Falling for Ocean Blue [BxB] ✔️

Chapter Seven

After the long two-hour lecture about Newton's first law, Dr Gardiner relieves us of the torture by allowing the last five minutes to be one of silence. I look down at my shoddily written notes, the speed of the lecture proving difficult. I wince at the illegible writing. Dr Gardiner packs his things and leaves hastily, giving a warning for anyone thinking of leaving before the bell. Not even two minutes pass before half the class trails out of the door.

I decide to leave when Peter trails out of the room. My eyes following the angry boy as he stalks away. I pack my bag swiftly with the mathematics textbook and a few stray pencils. When I stand all eyes follow me until I turn a safe corner. The halls are bare, safe from a few crawling students further along the lockers. I walk a steady pace before deciding to take the flight of stairs.

My locker is on the third floor. 334. I walk along the yellow corridor, scanning the doors of each locker until stumbling onto my own. I take out a small folded note from my back pocket and type in the passcode. I leave my math book and my lunch behind and close the door. I have half an hour before my chemistry class. The bell rings from the speakers, signalling the end of period 2. My palms sweat as the hallways fill with a sea of teens. I move against the wave, pushing passed students with my head down.

A blue-haired girl stumbles in front of me so that her face plants painfully into my chest. I wince. In my chest, my heart beats erratically. I feel her breathe out, the shock subsiding when she pulls away.

Doe eyes look up at me, hazy at first but sharpens when she takes in my appearance. The girl smiles a drunken smile.

"You don't look a lot like your brother," She grins like her opinion is a revelation to me.

I don't bother reply, carefully removing her by her frail wrists.

"The shy type...makes sense. Such a sweet little baby."

"I'm not a baby."

She snorts, "Child stars hate being called babies."

"I'm not a child star." The girl is becoming increasingly annoying. I turn a sharp corner, careful to close her off so that her pace falters behind me.

"My name is Aretha," She catches up.

I don't like how that leading that sounds so I put on my headphones.

She is leaning into me now, her uniform askew at the neckline so a tattoo on her collarbone is visible.

"What is it you want?" I ask a little too sharply. 

Aretha doesn't miss a step. Her light is unbridled and, as it happens, unscathed.

"I heard you practice nineteen hours a day for a competition."

"A national win is important to me." I mutter this like a prayer. I am conditioned to love music in the same way most children are raised to love God. It has become a religion lording over my waking hours.

She nods like she's drinking the wisdom. "You only play piano?"

Her eyes seem sincere

"You don't seem like the uptight asshole I had you pegged for." She says it mostly to herself.

The blue girl is moving oddly, her pace keeping in line with mine but faltering when the linoleum changes to carpet. The English department is a warm yellow which feels like being born in reverse.

"Don't meet your heroes."

She guffaws loudly, hitting my back. I hold back a scowl because if she's trying, then so should I.

"I'm learning the guitar, too. I can play cello. I had compulsory singing lessons, but I have no range." I appease.

She smiles warmly, wringing one arm around my elbow.

I catch brazen glances as we walk in tandem. The hallways are suddenly hushed in an eery gloom. Aretha doesn't seem to notice or mind because her head is moving with animated glee. She tips her neck a little too far, brown flecks in her eyes are pushed to the borders by two inflated pupils.

"Grier!"

A sharp ringing sounds at the end of the hallway and the crowd parts. I don't register much of what happens next. A boy with short black hair and anger in his black eyes, throttles towards us. Closer still, he shoves a small girl into the locker. She falls into the metal, her body curling in on itself as she makes a pitiful groan that makes me wince. When the large boy reaches me, he pulls me by the collar of my tee. I push the girl away from me, saving neither of us. My toes lift from the floor, the 7ft beast holding me in the air as he seers with rage.

"What did you do?" The dark stead is foaming at the mouth, his red lips parted revealing sharp white teeth.

"He didn't do anything! You're overreacting, Brandon." Aretha tries her best to pull his pale fists.

"Brandon!" She shouts at him, pounding frail wrists on his hardened torso.

"Did you give her something?" He snarls.

My neck feels like it may bruise under the cut of my collar. Brandon keeps a strong fist around my shirt, His eyes darken with silent anger. My eyes water from lack of oxygen, straining to keep the black spots out of my vision. The audience is divided, some watching the poor new kid being strangled an inch of his life. Others choose to look elsewhere, towards the noise happening behind the beast. I can't hear anything over my ringing ears. I feel the fear course through my veins, my eyes never leaving the clenched fist.

"You're creasing my shirt." I spit.

All eyes fall on me.

The giant manages a dry chuckle, throwing his head back. The crowd gasps, eyes on me like hungry vulture waiting for carcass. I hear them whispering furiously, waiting for me to react as the manic laughter turns into a shrieking cackle. I know how easy it would be to snap his wrist, how poorly his fists are clenched

"You think you and your family are better than any of us. Your brother treats people like shit. What does that make you? You entitled fuck! Leave Aretha the hell alone!"

I feel like a stranger who has surfaced into a suffocating body with no insight.

"I'm not my brother." I tell him.

A wave of discomfort breaks his dark scowl.

"Let him go!" A commanding voice interrupts my concentration. It's deep and powerful. Brandon's eyes dart in pensive thought before he finally releases his death grip. I cough and wheeze on the ground.

My saviour is clad in a fitted, white-collared shirt that make his biceps bulge intimidatingly. My eyes trail down his exposed neck, the skin there impossibly tanned and glistening with the light sheen of sweat. His features sloped and curved. It feels like dawn breaking. He is expressionless, as usual. I smile because his temperance is already a familiar story. He takes two strides towards me, roughly shoving Brandon Blake away. Aretha steps away from the two of us. He leans down, arms resting on his knees. The strong arch of his nose brushes against my face, his dishevelled brown hair falls messily on his temple. He lifts a solitary finger, resting only the tip on my nose before pushing up my glasses. Deep ocean blue rims around two black islands. Wisps of light cuts through the cobalt like spokes of a wheel.

"Run away, little boy."

I feel the ice melting against my hot skin as I retreat slowly, leaving the outcasts to their volition.

*

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-M