Chapter 1

"Come on man! We gotta do something,Vince. I am in LOVE!"

My bestfriend Marcus is one of those who really need help in such social interactions. Ask them about Naruto's latest episode or PewDiePie's last video and they can quote dialogues all day, but when it's approaching the fairer sex, let's just say they tend to hit a rough patch.

"Calm down, Marky. Don't you know, Sam's going out with our LeBron James? And they sure seem happy."

Samantha Edwards is going out with Jacob Harvey, he's our school's basketball champ, so we call him LeBron.

"So what they seem happy?! I don't think Harvey's good enough for her, he gives me playboy vibes."

"Here's one reason I don't think you're in love. You're not satisfied by her happiness just coz she's with someone else."

      Yeah, I'm one of those few studying the social animal's mind who actually understand it.

"I'm sorry, you're on which side?!! Just think of a way, brother. You're my only hope."

As if emotional blackmail would work on me. But instead,I say "Okay okay, bro. I'll think about it. Get some sleep now, I'll see you at school tomorrow."

      I cut the call before he could reply, lest he starts another rant. It's boring, for I'm pretty sure it's just an adolescent infatuation.

I open Google's homepage and search -

Top ten causes of teenage death

Fortunately, crazy as it can get, I don't see High School in particular anywhere.

So I guess I'm gonna be just fine this year.

I've always wanted to become a zoologist, growing up watching National Geographic and Animal Planet. But my parents want me to work for (our own) the human race. So I've stopped discussing my dilemma between zoology and doctory.

Presently, the only creature I can study is my Siberian Husky- Watson (Yes,as in Dr. John H Watson).

He's snow white with black patches, like Max from Eight Below. I love Huskies for how close they are to wolves(not technically). They're well built animals as they were first domesticated by us as runners to carry sleds. And they have the most stunning eyes. Watson's are blue.

      And so is Bookerton High, colored blue, I mean, not stunning. Except for the blueness, the school is pretty average. It has about 1500 students and all the staff members are okay, except Mr. Walker. He teaches mathematics, and I'm not very fond of him (nor his subject). I mean, which teacher asks  each and every student what his parents do? It's as if you're seeking prejudice.

I'm a high school sophomore and I usually hang out with Marcus Wagner and Henry Collins. Marcus is the fun type and Henry the brainy.

      Marky had had eyes on Sam for a couple of months and Henry is not exactly the romantic type (no wonder there). And I feel weird that in such a bustling place, I don't have a crush already.

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      Next morning. I woke up at 4, slept again after 40 minutes and then woke up at 7. Which meant I had to rush to take a bath, have some milk and toast, put on an olive green sweatshirt and camo pants and some sneakers. Mom wants me to start cycling to school as she thinks I'm getting lazy (although I fear she meant fat) and so I am, I think I can survive pedaling 3 miles every morning.

As I walk in, I nod a good morning to Stanley Cooper who's on gate duty. Our school has this little system which the administration is proud of. Two students are selected each year to be prefects. These prefects are like headboys but for the general discipline of the school premises before, between and after lectures. And it has been quite a success.

      I'm a keen observer, always looking out for little things, some trivial some monumental in the long haul. And as expected, high school is home to all kinds, what with teenagers and their phases. Logan always carries his football studs around, Ivory has 4 bags of different shades of pink, Clover never really stops chewing gum, Vienna has a spider in her locker, and many more.

      And I am a bit surprised when I see a new girl in class today. It's already been two months the school has started. She must be a transfer.

She sure looks exotic, not as if she could be French or something. Just gorgeous, long braided brown hair and sharp green eyes, the kind that can keep you transfixed. Powerful and intoxicating. I just realised I'm staring at her while she's drinking water.

Too late, she's caught me.

      "Steel canisters, those aren't allowed. Some savage hit a guy with one of these last week, had to get seven stitches."

"Oh, I see. I'll not bring it again. Thanks, I guess."

      And than she smiles, the smile is like Emma Watson's. Charming to the core.

Some first impression, Vincent Hart.

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