Inevitable

 

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I Introduce Myself... Sort Of

I do sometimes wonder if having such an odd name meant that I was destined to live an odd life. I mean, I know every teenager feels weird at some point during their few years of real cognition. I know that there’s not a single person on this planet who feels completely normal. But if your mother spliced together all of the names she had planned for you and expected you to identify with what emerged, well, you’d probably feel as though you were pretty odd, too.

But this isn’t about my whole life. This is about one short, seemingly insignificant period of time. In hindsight, I never would have thought that one year of my life could be so intense. But the year I left school – my ‘maiden voyage’ as an adult, as my crazy mum would say – was brimming with complications, confrontations, and niggling doubts. It was not the kind of biography that I would write for myself, given the opportunity. The year was full of feelings, and I'd never been very good with those. Things always seemed to get so complicated as soon as feelings were involved.

But, I suppose, in order to really understand why this year was so noteworthy to me, you probably need to know a few things about my life before everything imploded. And I say imploded because everything, all at once, seemed to cave in a squeeze me until I morphed into… well, something different.

When I was twelve, I vaguely remember telling my mother that I would never fall in love, never get married, and never have children. She thought I would grow out of it, but as I got older she started to get more and more worried. On the eve of my seventeenth birthday – another birthday I declined to celebrate with a party – she asked me why I refused to have relationships. That was the only time I ever yelled at her, and I think I said something like, “well, look how well yours turned out!”

I mean, I had a few friends. I wasn't a loner, and I didn't miss out on any 'important' social interaction growing up. I just didn't like the way I acted when feelings played an important role. I would freeze up, or say the wrong thing. I would completely misinterpret someone's motives because of my emotions and the way I perceived theirs. Conversations don't go so well when you think someone's angry with you and it turns out they're just sad because their cat died. “You're so conceited, why won't you talk to me?” isn't an appropriate way to say, “I'm sorry for your loss.”

My avoidance of feelings wasn't such a bad thing, though. I didn't get involved in any school dramas; I didn't have any blow-outs with my mum, other than that one time, of course. But it wasn't possible to avoid everything, and I still often felt the need to make other people happy, just to keep a friendship. But that's normal, right? To want to feel included and a part of a group, you have to give something as well as take, yeah? That's what I was taught, anyway.

I was blessed with the friendship of an avenging angel named Tora Daly during high school. She was the first girl I ever truly got along with, given the fact that girls tend to spend a lot of time talking about feelings and I didn’t. Despite being what others would call a ‘girly-girl’, all dresses and lace and high heels, Tora didn’t really care about boys, or girls, or anyone who judged others, for that matter. Tora did and said what Tora did and said and that was that.

If anyone ever gave us a hard time Tora would flash a green-eyed glare in their direction, flip her long black hair over her ear, and, with a deep breath, natter away at how rude they were being, listing things that they should be doing instead of wasting time. It was awesome to see the reactions that particular move got: people didn’t expect the pretty girl to bark back at them.

I don’t even really remember how we met, in all honesty. I know that it was during Year Seven at high school. And I know that Tora instigated the relationship entirely - I just had to deal with it. But from pretty much the first day of ‘big kid school’, we were a pair. I loved Tora with every little bone in my body.

However, if there was one person that I could legitimately pinpoint as the catalyst for the angst of my first year out of school, it would be him.

Drake Mason. How could I even describe him? He was short, for starters. Much shorter than most other guys I knew his age. I remember, when we’d been in school, he was bullied a couple of times about it. The thing was, it didn’t seem to worry him – he ignored it, for the most part, or just smiled like he didn’t give a damn.

I guess that would lead into another of Drake Mason’s significant traits. He had this air about him that was not quite smugness, but confidence with a twist. He was haughty, but in an endearing way. I had always pictured him as a gentleman, despite his propensity for shutting most people out.

He may not have cared about people, objects, events… pretty much anything. But, like all teenagers brimming with confidence - and, I admit, 'good looks' - a lot of people cared about him. Mainly females, pretty or otherwise.

My odd world imploded when he, the boy with no visible emotions, asked me, the girl who tried to avoid them, out on a date.

