Chapter 3
Chapter three
Cole · Then
Slow Motion – Simple Plan
Fifteen Years Old
The guitar slips from my grip when Saint bounds into the music room. He tosses his rucksack on a chair, slips his blazer off, and scrubs a hand through his messy, shoulder length, dyed black hair.
“Fuck me. I love that girl,” he says.
I chuckle as he slides to the floor. “Did Theo grace you with a hello this morning?”
“Better.” His lips curl into a lopsided smile. “She kneed me in the balls.”
I cock a brow. “How is that better?”
“She only did it because I got off the bus with Elaine the pain.”
I roll my eyes.
Saint and Theo have been neighbours their whole lives. Aside from scowling at him every chance she gets, she doesn’t give him the time of day.
Of course, he’s taken this to mean she’s madly in love with him. Doesn’t matter that she's been dating some football playing tool bag in year twelve. He’s convinced they’re soulmates, and there’s no changing his mind.
“Righttt, and you did nothing in between the bus and her knee?” I flip a pointed glare his way.
He grins, tugging a roll of cotton on his worn black trousers. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Why do I not believe you?” I laugh and prop the guitar against the wall.
I grab my notebook and pen and toss them into Saint's lap, before dropping to my arse. He holds a cigarette between his teeth, his thumb gliding over the spark wheel of his zippo as he scans the pages.
Pinning him with a glare, I snatch the stick and lighter from him, shoving them in my pocket. “Cut that shit out. Next time you’re caught, they’re not just gonna suspend you. You’ll be excluded.”
“Like I care. We’re going places with the band, dude. School is just an unnecessary pitstop.”
“Not if we don’t have any music,” I mutter, tapping my pen against the page.
I’d never really thought about writing music. Then we met Carter at the skate park, a sixth former with his drumsticks always in hand. He invited me to jam in his garage.
Saint tagged along with his beat-up Fender, and Carter's friend Axel showed up with a pristine Ibanez bass. The four of us clicked instantly.
When I started singing over the beat of Carter’s drums and the rest of the riffing, something sparked inside me. I've always loved music, but I'd never considered a career in something that wasn't playing the piano until then.
In that garage, with the rhythm pounding under my ribs and everyone laughing between riffs, I knew this was what I wanted my life to be.
A harsh bell sounds out in the hallway, pulling me away from my rampant thoughts.
I throw my notebook into my bag and pocket my pen. Saint grunts when I haul him off the floor. He might not care about school, but I care enough for both of us. I don’t need my best friend kicked out while I’m stuck here slumming.
I drag him to our form room.
We shuffle past an unimpressed Mr Prescott, who glances at his watch before hiking a brow at us. Holding back my eye roll, I move for the empty table at the back. It’s not as if we really need to be in form. It’s only attendance ticking.
Saint pulls out his MP3 player and slides a headphone my way. I pop it in, opening my notebook as he plays the track I’ve been working on the last couple of weeks.
Tuning out the chatter of the classroom, I zero in on the scribbled lyrics. They’re a mess of thoughts and feelings, none of it coming together to form a cohesive story.
Saint is right. We’ve got a real chance of getting out of this town and making a name for ourselves. But only if I can figure this shit out.
Pen tapping in time with the rhythm, I’m in a world of my own when Saint shoves my shoulder.
“The fuck?” I shoot him a scowl, arm reaching out to shove him back. I catch air as he kicks his chair back across the floor.
He presses a hand to his lips and tips his chin towards the door.
I flip him my middle finger.
He only grins.
I rub my aching skin, turning to see what’s got him acting like a giddy kid in a sweet shop.
I’m not sure what I expect. But it’s not the pale skinned, rosy cheeked girl poking her head into the classroom.
Mr Prescott clocks her and gestures her inside. She tucks mousy brown hair behind one ear, showing off the array of sparkling studs dotting her earlobe as she slinks over to him.
She hands him a piece of paper. He scans over it with his eyes before nodding and swapping it out for a yellow slip.
A double hooped ring in her nose glints under the sunlight when she turns. She tugs the strap of her leather backpack tighter to her chest, her tongue playing with the stud in the centre of her bottom lip.
I trace the piercings. If I dared to walk in the door with piercings at this age, my mum would have a coronary. Hell, I’ve been begging her to let me get my nose pierced for two years since Saint got his at thirteen, but she’s steadfast in her refusal.
I rip my head away so I don’t look like a damn creeper.
My knee bounces as Saint stands, his arms going wide in a show of chivalry.
