She knocked my breath out when she slammed me against the lockers.
Tears sprang up to my eyes as I felt the cold metal handle dig into my spine.
This was it, wasn’t it?
I was the nerd, she the cheerleader. I was the one with more curves in my cerebrum, she was the one with curves in her body. I was the one with spectacles, and she was the one with highlights of an exotic colour in her hair. I was the hidden corner of the room, she was the brightest light in the room.
And yet, when I prepared to wince when she pulled her hand back, I felt a strong hand jerk me out. And the sting on my cheek never came.
The only thing I saw was were sinewy arms, pulling me behind him. And then I saw his black shirt. And his brown hair curling at the nape of his neck.
And then I heard a bored, bold, lion-ish voice say, “Get lost, Natasha.”
Then I fainted.
Then I woke up in sunlight. A glass of water. A bandage on my arm where she hit me. Another room.
He was kicking a ball outside. Aggressively, against a wall. What pent-up anger he had in him, I wondered.
He looked up at me, his green-as-wild-moss eyes intense.
He asked me if I was fine.
I asked him why he saved me.
He asked what kind of a question that was.
I said that I don’t need to feel like a lowly damsel in distress.
He chuckled and said that I wasn’t one.
My cheeks heated, but I wasn’t sure if it was in anger.
He walked towards me, and held out his arm.
He said, Theo.
I turned away and stomped in anger.
Then I ran away.
But he followed me.