Elena's P.O.V.
On Monday everything seemed to go back to normal. People would stop staring and whisper about me like I had woken up from the dead - but I can't say the same thing about my zombie-looks in the morning.
"Hey, I haven't heard from you since Friday, what have you been up to?" Hazel bumped me into the blue lockers, making me narrow my eyes in a small glare.
Oh, you know, I have just casually befriended a stalker prince and his friends.
"Netflix," I simply answered and closed the locker.
My friend sighed with a roll of her eye, "Of course, why am I not surprised?"
A smile broke out, painting my entire face with a cheeky gleam. If you only knew the entire story. . .
"But on a serious note," Hazel looked at me as we walked down the hall. "We should do something tonight, it's been a while since we had some real fun."
"Is my company not enough for you, Ms. Phillips?" I gasped and covered my heart playfully, "Is it because of my hair? Or because I prefer Converse over Vans?"
"What has shoe brands to do with- you know what, forget it. It's impossible to get anything through your stupid head." She quickened her pace so I almost had to run to catch up to her.
"Your face is stupid," was the only thing I managed to come up with, which I silently flinched at. "And mind you, I have an uptight schedule. You can even consider as a grown up with a job."
She laughed. And it wasn't just a little chuckle with the lifetime of some seconds - no, no, no. Hazel was loud and pointing at me as if it was the funniest thing in the world.
My annoyance had developed to an entirely new level, so with a stone dead glare aimed at my friend, I walked away, leaving her to catch up to me.
"Okay, I'm done," she chuckled quietly, looking up at my hair. "And also, that was a nice, messy bun you have there," she pointed at my creation. "How many tries did it take this time?"
"Eight." My eyes traveled up to the most frustrating hairstyle ever invented.
People with long hair, don't lie; getting a perfectly messy bun without looking like a stupid unicorn is just as difficult as getting the government to listen to you.
"Well, at least you beat your old record with - what was it again? Oh, yeah, fifteen." Hazel clapped my shoulder, "You're making progress, Elly."
And then there are the immortal ones who can do the impossible. Like my friend over here with her hair thicker than her skull, and that says more than a picture could ever do.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall, a smirk playing itself on my lips due to the taste of my words. "Don't you have a class you have to attend to, like, on the other side of the school?"
Her eyes widened in the size of the sun, and she sprinted away along with her curses that followed her. "ScheiÃe!"
Hazel and her German, I shook my head amusedly, watching the girl push people away in a frantic matter.
"Is your friend alright?" The voice behind me almost had me jump out of my skin, but when my attention whipped to the tall boy, a sigh escaped my lips.
"Can I help you with something, Adam?" Was my response as I pushed myself off the wall.
He frowned, causing regret to thrive in my chest at how rude I must've sounded like. "No, not really," his words were followed by his hand scratching the back of his neck. "But I am wondering where you were on Friday."
My eyebrows were knitted in a messy knot of bewilderment, but were set loose when I realized he was talking about the game. "Oh, that. . ." I looked at his raised brow. "Well, I told you I wasn't coming."
"Yeah, I know. But I thought you were just joking," he began to follow me, walking next to me as I was heading towards the chemistry class. "Your friend-"
"Hazel," I chimed in.
"-Was there, so I thought that maybe you were with her or something." He looked down at me, his eyes leaking curiosity. "Did I do something to you?"
I stopped in my tracks, "What? No, of course not! Why would you think that?"
He shrugged his shoulders, burying his hands in his jeans pockets. "I don't know, maybe because you're so. . . dismissive."
I staggered, taking a step back and placing a hand on my chest. Me? Dismissive?
Well, maybe I- no, stand your ground, Elena!
"Okay, first of all, I am not dismissive," I started with a pointing look. "I'm just a. . . reserved person."
That's actually true, I mean, what else do you expect from a person who travels through time?
His eyes narrowed, almost like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "Really?" He averted his gaze from my orbs. "What could a person with a broken arm who is strictly ordered from doing any physical activity possibly do to become so reserved?"
Dammit, why couldn't he had been the stereotype of an athlete: empty-headed.
"Well, for your information," I started, ignoring the brief looks of curiosity from the other students while walking down the hall. "There is something called Netflix, life outside of school, and sleep that takes over half of my time, so, therefore, I was busy that night."
He chuckled, "Couldn't Netflix had waited?"
"Nope," I popped the 'P'. "And also, why does it matter to you if I'm there or not? You have never been to my games."
"Actually," he stopped and pointed his finger at me, a cheeky smile growing on his lips. "I have seen you playing, and it was pretty. . . impressive. And intense as hell."
What?
Not knowing what to say, I cleared my throat and briefly scratched behind my ear with a simple finger, "Thanks. . . I guess?"
It's not that I don't appreciate compliments, I just don't know how to answer them without sounding awkward.
The story of my life.
