Tate

Chapter | 1

© Tate

by KaleTheQueen

All rights reserved. 

                                                   Chapter | 1

         Another punch came and I winced at the sound of impact, tilting my head at the pair on the floor. I felt obligated to do something, run for help perhaps, but my feet seemed glued to the floor. Tate Moore crouched over yet another victim of his anger, a crowd gathering to cheer him on.

        To his defense, the kid he was pounding on had called him some rather vulgar names to provoke him and Tate was never one to walk away from a fight.

        He was sort of a legend at my highschool, known by the boys for his short temper and by the girls for his looks. Even now, with a bloody nose and that aggressive snarl, he looked annoyingly handsome. He'd never had a girlfriend as far as I knew, though girls practically threw themselves at his feet.

        He didn't say much either, but had a large group of friends. Sometimes, I wondered why, but then that movie 'Mean Girls' came to mind and I understood. "Once, Regina George punched me in the face - it was awesome!"

        Tate was Truman High's own Regina George. 

        He didn't have a 'Burn Book', but he was nasty in a physical and sarcastic way. New rumors about him surfaced and spread like a plague every month. He never adressed them, and no one was quite brave enough to ask if any had any truth to them.

        I had never actually spoken to him, being the kind to hide in the library during lunch and avoid conversing with anyone, but I'd heard enough about him to last a life time.

        One time, I was dressing for P.E. in the girl's locker room and heard a group of cheerleaders gossip over his parents. They said that they were killed in a violent murder while Tate and his brother hid in the closet to call the police. Apparently, the suspect was never convicted and Tate's brother was sent to the madhouse. 

        After that, I never really blamed him for acting out, especially when someone pushed him just a little too far. And I knew it was wrong, but I felt myself inwardly cheering him on along with the other onlookers as he punched the boy who'd made a comment on his brother before calling him a . . . a 'pussy'.

        I'd seen the scene play out as I grabbed my math book from my locker. The first punch was thrown as I shut the door. Students turned from their friends and cellphones to gawk at yet another fight involving Tate. A crowd began to gather around the pair, cheering him on as the offender tried desperately to gain the upper hand. Tate, however, was too experienced. The boy only managed to clock Tate hard across his nose once and then Tate tackled him to the floor.

        I stood frozen against the rows of blue lockers even as the principal pushed through the crowd with two security guards at his side. He motioned for them to contain the fight as he cleared away the crowd, threatening to give everyone detention if they did not immediately head to class.

        The guards had quite a time trying to pull Tate away from the boy, who proceeded to spit in his face. An animalistic growl tore from his throat as he pushed against the guard so hard that he was knocked to the floor. Tate took one last punch to the boy's once smug face, a crack filling the air that led me to believe he'd just broke his nose.

        I let out a little groan, touching the tip of my own nose as if I'd received the hit myself.

        The fallen guard was quickly back on Tate, and I was glad he hadn't used his taser. This time, Tate allowed him to drag him away from the fight. He flashed a grin at the bleeding boy, who flipped him off, before disappearing around the corner with Principal Woodrow in tow.

        I felt the sudden, unorthodox urge to laugh, but pulled myself together quickly and stumbled down the hall to fourth period.