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Extra Content - A Snippet

*This is a short snippet from a future chapter of Inevitable.*

By the time everyone had arrived at the alley, we were already half-an-hour late for our first game. Normally that wouldn't have been an issue, but since the fight last time we'd played, Ted had come to see us as more of a nuisance than regular patrons. There were eight of us all together - perfect numbers for two lanes - yet despite the fact that the competition lanes were empty, Ted saw to it that we were given the two practice lanes at the very end of the alley, the ones that constantly scored wrong. Tora gave me a disbelieving glance as she tugged on the size-nine shoes she'd taken from the shelves, and I shook my head as I tied up my own sixes. It seemed as though we were no longer welcome at our old haunt.

Reno was the only one of us who didn't seem phased by Ted's outright distaste at our being there; he grinned from ear to ear as he asked the grizzled man for his size-seventeens to be brought out from the storage room - a ritual here, since he seemed to be the only one who needed such a big size - and he was almost too happy when they were dumped unceremoniously on the counter before him more than five minutes later. I had to give it to him; the guy knew how to be nonchalant.

We set about choosing our arsenal from the range of different weights and finger-widths. Wonky and I both picked up the lightest balls available at the same time, which earned him a round of jeers from the gang.

"How can we use the same ball and not be similar in ability?" He complained loudly, no sooner than we had returned to our lanes. While we'd been gone, the others had decided who would be playing in which lane; Tora, Thom, Marcus and Sienna would play in lane seven while Chris, Reno, Wonky and I would be in lane eight. "They reckon you're the best female bowler they've seen, and that I'm the worst guy."

As I dropped my pink, bubblegum-looking ball onto the rack at the approach, I turned and regarded Wonky with a searching gaze. He wasn't the tallest of people, maybe a few centimetres taller than me, which admittedly made me feel a little better about my own height. He seemed too thin, and his wrists looked as though they were about to snap under the weight of the bowling ball they held. He could definitely use a steak. Or three.

"The ball has nothing to do with it," I said evenly, walking back over to the seats and perching in the one next to Reno, who sat cradling the ball he used every game, the heavy black 'Bertha'. "I've been bowling for as long as I can remember; this is only your second time, right?" The boy called Wonky nodded, and I continued, "You can't expect to be perfect the first time around. Personally, though, I find bowling to be more of a sport of luck than one of skill."

"Aww!" Reno's deep voice came from beside me unexpectedly and he patted my arm in what seemed to be sympathy. I turned to see a look of mocking pity in his multi-hued eyes. "You really think that every time I've beaten you, it's been because of luck?"

I snorted at him and pulled a face. "Don't flatter yourself, Reno. You know there was only one spare between me and victory last week."

"What's your point, princess? One pin is all that's needed to win this game. You lost by ten times that amount."

"Way to make me feel better, man," Wonky said with a sigh, 'When I start to lose by a hundred times that amount, feel free to throw me down the lane instead of the ball. I'm sure I'll hit more pins that way." He waved a dejected hand in Reno's direction and stalked away to take on his first frame.

I looked after the lanky Wonky feeling slightly less energetic; that kid was way to serious for someone his age. "Look what you've done now! You broke the poor guy's spirit!" I scolded Reno, who sat casually back in his seat, twirling the insanely heavy Bertha in the palm of his hand.

"Consider me reprimanded if you win this game," he said conversationally, though his eyes twinkled with something close to a challenge and a smirk was threatening to form at the corners of his mouth. "Prove me wrong."

It took a few moments for his words to sink in, but when they did I felt my competitive streak boil to the surface of my skin and I smirked back. "So, it's a competition, then?"

"A bet, really," he yawned, getting to his feet and resting Bertha on his shoulder as you would rest a shot-put. "Can't be a competition if it's all about luck, now, can it?" He looked down at me and winked, then passed Wonky as the skinny boy returned from his two gutter-balls. He sat down beside me with a pout on his face and we both watched as Reno took his first frame.

