Note: Hi, thanks for your interest in this series. This first chapter is kind of a 'meet-cute' situation and does not involve anything explicit, so if you're looking for a quick fix, this may not be the one as it is also somewhat long. However, if you're looking for the first chapter of a romance series with lots of build up and tension, hopefully you will enjoy. Thanks so much. ~ Fluidity
Casey's head swam, a drunken weight swirling around in her temples and blurring her vision of the basketball court. She watched as the players ran, some lagging, toward each respective net again and again. She searched for Olly and found him, the lone towhead on the court, so skinny and the tallest in his grade. He was the school's star player, landing more baskets than any of the others could probably hope to.
She was proud of her brother. She could be jealous, but that would be admittedly child-like. However, she couldn't help recalling how middle school had been for her, and the memories stung like flies, biting at the unchangeable. She remembered being the tallest as well, (it ran in the family.) Unlike her brother, though, she had also been one of the few 'plus' size girls and she remembered how it made her feel like she stood out against all the other kids. She'd grown quickly, once even being asked if she were a visiting sub. She quirked a smile at the ridiculousness of that as the memory came. She remembered how lost she'd felt, how her depression had found her at such an early age. She'd been told countless times what an old soul she was - but she'd had to be. She hadn't, couldn't have, related to her peers. They just hadn't understood.
Her heart pounded steadily in her chest. Having not eaten anything decent, she was hungry, and the pills she'd taken were making everything take on a kind of glimmering sheen- the clean court seemed to come alive with the light from the scoreboard. The middle school she and her brother had attended, was winning, and would win, she was sure.
She sighed, looking over carefully at her mother, who looked very pale, hands in her lap, staring placidly out. She realized she probably looked very similar, and the thought was not an entirely pleasant one but it didn't sting anymore either. She seemed to have collected a lot of the hurt and insecurity from both of her parents, piling them together and slinging it over her shoulder as though they were raked leaves, just never to be thrown out. She put her head in her hand as it rested on her thigh. She was tired.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted someone entering the gym. She glanced over casually. Her heartbeat escalated from its already pronounced state as she realized who it was. It was Hassan. She quickly looked back down to the bleachers, staring at her tennis shoes, bringing them together and rubbing the siding, nervous.
She had never really figured it out, why she found him to be so interesting. Her proclivities and attractions often confused her. She sometimes felt she could fall in love with almost anyone, given the opportunity to truly look, to see if she could find the gems hidden in their eyes. She hadn't told her parents that she was both attracted to men and women. Hell, she hadn't told anybody about that, and she had only told one friend about her long-standing crush on Hassan.
He was one of those people with a charming smile that could light up a room. Even if one were sad, you felt compelled to smile along, as though the corners of your mouth were tugged by a rope. He was thin, and alternated startlingly between being very fashionable and wearing a loose hoodie and jeans. His features were somewhat boxy, angular, and uniquely handsome. Most of all, though, his eyes were warm, almost like melted copper, if a bit darker.
She chanced another look and saw him sit down at the very end of the bleachers. She recognized his father, a very straightforward man who wore his belted jeans high with a shirt tucked in. He always seemed serious, but kind. He sat, however, next to the other with them, his girlfriend, Mary. Mary was intoxicatingly beautiful, with big bright blue eyes and pale blonde hair, long thin legs and sharp shoulders. Casey could feel her jealousy toward the girl, but it was not animosity. She'd never had a negative experience with her, only had watched her from afar as she seemingly had sailed through life, captain of the cheerleading team and the debate captain. So, not only was she beautiful, but Casey knew she was wickedly smart. She watched as Mary turned toward Hassan and smiled a bit. He sat down and stared out at the court. Casey thought it a bit odd that they weren't more overtly affectionate toward each other but she also realized that they had been together for quite a long while at this point, at least in Casey's view. They had started dating in the last year of highschool and were still together now, two years later.
People had been confused about their relationship in school. Unfortunately, a lot of people in school had been judgemental, seeing only skin tone and clique affiliation as the only determining parameters of what constituted a solid choice for a prom date, but, with Mary's status as Queen Bee, no one pushed the matter, and Hassan was funny, and, well, had 'scored.' Casey could see the match, and why it worked. Hassan was kind of quiet, understated and kind. Mary was motivated, ladder-climbing, and a tad vain, but was not the kind of person, having been raised by 'good' parents, (whatever that meant,) to come down on someone or tease them, especially for things out of their control.
Casey imagined Mary's frazzled mother she'd once met at a bake sale, with her frizzy red hair, at Christmas with Hassan's father. Maybe they found common ground over a food they both liked, or a movie, or maybe they both liked gardening... Casey would never know, and she chided herself for wondering about things that had absolutely no bearing on her own life, instead of focusing on the mile-long list she had been writing in her mind, containing all of her faults, all of the things she should be doing, and all the things she wish she'd done differently.
"Go, Olly!" Casey's Mom unexpectedly let out a small yell to encourage her boy. Casey smiled. That was encouraging. Usually out in public, her mother shut up as though mute. The fact that her brother had recently stated he'd rather not be called Olly but Oliver instead made it even better. Casey had finally reached that age where she no longer found her Mother to be embarrassing, and saw her as a person too. She did, however, revel a little in her brother's embarrassment. A little is good for a kid, she thought.
She realized she'd missed his basket and made the effort to continue watching, and not continue looking over at the pair she had nothing to do with.
The times she'd interacted with Hassan were special to her, though.
They'd made stuffed animals together in Home Ec. It was a memory she kept so close to her heart, she could still feel the polyfil. They'd laughed and laughed. They'd gone almost mad, joking, flirting. She realized now that it was, indeed flirting, as an adult. She still questioned it sometimes but she knew it internally to be true. She remembered getting higher and higher with every step she took as she'd walked toward that class while they were partners. Still, his affections were never in reach within her mind.
His father owned the only bowling alley around for miles, and most times she'd gone in, (whether it be for a birthday or just to bowl with Vickie, her best and only friend,) Hassan had been behind the counter. Vickie knew instinctively to scuttle off after she'd gotten her shoes to scout out the lane.
They had a routine. He'd ask, "Size Clown?"
The question was in reference to the first time she'd come in to bowl there.
He'd asked her shoe size and in a somewhat bold mood, Casey had said, "Size 11, Size Clown."
He'd laughed. It had made Casey feel warm all over, melty. It still did, when she thought about it, and how the joke had evolved over the years-- when he'd once given them to her along with a red rubber nose. She had laughed hard, and asked him where he'd gotten the thing.
"There was a birthday party here a few weeks ago, and he had some for the kids. I asked for one too."
There had been a moment of stillness as she'd realized that he thought of her enough to act, in that moment, and approach a child's birthday clown.
"I'll wear it with pride," she'd said.
"Ha, no you won't," he'd laughed.
"You're right. I probably won't, but, um, thanks anyway." She'd lifted the nose in mock appreciation and started off to join Vickie, dopamine flooding her brain as the space-themed bowling alley carpet seemed to take on the form of puffy clouds that floated her to her destination.
She hadn't been back bowling in years, though. Times had been hard. Two years out of highschool, and she had dropped out of college. Vickie was still a friend, but no longer the constant at-her-hip companion that she used to be. Time does that; hurt does that.
The night flashed again in her mind's eye. It burned. It stung her stomach and still made her want to cry. Waking up to hearing your mother wailing with sobs is never the best way to wake up. Finding her, crumpled upon the floor, with a note in her hand, only a page long, was a disturbing sight, with only the kitchen light illuminating her form, just so.