"And to tell you the truth, I don't even like soccer," he continued the words that made my feet stop dead in their tracks.
"What did you just say?" I looked at him with a shocked expression splashed all over my face. Apparently, he seemed to find it quite amusing as his lips curled up into a smile. "You know what, talk to my hand, I'm not speaking to an ignorant person who has no taste in sports, adieu."
"Whoa, whoa, hold on." He took a hold of my arm, stopping me, "I have 'no taste in sports'? Do you even know who I am?" Despite my words that were somewhat insulting, the little smile held its ground on his face.
"Yeah, you're the ignorant jock," I replied, retreating my arm to continue my walk to the class before the bell rang.
"Ha ha," he sarcastically laughed. "But no, I am actually the team captain of the greatest sport ever invented."
"How can you be the captain of our soccer team if you don't even play it?"
"What, no! I'm talking about football!"
"Yeah, that's the original name for soccer," I didn't even need to look up to know that his face was covered in annoyance.
"I'm talking about American football, the greatest sport our ancestors have ever invented," Adam's words were filled with a huge amount of passion, which was more than enough for me to look up to meet his blue orbs. "That is a real sport."
"What? Real? No way, I thought it was a ghost game played by the dead."
His brief laughter was deep and warm, something that made it sound more genuine. "But seriously though, you have to come to our next game," he looked down at me, almost with pleading eyes.
"I can't," I answered with a half-flinch. "I'm. . . busy."
"How can you be busy when you don't even know the date of the game?" He raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame of my classroom.
Dang it.
My mouth opened, closed and re-opened a couple of times before words could find their way out of my lips. "Well. . . you see. . ." Lying was pointless, so I didn't even bother to try. "I'm a psychic."
Leave it to me to joke myself out of real life situation.
Adam laughed. "Oh, really? Then tell me, who will win; us or The Parrots?"
"Pfft," I snorted and almost laughed. "We all know that we're going to win, The Parrots stand no chance. Have you even seen their defense? They put the safety way too close to the cornerbacks, who does that?"
His body vibrated in a laughing gleam, "To love soccer more than anything, you sure as hell know more about football than most people do."
I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, you've gotta support all the teams in this school, even if some certain sports kill your brain cells."
He narrowed his eyes at what seemed to be a small glare, but the sly smirk dancing on his face told me otherwise. "Well, then you must surely come and watch the game to support us."
Oh, he's good.
The bell rang before I could answer, which made me relieved that I didn't have to come up with another, terrible excuse. Never thought I would say this, but damn, do I love the school bell's timing.
"Oh, look at that!" I gestured to the students emptying the hallway. "I have a class to attend to, and so do you." With that said, I ducked under his arm and walked into the room.
"Wait!" But it was too late, the teacher had arrived - and when a teacher arrives the classroom; there's no turning back.
I quickly found my seat next to my lab partner, Iman, the girl with a spine stronger than a mountain. She was known to be a hardcore person, and it wasn't just because of her goth looks, but also due to her attitude.
However, deep, deep, deep down, she is - believe it or not - a marshmallow. Ah, the perks of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I thought back to the memory of finding her crying over Frozen.
"It's good to see that you're still alive, buttercup." She spoke with a quiet voice so the teacher wouldn't hear us. "I knew you would survive that fall, but I had no idea I would be without a partner for so long."
As I began to write down the teacher's words, I threw a glance at the girl with the black hijab on her head. "Aw, did little Iman miss me?"
She scoffed, "No." Even I could see through her lie.
The living gleam on my face only grew bigger by how easily embarrassed she became. After all, Iman didn't like to show emotions, which makes this even more hilarious.
Before I could continue my teasing, the girl with the hijab that matched the night, changed the subject; giving me the awkward spotlight in the conversation. "By the way, what's going on between you and Adam?"
Dammit, I thought she didn't see it.
I coughed awkwardly, drawing the attention of a couple of students for a brief second. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mumbled with my head hanging low. "You must be schizophrenic or something because you're obviously seeing things that aren't real."
Although my orbs were settled on my paper, I could still sense the huge smirk painting Iman's lips that were covered in black lipstick. "You do know if Annie ever sees you talking to him, she's going to kill you, right? Surviving that fall would be pointless, just like the search of her brain."
This is one of the reasons why I like her. She has great humor.
Waiting for the teacher to turn back to the blackboard, I leaned closer to Iman for my next, whispering words. "There's nothing going on between us. Believe me, I'm actually trying to get rid of him."
She turned her head towards me, raising a perfect eyebrow that almost touched the line of her hijab. "Well, you're doing a horrible job at that, El, because he's literally following you around like a lost puppy."
"I know," a silent sigh tiptoed out of my mouth. "But how am I supposed to get him to stop when he's not leaving me alone!"
The teacher turned around because of the sudden volume of my whispering words, but her attention went back to the board when silence covered me up.