“Hey, new girl,” he shouts. Prescott pins him with a piercing stare, but he isn’t deterred. “Come sit with us. There’s plenty of space.”
Way to play it cool, dude.
I shuffle down in my seat, twisting my cap on my head. Girls are into that kind of thing, right? Backwards caps and nonchalance.
The seat beside me slides out, and a sweet, husky voice cuts past the music filling my ear. “Hi.”
“Hey.” I crane my neck, swallowing as our gazes collide.
My heart hammers.
Freckles dot pale skin, plump pink lips glitter under the bright lights, and kohl-lined, gold speckled green eyes linger on mine a beat too long.
Fuck me. She’s pretty.
My mouth drops open. I rack my brain searching for anything cool to say, but Saint beats me to the punch. He squeezes his head between us, stretching his arms over the backs of our chairs. “’Sup new girl. I’m Saint.”
“Hey,” she says. “I’m Hendrix.”
My curiosity piques. “Like Jimi?”
Hendrix raises a brow. “The one and only. My dad’s a super fan. He thinks he’s the greatest guitarist of all time.”
“Do you agree?” I lean forward, ring adorned fingers sliding across the table.
“He's not bad.” She hums, lips twitching. “But I’m more of a Synyster Gates fan myself.”
Holy Shit! She is perfect.
I don't know many people who would name a metal guitarist as the greatest of all time. Most just throw out the most well-known names. “You’re into rock music, then?”
“Yeah.”
“Favourite bands?” I ask her.
“My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, Black Veil Brides, A Day to Remember, Avenged Sevenfold,” she says.
Saint bumps my knee with his as he takes his seat again.
I swat him away.
I get it—we’re the only ‘alternative’ kids in our year, so making friends hasn’t come easy. Most people in our year are more interested in movies and shopping than watching Kerrang!—but I need him to rein in his excitement before he scares her off on her first day.
“Did you see My Chem are playing in the city next month?” I ask.
She smiles. “Yeah, I’ve got a ticket.”
“Are you going with friends?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head, twisting a thick, sparkling silver ring around her middle finger. “We just moved here from London a couple weeks ago. Haven’t really met anyone yet.”
“We'll be your friends.” Saint says. “And we're going to gig, if you want to come with us. Our friend Carter is seventeen, so if your 'rents want you to go with an adult you can just age him up a bit.”
Hendrix huffs a laugh. “My parents won’t care.”
Saint tilts his head, eyes considering as he glances over her. Then he nods, as if answering a question he didn't speak aloud. “Then you should come with us if you want.”
“You definitely should." I say. “Concerts are always more fun with friends.”
“I’ll think about it.” She cocks her head. “Might need to know your name before I agree to a budding friendship, though.”
“Oh, yeah, that might help. I’m Coles.” I clear my throat. “Hayes.” Fire licks at my cheeks. “Cole Hayes. Hi.”
She bites her lip, eyes shimmering with amusement.
“Hi, Cole Hayes. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Hendrix Moore.” She holds a hand out to me. “But my friends call me Hendrix.”
What if I don’t want to be just your friend, Hendrix Moore?
I clasp her smaller palm in mine. A zing shoots up my arm as the cold rings wrapped around her fingers clink with mine, the mixed metal biting into my warm skin.
The bell rings and Prescott ushers us out of his classroom with the threat of detention if it isn’t empty in the next sixty seconds.
“Do either of you know where Mrs Porter's French classroom is?” Hendrix asks, tossing her bag over one shoulder as she stands. “That’s my first lesson and I really don’t want to get lost again this morning.”
Saint drapes an arm over her shoulders.
“I’ve got you, new girl. I’m in that class too,” he says, steering her out into the hallway. “See you, dude.”
“See ya.” I tip my chin, wiggling my fingers as I start to turn.
I'm halfway down the hallway when inspiration strikes.
“Hey, Hendrix!” I shout, jogging to close the distance as she spins. She glances at me with a frown. “How do you feel about Rixie?”
Saint looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “You’re being weird.”
I ignore him, pinning my eyes on the pretty girl at his side. “Everyone needs a good nickname.”
“Huh.” She watches me for a long moment, nose bunching, brows dipping. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. “I’ve never had one before.”
“Well, now you do.” I grin, hike my rucksack higher on my shoulder, and stroll backwards. “Bye, Rixie Moore.”
She hitches a soft breath, the corner of her mouth twitching as she tugs her lip piercing between her teeth. “I’ll see you around, Cole Hayes.”