I was beginning to feel rather sorry for myself as Reno stepped up to the approach, his focus surprisingly honed for someone so carefree. His shoulders tensed and he glided across the polished boards, his graceful back-swing transforming into physical speed as the ball left his fingers and began to hook towards the centre of the lane. I recalled that his style was called the Cranker; full of power, but with decreased accuracy.

This description proved true enough seconds later when Bertha barrelled through all but two of the front right pins. Reno took a breath, cracked his neck to the left and then the right, and spun on his heel to retrieve Bertha from the return.

Not once did he lose his focus and turn back to me to gloat or to complain. The other boys were busy discussing how good Tora looked bowling in tight jeans, and Sienna was trying her hardest to shut them up. Wonky was far too involved in his own unhappiness to care; it seemed I was the only one who was paying attention to the lack of his usual easy-going aura.

Perhaps he was taking this much more seriously than I had first assumed. It was just a bet, he had said. And yet I had never seen him so one-minded, so set on getting this done. It was a strange sensation, to watch him and feel something close to awe.

His second shot was right on the mark, despite his usually deficient accuracy, and a spare was recorded on the flat-screen as he flopped into the seat next to me, Bertha secured on the storage rack below the return track - just so that no one else could use his prized ball. It was only then that he allowed himself a smile, and it was a bright one; he stared straight at me, unblinking, as though expecting me to give in and take back my remark about luck.

That wasn't about to happen. I pushed his face away from me with the palm of my hand, grazing my fingertips on the line of stubble that dotted his jaw, and rolled my eyes as I stood to take my turn at the approach.

Sienna was at the approach also, waiting to roll her first frame in the lane next to me. Smiling, I picked up my bubblegum-ball and turned to her. "Want to go at the same time?" I asked her, knowing that she had never been to a bowling alley before. I was happy to do anything to take the pressure off the small, shy girl.

From behind her fringe of dark, curly hair, her eyes blinked madly for a moment, and then she smiled in return, nodding. "Yes, please," she said quietly, "if you don't mind."

"It's all good," I replied, lifting my ball up and sliding my feet back in line with the lane. I studied Sienna for a moment longer, analysing. She seemed similar in build to me, but I didn't want to overwhelm her with suggestions, so all I said was, "Just let go of the ball before you reach that line there." I pointed to the foul line, and Sienna nodded her understanding. She turned her body to her own lane, keeping her eyes on me.

"Ready?" I rocked back on my right heel, and Sienna copied. "Keep your eyes on the lane ahead. One, two, three, go!"

At once, I dropped my arm and let the ball's weight carry it backwards, taking one step, then two. By the third step my arm swept forward of its own volition and I let it run its course. The ball slipped from my fingers and careened down the lane, curving to the right, before returning to the centre pin and subsequently taking out all ten - all before I could take another breath.

I heard a groan of frustration from behind me - which I knew to be from Reno - and a shriek from beside me. I turned towards the latter, feeling quite proud of myself, to find Sienna beaming and pointing at what was now her empty lane.

"Wow, Sienna!" I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "Turns out you're a natural."

Over Tora's excited congratulations and the boys' mumblings at being outdone by a 'noob', I heard Reno's voice boom, "Beginners' Luck!"

With a smirk I turned on him, my shoes sliding on the wooden boards. "Weren't we just discussing your theory that bowling is not a sport of luck?" I said, feeling somewhat conceited in light of the circumstances.

Reno waved away my comment with a lazy hand. "Yeah, yeah, gloat while you can. Beginner's Luck transcends all sport."

"So does Sore Loser, apparently," I countered, jumping down onto the linoleum of the players' area and taking my seat. "Which term would you use to describe my strike, then?"

"Witchcraft."

With that, the game began in earnest, and Reno assured me that he was no longer 'just practising'. The next frame saw him take the lead by two pins, and Wonky managed to score five. Tora, the one among us who didn't seem all too thrilled at the unspoken competition among us, was doing almost too well for someone who claimed to have only played once before, and Thom - who made it a point of telling us he had been a professional bowler in Britain - had failed to score at all. My theory on luck was beginning to make more and more sense, and Reno knew it, so in the fifth frame when he scored a six and found himself in second place he brought out his secret weapon.

