- Cyra -
“No,” I say simply, looking him straight in the eyes. I refuse to sugar-coat it.
His gray eyes widen in surprise. His pretty-boy face is a mix of disbelief, anger, and confusion. I guess he’s never been rejected before.
I bite back a laugh.
“Wait, why?” He sputters, his ego hurt.
“What’s your name?” I ask, amused.
“Kael,” He says slowly.
“Okay, so Kael, I don’t want to be in a relationship right now,” I tell him honestly, shrugging. ′Or ever,′ I add mentally.
His mouth flops open and close, like a fish. Apparently my presence makes people wordless. I’d say it’s a talent.
I shoot him a hopefully sympathetic-looking smile and turn around.
I decide to ditch school, not wanting to stay here any longer. It’s a miracle I even stayed for this long. At least I tried.
Bustling students hurry past me, all looking the same in their white uniform. I smile as I look at my uniform, where blue doodles pop out against the white. Surprised I haven’t got in trouble for it. Yet.
Many of the girls wear white skirts, pulling them up to show more skin.
I roll my eyes at the sight. ′Desperate,′
I head towards the bathrooms, hoping I don’t look suspicious. Trying to look casual, I look behind me, making sure no one is following me. When I don’t see anything suspicious, I keep walking, passing the bathrooms. Hopefully, none of the teachers are on the lookout for school ditchers like me.
I keep going, heading deeper and deeper into the empty hallway. I pass door after door, most of them storage rooms and scarcely used offices. I know, since I’ve explored all of the rooms. What can I say, school is a boring place. I need to have something to do.
At least barely anyone comes through this hallway. And I should know since I frequently do. Nobody bothers me or my hallway. I’ve taken to calling this long, deserted hallway my Quiet Place.
The sounds of students heading to class fade away. My steps sound too loud as they thud against the glass-like white floor.
′Too much white. There’s no color in this school,′ I remark to myself, glancing at the white walls, doors, and floor.
I make a mental note to colorfully doodle all over these blank walls. A good way to pass time and make this place a little less devoid of feeling and color. The school should be grateful that I’m even considering putting my beautiful, signature doodles on their bland walls.
I reach the end of the hallway, coming across the exit door. My exit door. I doubt anyone else uses it.
Nobody bothers to explore this school. They all want to be with their perfect friends and get perfect grades. Then they’ll go to their perfect home to be with their perfect families.
I stop myself right there. I’m tempted to slap myself when I realize the jealousy tinged behind the words. Perfect family, huh? I wish.
′When are they going to learn that as much as we try, we’ll never be perfect.′ I muse bitterly.
Pushing the door open, I step out into the dim sunlight. I smile, loving the feeling of the sun compared to the artificial light of school.
I pull out a small metal cube from my jacket pocket. A button pops up from one of its sides, and I press it. Throwing it in front of me, I watch as it becomes my full-sized hoverboard.
Just like my uniform, my hoverboard is covered with blue, swirly doodles. It floats a few inches off the ground, begging for me to hop on. I gladly oblige.
The hoverboard was designed to only float a few inches off the ground, but I messed around with it and changed it up. Now, let’s just say Superman and I can fly at the same height.
Or at least he flies in the old comics. Too many people changed him up, but I prefer the original version of him.
With my thoughts on Superman, I don’t see the boy until he’s standing only a few feet away.
He’s handsome, with a broad form, dark skin, and blue-tinged dreadlocks. I think I’ve seen him before in a football game my foster family forced me to go to. You know, for “school spirit” and that stuff. He looks at me quizzically, probably wondering what the heck I’m doing out here.
And I’m wondering why the heck he followed me. Instead of scolding him for stalking me, I realize how easily he could sell me out to the teachers.
“Keep this in between you and me, okay?” I plead, scared that I’ll lose my Quiet Place because of informed teachers.
He nods slowly, and I release a sigh of relief.
“By the way, I like your hair,” I admit, nodding at his blue hair with my chin. He smiles, showing me his beautiful teeth.
I smirk back. I tap the earring-shaped metal on both my ears and the metal expands into goggles. My very own creation made for specific purposes. The last thing I need is to be hit by a flying-car because I’m squinting.
“And I like your goggles,” The boy remarks, watching me with an impressed expression. His voice is deep, but soft at the same time. I wonder if he’s a good singer.
“What’s your name?” I ask suddenly, surprising both him and myself.
“Volten. But most people call me Volt,” He explains with an easy smile.
I nod and turn to hover off but his question stops me.
“And your name?” Volt asks curiously.
I glance back, meeting his chocolate brown eyes with my blue ones.
“Cyra. But most people call me ‘The Hoverboard Girl’, ” I grin, repeating what he said.
Still grinning, I turn and take off. Leaving school and the boy behind me.