Fearless (The Swift Series)

  Fearless

  The Swift Series #1

  All Rights Reserved

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  Other than a printed version for personal use of the purchaser.

  This e-book published by Hayley Nelson

  © Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved.

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  To Meet You Again

  Table of Contents

  Fifteen

  The Best Day

  Hey Stephen

  Fearless

  White Horse

  Fifteen

  “Take a deep breath and walk through the doors; it’s the morning of your very first day…”

  The halls of Vroncourt High School were bustling.

  There were students excited for their graduating year, students excited because this year was going to be “their year”, students moping about complaining about having to spend another year in a place they hated students happy to see their friends again and students excited for their first day.

  Then there was me – a mix between the first and the last thing.

  This was my first day at Vroncourt, but also my last year in high school.

  I moved from Marrick Academy which was all the way in Orainville. Montrose Court, where Vroncourt is, is about 300 km away – practically 8 hours by car. Both were small towns, though. I had to say goodbye to all the people I knew.

  So why did we have to move so far? My father’s company offered him a much higher level position and the office was in Montrose Court. Well, as long as he’s out of the house often enough for me to throw enough parties to become popular…

  Just kidding.

  Seriously.

  Who actually enjoys those things?

  I mean, your house gets super dirty. Everything gets broken. Everyone has sex everywhere; the only safest precautionary measure would be to disinfect the ENTIRE household.

  Anyway, from the first minute I stepped into Vroncourt I noticed several major differences between the students here and the ones back in Marrick.

  First, Vroncourt requires uniforms while Marrick does not. I assumed that Vroncourt also comes with some strict policies about overall appearance since nobody had any noticeable tattoos, piercings, attention-drawing haircuts and etc. Back over at Marrick my eyes were exposed to a myriad of different styles and fashion senses.

  Second, Vroncourt was much cleaner. The walls were so pristinely white. The lockers all looked exactly the same. I walked into the bathroom to check my hair, and it was so super clean. Toilet paper in every cubical, water coming out of every faucet and soap dispensers everywhere (yeah, I checked). In Marrick, you best go to the bathroom before you get picked up by the school bus and once you get home, instead. And there was always graffiti on at least on locker in each row.

  Third, the books were fancy. You had to buy copies. Clean, unused copies. Back in Marrick, books circulated. Often times you didn’t need to highlight a single thing. Sometimes, if you were lucky enough, you’d get a book that had all the answers written down.

  Everything about Vroncourt screamed “money, money, money, money… MOOONEY~” (that was supposed to be the theme song to “The Apprentice”). This was clearly a school for rich people, and I was sure I stuck out like a sore thumb.

  My dad wasn’t rich. He worked hard doing the work of people higher up in the company without the credit or the pay. My dad was a pushover. He always talked about how much he was learning and experiencing, but every time I thought about it, it just made me mad.

  Anyway, it didn’t matter that I wore the uniform (white three-quarter sleeve polo, red tie, black pleated above-knee-length skirt, knee-length white socks, black shoes and blue blazer). As I walked down the hall, people were looking at me. I guess it was my fault; all of them were wearing their blazers. I found it a little too hot wearing it on the walk to school so I’d just hung it on my shoulder while my backpack hung on the other by one strap.

  But it was more than that, too. I didn’t wear fancy earrings. I didn’t carry around a nice designer bag. My hair wasn’t perfectly styled the way all the other girls. In fact, I remembered putting my hair up in a messy bun.

  I finally found my locker after a couple of minutes and proceeded to take the books I needed. A girl with perfectly straight and smooth, red locks approached me. She had light skin and big, brown eyes. Aside from that, her other features were small. She had a pleasant face.

  “Why don’t I know you?” the redhead asked. Oh, by the way, this school had about 300 students only, so everybody sort of knew everybody else.

  Why so exclusive? One: it’s for rich people. Two: if you can’t afford the tuition you can opt to take an extremely competitive scholarship exam. I passed the exam.

  At the time it seemed like a good thing.

  Now I wish I’d gone to Moores Mill High instead. Based on what I knew from Google, it resembled Marrick more closely.

  “I’m new here,” I answered as I closed my locker.

  “You’re that scholarship student?” she guessed.

  “Am I the only new scholarship student this year?” I asked.

  “Not a lot of people transfer over in their fourth year,” she replied and then held out her hand. “I’m Abigail Carver.”

  “Taylor Doctor,” I shook her hand.

  “Your last name is ‘doctor’?” she checked, amused.

  I nodded, “Yeah. And, no, my dad is not a doctor.”

  Both of us looked up when the bell rang.

  “Well, it was nice meeting you,” Abigail smiled and began to walk away. “Are you okay getting to your classes on your own?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thank you,” I waved. Then she disappeared into a sea of blue blazers, and I was alone once again.

  I probably should have taken the opportunity and asked Abigail to show me where my first class was, not necessarily because I didn’t think I’d be able to find it on my own but because I was in desperate need of a friend right now.

