of a make pretend song. "Nice to meet you."

Quinnzelle tucked a few wayward strands of dark hair that had fallen loose from her updo behind her ear, which was decorated with a bright yellow smiley-face ear ring. "Nice to meet you too."

It had been a year. An entire year— all three-hundred-and-sixtey-five days, and Pope's crush on Quinzelle Reid was yet to subside. Infact, it only intensified. For the longer he knew her, the more he uncovered regarding small surface level quirks. He didn't know much about her, not her past or her home life, but he did know that she perfered watermelon gum over any other flavor, and she was an avid listener of The Beatles.