It was all too easy for him to catch me off-guard when I was concentrating. He knew I had a habit of laughing at the lamest of things, usually words or sentences from the random TV shows we found ourselves watching at all hours of the night. Our last late-night viewing consisted of all twenty-six episodes of Ouran High School Host Club, which had us in fits of laughter for the entire eleven hours of play. The character of Tamaki had reminded me of Reno, and I'd told him so for the week following, much to his chagrin.

I sat in the closest seat to the approach waiting for my turn while the rest of the gang chatted and laughed about who-knows what behind me. Once Reno had retrieved Bertha from the return track and lined her up, he took three large steps forward and yelled, "Starlight... Kick!" just as he raised his free leg and released the ball from underneath it. Bertha thudded dangerously onto the oiled boards but hit her target all the same, scoring him a spare. Knowing that I would understand his silly words immediately, he turned to me with a goofy grin on his face and his arm outstretched, giving me the thumbs up.

A bubble of laughter came unbidden from my chest and morphed into a full-blown fit of giggles in a matter of seconds. Through my tears I saw Reno was watching me with quiet amusement - he'd always been the type of guy to ignore the humour in his own comments, and he rarely laughed at his own jokes - and the gang obviously hadn't heard him at all.

To be honest, at that point I didn't even understand what was happening, or what was about to. The laughter that was coming from me was so pure, so real, that I thought the tears were ones of joy. My stomach ached in healthy pain, the kind you feel and appreciate wholeheartedly despite how much discomfort you're in.

But a sudden wave of nostalgia swept over me, catching me unaware.

After a few seconds the shaking hadn't stopped, and instead of my chest feeling tight with mirth, it seemed to be forcing my breath out painfully, as though oxygen was the last thing it needed. The initial shock of the offhand joke wore off and instead I felt a sadness well up in me that made the tears flow faster. I felt as though the next sound from me would not be a whoop of laughter but an agonising sob.

It seemed I was still having trouble with my recently unstable emotions.

But I would not cry for him. I could not.

Once I realised what was inevitable, I looked up at Reno - who had swept forward as though he could see my internal struggle - and gave him the biggest smile I could muster, continuing the charade of happiness with a few more shuddering laughter-breaths. I took a deep, real breath and let it out with a sigh, reaching up with my oversized sleeve to wipe my eyes. "Woo!" I said heartily, "Geez, can you not speak when it's my turn to bowl? Lame-ass jokes like that are for practice, not real competitions." I lowered my eyes and went to brush past him.

Reno seemed to know what was happening inside my aching heart, but I didn't pull away as he reached out and grasped my shoulder. His thumb traced my neck and tilted my chin up, giving me goosebumps, and he aligned my still weeping eyes with his. The touch of his skin on mine was nothing new, but for some reason this felt different; he was holding himself in a completely different way. It was painful to look into that carefully guarded face and not feel some kind of guilt for the way I was acting.

He studied my face, his eyes wandering over my eyes and mouth slowly, but what he was searching for eluded me. Eventually he removed his hand from my chin, seemingly satisfied, but before I could wrench my gaze away from his he said, "pretend that front pin is his face." And then, with a quick half-smile, he shoved me towards the lane.

From then on my shots became less skilful; I even got a few gutter-balls, much to Wonky's liking. I lost to Reno by twenty pins in the first game, and when the second game rolled around I was ready to curl up and go to sleep; I probably would have been more productive that way, too.

Reno seemed to feel like it was his duty to make it up to me for his lame attempt at cheating, and it was obvious that he was missing shots on purpose towards the end of our last game. It was getting late, and because we had started half an hour after our allotted time, Ted was beginning to get frustrated; he had already had the floors vacuumed, half of the lights were turned off, and he'd even counted down the registers. Every time he coughed pointedly, I cringed, but no one else seemed to be paying any attention at all. They were just laughing and joking and having fun, the same way I should have been.

That would be impossible, now that the dam had been broken.

In the end, Reno won the final game on 210 points. I came second, not even making it to 150. It was a defeat I was willing to bear, so long as Reno would call his win and then drop it.

