Hi there, the wait is over! (OK, I don't think anyone but me was waiting, but still.) This is the first part of my longer story that I have been working on. Part 01 (this one) does not contain any sex. These crazy kids will have to wait for their boom boom pow. I do think the sexy bits in the next part are by far the best I've written and it will be submitted at the same time as this one, so you have that to look forward to.
The beginning might be a little odd and I've tried some unconventional things to get into the head of someone with ADD. So if you don't like the style, it will become a little more toned down later on.
Disclaimer: All characters who engage in slap and tickle are at least eighteen years old.
All rights reserved.
Prologue - In My Dreams
A couple may love each other with all of their hearts, but often enough, their love starts with something else entirely.
In this case it started with her ass. And this particular ass... well... words do not suffice...
Walking down the hallway in front of him, he could only see a pair of shapely legs and a spectacular butt in volleyball shorts. He didn't notice her long brown hair, her knee brace, or anything else... just that ass.
As he followed it, he couldn't help but think that this ass was the reason that volleyball shorts were invented. This ass was the reason that the term bubble butt was invented. This ass was the reason that asses were invented.
All he could do was stare, his mind blank of any other thoughts. It seemed like her butt was staring back at him.
He didn't know how long he had been following it, or where he was, but his mental faculties were slowly starting to come back to him. He was wondering if he knew this ass... rather... this person. Had he said hello and shaken its... her... hand? Was she new to the school or....
WHUMP!
Darkness and ringing. Painful, high pitched, ringing darkness...
*****
As his eyes started to open he could see faces, or at least he thought they were faces, the faces were spinning violently...
"Are you OK? Can you hear me?"
One of the faces began to come into focus. He knew that face. It had a name... Her name was...
Blackness again...
*****
Someone was speaking to him, asking him if he was alright. The face that came into focus, it wasn't the one from before.
"Son, how many fingers do you see? You need to stay awake, you blacked out again. Son?"
He began to sit up.
"Son, you have a concussion. Don't move."
He felt dizzy. Now that he was sitting up, he was dizzy. He had never felt so dizzy before.
And that's when he vomited.
It turns out that a backpack full of textbooks will hit you like a backpack full of textbooks, even if it is being playfully tossed from one side of the hallway to the other at that moment. The impact is also worse if you are not listening to or watching out for your surroundings... because you are staring at the perfect ass in front of you.
The moments are rare in this life when someone gets what they deserve, but as John Samuels slumped back onto the floor, even he wouldn't be able to argue that this was not one of them.
Chapter 1 - Sleepyhead
7:15 AM... RING... RING...
Getting up was never easy for him. Every morning was its own battle, and even though the concussion symptoms were gone, John still groaned as he sat up in his bed.
7:23 AM... RING... RING...
He slumped back, trying to decide whether to get up.
Red pill or blue pill?
*****
He must have picked the red pill because he was walking (staggering) down the hall towards his home room, a Starbucks clutched in his hand.
*****
Third period was calculus... hopefully He was certainly looking at the title page of an open calculus book. What was the class before this one? It was... It was...
At least this wasn't the concussion talking, his memory always worked like this.
Knee bounce...
Toe tap...
Now he was rubbing his head, not that he noticed. He rarely noticed the fidgeting.
And then he stopped.
That was her. It had to be her. It definitely looked like her hair. And her ear... maybe... well, he had actually never noticed her ear before, but it definitely could have been her right ear. This ear had three piercings: one in the lobe, and two in the upper ear.
Mr. Nickolson was still droning. "Prove... speeding ticket... velocity... points... minimum speed..." It didn't make any sense.
The bell rang.
She was standing up and facing towards him to pick up her bag. If time was speeding by before for John, now it froze.
In her sandles, the girl was 5'2", maybe 5'3", slender with flared hips. Hanging down a few inches below her shoulders, her hair was dark brown.
But John didn't notice any of those details because she was smiling. And oh what a smile!
At other times a catty girl might have tried to talk about how she had chipmunk cheeks, but when she was smiling, two gigantic dimples came out to play. Her whole heart-shaped face would light up when she smiled, starting with her bright green eyes.
Once in a very great while, there is a smile that makes it feel like the sun just came out from behind the clouds. And this girl definitely had one.
For the first time that day, John felt fully awake.