"You of all people should know that there are millions of ways to get rid of people," Iman whispered through the scribbling of pencils and pens. "But considering you're a hopeless idiot with a broken arm, I'll give you a helping hand."
She snickered at her own joke, making me roll my eyes. "Ha ha, you are so funny."
Her head turned towards me, the warm, chocolate milk orbs of hers encountered my apple-green ones. "You gotta be boring, El, that's how you stop people's interest towards you."
Does she think I'm interesting?
Although she was helping me with some unnecessarily rude comments being thrown around, the smile forming on my lips couldn't stop itself. "Aw, are you saying that I am-"
"But in your case, you gotta decline everything and pretend that you're busy." She added quickly before my sentence could finish its ending.
"I love you too."
***
Seeing your house after a boring school day is the holiest thing you'll ever experience on a Monday. It's like seeing all of your celebrity crushes in one place, holding out chocolate for you.
Basically, you're in heaven.
But then there are those pranksters who just love to rearrange your heaven to hell.
Yeah, I'm probably going to jail after I've murdered this idiot.
"Carl!" I threw my school bag onto the green grass, walking towards my house that was covered in toilet paper. "What the hell!?"
The blonde boy jumped out of his hiding place, a huge smirk glued on his stupid, stupid face. "Do you like it?"
With my teeth clenching so hard that they would break, I turned my head in a slow and dangerous motion. "The only thing I would like seeing right now is you buried six feet under the ground!"
He had the nerve to laugh, an amused gleam living outside of his lips. "Oh, please, you should've seen it coming."
Yeah, of course, it's my fault that I'm not a psychic. How could I not know that my house would become a snowball of toilet papers?
"Seen it coming? Do I look like Raven from That's So Raven to you?" My reply was followed by my fist colliding with his arm in a hard punch. "If I could've seen it coming, I would've killed you before you could even think of doing this senseless prank!"
"Ow!" He ran away from my hits, picking up a garden gnome as a shield to keep me away. "Well, if you didn't want this to happen, you shouldn't have painted my room pink!"
My eyebrows were knitted in a messy knot of confusion, "What are you talking about?"
He let down his 'shield of protection' with a half of an inch. "Oh, cut the act, would you? I know it was you who painted my room pink, you're the only one - besides myself, of course - who has a key to my house."
Is he drunk again?
A heavy breath filled with irritation fell out of my lips as I tossed a garden flamingo at him. "That wasn't me, you idiot!"
"To have a broken arm, you sure as hell throw- ow!" It hit the top of his head, making him raise the heavy gnome in a failed attempt to protect himself. "Stop it, I know it was you behind that prank, just admit it already."
"It-" I threw another flamingo, "Wasn't-" A rake this time, "Me!" He ducked right in time before the flower pot could hit his face.
"What?" Carl mumbled with stupidity and confusion laced in his voice. "So. . . you didn't do it?"
"No!" I shouted, annoyed at how quickly his IQ dropped. How is it even possible to be this. . . brain-dead?
His blue orbs looked at me for a second, and with a wince, he turned his head towards my house he had covered in toilet paper. "Oh. . ."
I pointed my index finger at him with a sharp look that could almost cut a certain blonde idiot. "And you will clean this mess up or else you can expect to wake up six feet under the ground, but don't worry, you should've seen it coming."
He locked his lips in a tight line, almost like he was processing every word of our conversation. "Touché, Campbell. Touché."
An annoyed huff of air sharply made its way out of my mouth, and with a roll of my eye, I picked up my school bag and made my way towards the door. "Where did you even get this much toilet paper from? Aren't college students supposed to be poor or something?" I asked after ripping down the fourth layer of toilet paper taped to the door.
"I have my ways," Carl said with a grin plastered on his face, which was soon replaced with a frown. "Wait, I just realized something. . ."
"What? That you're dumber than you thought you were, or the fact that your face scare children, heck, even Slenderman away?" I retorted, ripping off the ninth layer of toilet paper. "Seriously!? How did you even manage to do all of this while I was at school?"
"If you didn't paint my room pink, and I certainly did not, then who did it?" He mumbled loudly, ignoring my question in the process. "There are no footprints, no evidence, no nothing, which means this isn't the work of an amateur." He paced back and forth with his fingers tapping his lips. "This person is a. . . genius, a true prankster."
"Oh, for God's sake! Stop being so dramatic and clean this mess up before I call the cops on you," I threatened, finally getting through the last layer of toilet paper.
"Elena, you don't understand it, this is much bigger than you think. It's not some prank, no, it's a declaration of war!" He shouted the last word as if the unknown 'prankster' would hear him.
I rolled my eyes the thousandth time this day, "Just clean this up before I change my mind of letting you live." With that said, I entered the house and slammed the door shut. "Ugh, I hate Mondays. . ."