How much tragedy does it take before someone snaps?
Raised by the president of the Rogue Dogs Motorcycle Club, who just happens to be her uncle, had given Teresa-James O'Dell a tough skin. She didn't waste her time with the gossiping girls who saw...
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16 years old
"Ollie," I shouted as I leapt onto the broad back of my best friend since birth. Quiet literally. His arms looped under my legs as my arms wrapped around his neck. He made a comment about me being heavy and smacked the side of his shaved head before squirming to be let go.
Winter break was finally over, and the last half of my junior year was well on its way to being dominated. Oliver, the jock looking punk, had wrapped his arm around my shoulder and tucked me close as he dragged me toward the door. "How was your break, TJ? Break any more hearts?"
"Oh," I mocked his teasing then elbowed him in the ribs playfully. "Tough guy has jokes."
"Only for you, half-pint."
"Stop calling me that," I mumbled as he released me. "I'll have you know, I've grown two feet since you gave me that horrible nickname.
"Really," he looked down at me with those chocolate colored eyes. In my defense, he was solid muscle on a six foot frame which would make anyone appear tiny to him. Especially someone who hadn't met his height; ever. I swear he came out of the womb a monster.
The soft whispers as we entered the hall where my locker was stopped our bantering. The various cliques of girls were giggling and gossiping about some new guy. The boys were huddled up doing the same. Oliver and I exchanged a look before I returned my focus on the combination lock. His hand snatched the stale cereal that was on the top shelf and began popping a few pieces into his mouth. The boy was a real life vacuum. He'd eat anything he could get his hands on. There were several occasions where I had dropped food while outside and he'd just brush it off to take a bite.
"Gross," I muttered as his hand returned to the bag for another handful.
"Can you move," a deep voice drawled. My head snapped up to see a dark haired, tanned boy behind Oliver. The pissed off expression had caused the clusters down the hall to shut up. Some had even scattered. Probably out of fear of being stabbed. If it wasn't for growing up with my aunt and uncle, I would have been one of the scared kids. Abandoning my locker until the coast was clear.
"Sorry, man," Oliver replied after swallowing down the food in his mouth. Like the good friend he is, Oliver patted my shoulder and promised to see me at lunch. Then, like fucking Hudini, he was gone.
The locker beside mine screeched open and I glanced at the brooding boy. He was ruthless as he shoved the backpack into the small space then shrugged out of his leather jacket. The snug fitted black tee, ripped jeans and combat boots gave the same punk vibe that Oliver gave off. He had a chain that stretched from under his tee to his back pocket and a silver chain that disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.
"You're going to want to lose the wallet chain," I choked out while burying my face in my locker to find my binder and text book for Chemistry.
"What?" I pointed to the silver hanging at his side.
