prologue

a brief introduction.

     He was much, much too close.

 

     He was there and breathing and far too cute, and much too close for comfort. Okay, so maybe it wasn't like anything was actually going to happen. I could tell that much, and I'm not very clever about people, or much else. I focused very, very hard on my feet. They weren't particularly interesting or anything, just my generic, knock-off white converse, doodled on. They were doodled on, highlighter eyes with too many black pen eyelashes, I realized as I looked at them, like, eyelashes to the point where they looked like fake eyelashes. The kind that a hooker would wear, or something. Hooker Eyelashes. That's a punk one.

     It started at a party. Don't things always start at parties? It's like they're life-changing events or something, at least in, like, s****y teen fics. I guess it's 'cause everyone's hammered and stuff. Not me, though, 'cause I barf. I've tried, trust me, it's unavoidable when you have my friends. And family. My best friend Halle - or, rather, only friend - is an alcoholic (sort of) w***e (s**t's more accurate, I suppose) nerd. I dunno how she manages it. We go to a girls' school. And it bites.

     Of course, I'm biased, because see, my parents teach there. Not that they're married or anything. My dad, Professor Beckett, teaches geography and history and all that bullshit. Yeah, we're totally gonna need that out of school. And then my mom, Professor Coulard, teaches English. They aren't married and they probably won't ever get married. So in addition to having both of my parents teach at my school, I'm a b*****d kid. Wait, since I'm a girl does that make it b***h kid? I'm not sure. That'd make sense, I think. But things rarely do. It's really easy to guess that my sisters and I are the kids of history and English teachers. Our names are Arizona Sappho, Carolina Brontë, and Dakota Angelou. Yep - State plus Female Poet equals Names for Children! My parents are insane.

     Of course, back on track of what I was actually saying, my only friend is an almost-alcoholic s**t from a very religious family. Hence the name Hallelujah Dansell. I call her Halle, or Ally, or Lou, or occasionally Hallelujah Joyce when I'm feeling pissy or hyperactive. Both have been known to happen from time to time. Halle is pretty much the epitome of the high school queen bee, except for the popularity factor. She's petite, but has curves. She's gorgeous, but not fake-looking. She's horribly bitchy, but she can be sweet. She's an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a tight tube top that shows off her (considerably smaller than she'd like) b***s to an extent that makes me have trouble concentrating on her face. So, yeah, being friends with her, I've gotten smashed once or twice.

    Okay, once. Again, it was at a party. And I figured, "Why not try some? All that'll happen is a hangover." Oh, the hangover I got. Seriously? I missed almost a week of school 'cause of that goddamn hangover. Oddly enough, I haven't drunk since. Groooooss gross gross gross. Apparently I hang out with the 'wrong crowd'. We've got Halle, your Promiscuous Teenage Drinker, we've got Jones, the Stoner Gal, and we've got Beatrice, who's been held back....three times? at last count. She's also got a very, very powerful fist.  And then there's me, Arizona, the not-quite-straight A student. All I have to my name is that I'm bisexual and get slammed in lockers. Wow, Arizona, you're interesting. I don't even have a nickname.

     So you may be wondering, "Arizona, if you're so unpopular and boring, why are you in such close contact with someone so hot and gorgeous and amazing and sweet and awesome asRussel F*****g Coinsmith?" The answer, reader, is that All My Friends are Horrible Sadists. Hallelujah Joyce dragged me to this party, because A, I have no life, and B, there are OH MY GOSH, BOOOOOYS here. Since we go to an all-girls' school, there is very little chance for nookie, at least if you just like guys. Or, I mean, if you're like me and even though you like girls, you're a huge loser. But Hallelujah Joyce, being Hallelujah Joyce, decided to ditch me for the Alcohol Table. So, since she dragged along Jones and Beatrice, too, I was left with a stoner and a psycho.

    Great.

    Granted, Jones wasn't particularly high right now, and hadn't been in a week or so, so she was pretty damn cranky. Jonesy wasn't one of those boring old non-addicted potheads, no, she was really addicted to the stuff. She came to the school with a doobie in hand and no one was sure if it was just that when she gets withdrawal, she gets it hard, or if she's really that bitchy. She went off to sulk in the corner and it was just me and Beatrice the Frightening, Queen of the Bad Perm. Beyond that Beatrice is insane and has hair that defies gravity like Einstein's and Phil Spector's put together, there are a few things you should know about her. One, she likes tutus. She will kill you, if you insult her tutus. Two, she likes s****y romance books. She would kill me if she knew I called them s****y. And three, she is almost as boy-crazy as Halle. I promptly felt myself being dragged over to the dreaded spot in the middle of the room in which a crowd of ladies and gents gathered. I shuddered. It was either Spin the Bottle or Seven Minutes in Heaven.

     So if you hadn't guessed by now, that is how I ended up in a closet with Russel Coinsmith. Some girl from the other school pointed at me, and then at Russel, and then at the closet. And here we are. I really wish I could say something interesting and awesome, like, he grabbed me by the wrists and pulled me in close, kissing me with passion. But, y'know, he didn't, the closest we got to that was that he rearranged slightly and his foot brushed against my foot. 'Course, that sort of made me explode a little bit, but nothing more. He just looked really, really bored every time I took a chance and looked up from my shoes. I heard footsteps outside of the closet and then the door opened. He stood up and walked out, he didn't look at me once. I probably turned a bit pink and followed suite, and wandered over to the couch. Halle was making out with some guy next to me. Just like every other party.

Reviews

[rachel <3]

omg