Chapter 2 – Perfection as a Hipster
Wippy "Don't Ask" Black was not having a good day. ("Don't Ask" was not actually her middle name, it just seemed like it was to her. People asked her about her first name that often.)
Her knee was hurting again.
And she felt fat. Ever since the knee injury, she had been putting on weight. It was only 15 pounds, but it felt like 30 to her. Of course, it would have been nice if someone had told her boobs so that they could blossom into C cups, like apparently every other girl in this school.
And she hated her friends. It seemed like they were always ignoring her.
For being only two weeks into her last semester of high school, she felt overwhelmed. Straight A's are a painful precedent to maintain.
All of this might explain why she was in a black mood when she slumped down next to Sarah at the lunch table. The conversation continued on without pause. It was some type of gossip about people she didn't know.
Suddenly, Sarah, elbowed her. It broke her out of her reverie.
"Hey, you see that kid over there? Eating alone?"
"Yeah."
The kid in question was another senior. He looked a little stocky, with dark hair grown out over his ears, curling at the ends. He had a few days worth of beard, and also a large, dark bruise up one side of his face.
"You know what I heard?"
"Probably not."
"That's the guy who got hit by the bookbag Monday. I heard that pervert got hurt because he was staring at your ass."
"That seems unlikely." It was that boy, now she remembered. She had been the first person to him after he went down, but she had to leave to get to practice before he fully regained consciousness.
"Oh, I think it's true. I heard that he followed you for, like, two hallways staring at your ass before it happened."
Sarah continued, "Bitch, at least you've got something to follow, I'm glad to see you're not skeleton-skinny anymore." She pinched Wippy's butt while saying it, then immediately returned to the table's conversation.
Wippy just sat there silently. It couldn't be true, could it? Why would someone be staring at her ass?
Suddenly the day didn't seem quite so terrible after all.
The boy sat up and left his table. He actually walked right past her to get rid of his tray! He didn't make eye contact with her as he passed, but at least she had gotten a better chance to see him.
He was maybe 5'10" or 5'11" and a little bit stocky. His face wasn't going to end up on the front of any magazines (except "Pervert Weekly" Sarah would have told her), but it seemed pleasant enough. He was dressed a little oddly in a dress shirt with a tie on that was absolutely the wrong color. Was he colorblind?
*****
Wippy watched John Samuels intently (she had managed to learn his name) over the next several school days. He might or might not be colorblind, but he was definitely a hipster. Some days he looked surprisingly good, and then some days he looked like he had dressed in the dark.
The spying at least took her mind off of school. She was doing so bad right now, she was convinced. The quiz last period, she had missed most of the questions, for sure. Wippy had always gotten A's but she obviously wasn't smart enough to keep getting them. She was much dumber than people thought she was, that was obvious to her.
Her mind went back to John. He was friendly enough with everyone except her, who he seemed to be avoiding. He even seemed scared to look at her. It didn't appear that he had any close friends.
Sarah's gossip filled in some more details, once Sarah realized that Wippy was watching him. Apparently, the Pervert (as Sarah called him) was a little bit of an enigma. He never seemed to study with anyone, and he definitely didn't pay attention in class. He had spent a semester each on the baseball team, the chess club, the debate team, and the tennis team. No one knew why, but he had quit each after only a semester, regardless of his performance in them.
*****
John had spent the time racking his brain for everything he could remember from junior year about the girl, who he would now be too ashamed to ever talk to.
Her name was Wippy. (Weird name.) She was a straight A student, probably the top in the class. Or damn near it.
Last semester she had been really skinny, like really, really skinny. He had thought she might be anorexic. Or bulemic. Whichever one made you really, really skinny.
She reminded him of someone... Who was it?...
Nevermind.
They had shared a class, but he didn't remember her ever talking. Of course, he hadn't been paying attention for most of the time so she could have taught the class most days and he probably wouldn't remember it.
He didn't remember her smiling very much.
Knee bounce...
Toe tap...
Why hadn't he really noticed her before?
Either way, it was well and truly fucked now.
Chapter 3 - Have You Ever
John sometimes thought that his life was like a vacation roadtrip, a few key events to be enjoyed with interminable hours and days in between them, the scenery whizzing past forgotten before it was even noticed. He often found himself in various places, in class being asked a question or standing inside his front door, without any distinct memories of how he got there.