  Back in Marrick the only friend I really had was Sarah Collins. She was prone to drastic mood swings – probably because of her genius ability for the violin – but otherwise she was sweet. When she finally found out that I was moving to Vroncourt (a school she religiously made fun of every time the subject came up, which was exactly what delayed my telling her for so long) she immediately felt indignant towards me. She thought I didn’t fight hard enough against the decision and that I was leaving her. We haven’t spoken since I broke the news to her.

  Since we moved to Montrose Court, I’ve been only to the two other households in the cul-de-sac that the people pretentiously call the “Rose Circle”. If they were trying to be geometrically correct they should have said the “Rose Semi-Circle”, but I assume they thought it didn’t sound as good.

  The house on our right belongs to the Randolfs. They didn’t have any children. The house on the right of the Randolfs’ house was that of the Andolinis. Their three children have all graduated from college and live in their own homes. Our house was the smallest in the “Rose Circle”.

  My dad invited both couples over for dinner the week after we’d just moved in. My sister, Sue, and I (Oh, did I forget to mention Sue, my sister who’s younger than me by a year? She had to move, too, but she didn’t pass the Vroncourt scholarship exam so she’s going to Moores Mill. Lucky bitch) had to sit through adult conversation for an hour until the embarrassing, uncomfortable questions and answers started coming up.

  The couples have been extremely kind to Sue and me; offering to bring us and pick us up from school, offering to take us shoppi
ng, etc. I’ve been very particular about not taking advantage of the fact that both couples loved children (the Randolfs unfortunately couldn’t have any and the Andolinis were a little too old to have more), but I couldn’t say anything about Sue. The move was a lot harder on her since she actually had a large social circle back in Orainville. She planned to milk the benefits as much as she could.

  The whole rest of the day I didn’t see Abigail, which would have been fine except that nobody made an effort to talk to me. If anything, they tried to avoid me as much as possible.

  Then, at the end of the day, just as I exited the main doors I was attacked by foam and black tapioca pearls to the face. I couldn’t see my assailants because some of the liquid got into my eyes, but I knew they were girls because I could hear them giggling as they walked away.

  I gave them a little credit; at least they chose to do it after school instead of during. It saved me a lot of trouble, except that I had to walk home a little chilled. They wasted money to humiliate me. I guess I was special. Glass half full.

  “What happened to you?” Sue asked when she saw me. She was sitting on the front porch steps of our home.

  I just shrugged. “What about you? You look upset.” I sat down beside her and wiped my face with my blazer.

  “You know how I finally get to go to prom this year,” she began. “Well, I wanted to join the prom committee but they said I couldn’t because I was the new kid.”

  “Oh,” I said simply. Not sympathetically, nor empathetically. Just matter-of-fact. “Why do you want to be on the prom committee?”

  “I thought it would be a good way to make friends,” she shrugged.

  “Nobody talked to you either, huh?” I put my arm around her.

  “Yeah… It’s really different here.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “But you’ll be okay.” I patted her on the back and then stood up. “So excuse me while I take a shower.”

  “Have a bad first day?”

  “Not so.”

  “So they’re as mean to the scholarship students as Mrs Randolf said, huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  When our father came home and brought us dinner that night we both lied and told him that we were really happy.

  The next day Abigail approached me again.

  “Hey,” she greeted.

  “I didn’t see you the whole of yesterday,” I commented.

  “I guess we don’t have any classes together.”

  “In a school of only 300 students?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “It could happen,” she shrugged. “Why, were you looking forward to seeing me?”

  “You’re the only one who’s willing to talk to me around here,” I admitted. “Everyone else avoids me or throws milk tea and coffee in my face.”

  “I hope it wasn’t hot coffee.”

  “No, it wasn’t, thanks,” I pressed my lips together.

  “Don’t let them get to you,” she advised. “There’s always friction when it comes to the scholarship students and the regular students.”

  “Maybe you should’ve told me that yesterday,” I tried to sound like I was joking, but I couldn’t hide what I was really feeling; it was a mix of anger, resentment, irritation, disappointment and sadness. Each feeling sort of mellowed out the others. Mostly it was a bad feeling. I was feeling bad.

  “I didn’t think they’d be as immature as they were last time,” she reasoned.

  “When was last time?”

  “Two years ago.”

  “What happened two years ago?”

  Abigail hesitated. She took a deep breath and then sighed. “His name was Kyle. A girl seduced him and got a picture of him naked and then posted it online.”

  “Oh my god!” I exclaimed. “Seriously?

  “Yeah, it was bad-”

  “Bad? Try INSANE,” I was growing a little hysterical. “Why on earth would you do that someone? Was Kyle an asshole?”

  “No. He’s my friend. He’s really nice-”

  “Then explain to me why,” I demanded. “It’s ridiculous!”

  “Looks like someone needs to cool down,” a voice said.

  I turned around only to be blinded, this time, by milkshakes. I could tell because these were much, much colder and thicker. And because this time my eyes burned.

  “I can’t see,” I said, sputtering some milkshake out of my mouth. Mango… and chocolate… and vanilla, I think. I fumbled around with my hands for a while until they felt the cool metal of the lockers.