There was little chance of that happening, however, and I knew it would be a long car trip home.

Wonky sat beside me as we took our shoes off, grinning. "Did you see, Arri? I got a strike!" He shook his head in happy disbelief and his glasses unhooked themselves from behind his ears, falling onto the ground at my feet.

I picked them up gingerly - it was stuff like this that I usually broke - and handed them back to him. "That's great! See, I told you it was practice."

"No, you said it was luck, actually."

Reno, as always, had piped up at precisely the right moment. I hadn't even realised he'd been standing behind me. Bertha was back on her shelf at the far end of the alley, and he had his purple Converse back on.

"Let's get this over with," I sighed, feeling more melancholy than I thought I sounded. “Go ahead and make your victory speech.” I stood, feeling much more comfortable in my Volleys, and levelled him with a sour expression. Wonky finished tying up his laces and stalked off to talk to Thom.

Reno was silent for a moment, and then he crossed his arms. “Who needs a victory speech when this awkward tension could go on forever? I never thought creaming you at bowling would get you so down.”

Despite his somewhat icy tone, there was a question in his words that I knew he would never ask. He wanted to know what was really going on in my head. He wanted to know why I was still thinking about him.

Well, what did he expect? I'd spent six months of my life following Drake, trying to make my way to the top of his 'people to see' list. After that I'd spent nearly a month being one of his 'I miss you, too' girls. To have that taken away in the blink of an eye... that was painful. How was I supposed to get over something like that so easily?

I wanted to be angry with Reno. To find something - anything - to accuse him of. To blame him for the fights, and the pain. To say he had something to do with the fallout between myself and Drake. To say he didn't care what happened to me.

But none of it was true. Reno had done nothing like that. If anything, he cared too much, and looked out for me when no one else would.

No, I couldn't be angry with Reno Rudyard. I don't think that would even be possible.

When I didn't reply the tall, odd man who I called 'friend' let his shoulders droop in a show of defeat. He never was good at being mad. "All right. Come here," he sighed, shuffling around the front of the chair I'd been sitting in and holding his arms out. I stepped into his embrace eagerly, knowing that the warmth would calm my frayed nerves a little. He clasped his hands at my lower back and rested his chin on the top of my head. "You shouldn't bottle everything up," he admonished mockingly, "Weren't you the one who told me that?"

I nodded into his chest, breathing in the scent of vanilla washing powder, Lynx deodorant, and sweat. He always smelt the same.

He took a deep breath and sighed again, releasing me with a pat on the head. "You're a good kid. You should be happy."

I smiled up at him sadly. "I will be," I said, shrugging. My humour returned a little. "Would have been easier for me if I'd won today."

Reno grinned. “And whose fault is it that I kicked your ass?”

“Yours, for making stupid remarks!” I retorted. “Starlight Kick doesn’t even make sense. You threw the ball, you didn’t kick it.”

“Not to mention it didn’t hit any jerks in the head,” he added pointedly, earning another chuckle from me.

I heard quick, tapping footsteps and Tora appeared next to me. She took my arm in one of her soft hands. “Hey, Arri. We might want to take off,” she murmured, “Ted’s getting just a little bit impatient.” To prove her point, she jerked her head towards the bulky man, who was red in the face and standing at the exit, holding the door open.

"Aww, how considerate of him! Holding the door open for us like that!" Reno laughed, "I might go and thank him personally." With that he strode away, and Ted's face grew visibly more crimson as he approached.

We watched for a moment as Reno extended a hand, and then Tora turned to me again. "Are you all right?" She asked, concern written all over her face as she studied mine. "You've been kind of... quiet tonight."

I smiled at her, hopefully dispelling the notion that she had, and shook my head. "Everything's fine!" I answered, patting the hand that was on my arm, "Really. I'm just tired, that's all."

"Huh," she said, non-committal, "You know, most of the time when us girls say 'I'm just tired', it means something much more."

"I know," I tried to make my voice as light as possible, "Most of the time. Not always." I slung my bag over my shoulder and gestured pointedly towards the exit, where it looked as though punches were about to be thrown. "Come on. We'd better go intervene."

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