  My assailants giggled and then walked away. Abigail said nothing. The bell rang.

  “Taylor, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I don’t have any extra clothes or anything.”

  Just then, I heard another pair of footsteps.

  “What do you want?” Abigail’s voice was threatening.

  “Just here to help,” I heard. It was a guy’s voice. “Besides, it’s not like I was planning to attend all my classes anyway. Now run along before you ruin your perfect little attendance record, Ms Class President.”

  “Bye, Taylor,” I heard Abigail’s footsteps move away.

  Then, I was suddenly being pulled by the hand, and I had no idea where I was going.

  The Best Day

  “I don’t know how long it’s gonna’ take to feel okay, but I had the best day with you today…”

  “Don’t worry, I got you.”

  I heard doors open and then I stopped and pulled backwards. He stopped.

  “Wait,” I told him, not even sure if I was facing him. “I don’t know who you are. How do I know this isn’t some trick? That you’re not going to do to me like you crazy people did to Kyle two years ago?”

  “And things were going so smoothly,” he let go of my hand, and I immediately felt vulnerable. Unstable. “You know, I really liked it when you weren’t asking questions.”

  “Where are you?” I put my arms in front of me and started waving them around. My eyes were still burning so much I couldn’t force myself to open them. “Please. I still can’t see.”

  “Only if you stop asking questions,” I could tell that he was teasing me, and I was so mad.

  “Fine,” I agreed.

  “Good,” he said, and then I felt his shoulder under my left hand. I put my right hand on his chest and then felt my way upwards until I could feel his face. Then, without even thinking, I gave him the strongest right hook I could. I knew I hit something. He sure made a noise like I hit him. “What was that?” he asked, indignant.

  “For all I know you could be into human trafficking,” if I could look at him, I knew I would be glaring at him. “But you won’t let me ask questions. Better safe than sorry.”

  “You,” he chuckled. “I like you.”

  “Good, now give me your blazer so I can wipe this stuff out of my eyes.”

  “Why can’t you use your blazer?”

  “Are you helping me or not?”

  “God you are so difficult,” he groaned, exasperated.

  “You’re the one who’s being difficult.”

  “I think my nose is bleeding,” he announced.

  “I’d be able to help if I could see.”

  “You can punch me just fine without your vision.”

  “That’s because you’ve got such a big head; the worst sniper in the world couldn’t miss it.”

  “Why are you so difficult?”

  “YOU’RE DIFFICULT.”

  “Here, then!” All of a sudden he stuck his blazer in my face and he was wiping it haphazardly, pushing against my cheeks, nose and eyes.

  “Okay, okay!” my voice was muffled.

  When he removed his blazer from my face it was as if I was in a dark room and someone just opened the blinds to reveal the sun. Once my eyes adjusted I saw him. He had light skin and light brown hair that was longer than the other boys I’d seen in school. His nose was pointed (not bleeding), his eyes were light blue and his lips had that smug expression the exact same way I imagined based on his voice. And his u
niform (sloppily tied tie, half-unbuttoned polo and black shirt underneath) was as sloppy as I’d imagined.

  Just then, he put his hand on the back of my hand and pushed me towards him. My lips were on his.

  “WHOA!” I staggered backwards. “WHAT THE HELL?”

  “You were staring at my lips, I thought that was what you wanted,” he smiled.

  “I was just blinded! My eyes were adjusting!” I noticed I was speaking louder than I should’ve, but I couldn’t stop myself. “I didn’t know I was staring at your lips!”

  “Please, lower your voice,” he held his hands out.

  “Besides!” I really couldn’t stop myself and I didn’t understand why. “Just because a girl stares at your lips doesn’t mean she wants to kiss you!”

  “Most of the time it does,” he argued.

  “And you certainly wouldn’t kiss her unless you wanted to,” I pointed out.

  “And so what if I wanted to?” he shrugged.

  “Invasion of personal space,” I finally relaxed a little.

  “Maybe if you didn’t back away so soon you would’ve liked it,” he took a step closer.

  I took a step back, “You’re crazy.”

  He took a larger step closer; he was right in front of me. “About you.” I rolled my eyes and scoffed, but couldn’t help but smile and blush. “I told you,” he whispered, “I like you.”

  Then he leaned in to kiss me and I turned away, “I’m not doing this with you.” I explained, “I don’t even know you.”

  He sighed and then took a step back. “Fair enough.” He held out his hand, “Stephen Matveev.”

  “Taylor Doctor,” I shook his hand. “And, no, my father is not a doctor.”

  “What about your mom?” he asked.

  “She was an aspiring fashion designer,” I answered. “She made a lot of me and my sister’s dresses.”

  “Was?” he caught.

  “She died last year.”

  Yeah, I may have failed to mention that, perhaps, a part of the reason why my dad was so eager to move away was because he wanted to get out of Orainville. My sister took after my mom in that she was a very social creature. Everything and everyone in Orainville had a connection with my mom, so everything reminded us of her. It was too difficult. It was the reason why my sister and I agreed to the move without much conflict.