Waves (Part 1)

Author's Note: This story has multiple parts (five total). If you don't want to commit yourself, GET OUT! I really appriciate r&r, cuz I'm always looking to improve. Even if you hate this story more than anything you've ever read, tell me. Yeah, that's something you never hear somone say--sure, tell me why you hate it.

Chapter 1

April 17

Hey. I’m Trye Foreman, and you should know that this is all my fault. It really is. I swear. If it hadn’t been for me, things would be a lot different now. This story wouldn’t exist. I’d be the happiest guy to ever walk the planet. But no, I had to go and be an idiot. All I wanted was for Trinity to be mine. That’s it. I wasn’t praying for A’s, or world peace—I just wanted the girl! But that’s not what I got. Not even close. Well, it was close, but not any more. Now, I have nothing. And it’s my own damn fault. She said I tried to be her big bad protector all the time, and was always telling me to lay off. I wish I had. Me trying to be her big bad protector caught up with me—with her—in a big way.

Everything would’ve been okay if it weren’t for that one stupid night. I was selfish and I was wussing out, and I needed wanted her so badly…I hate myself for being so pushy and self-centered, sometimes.

If people can say that one night can’t change anything, they’re lying. One night can change everything. It can change the way you think, the way you act, the way you talk, the way you perceive the opposite sex, you’re perspective on the world, and the way you’re…you.

Trust me. I know.

And never say that you can’t make a difference. You can. And it’s not always for the better. It can be for the worse. Then, you have to live with the feeling—the knowing—that I do.

That it’s all your fault.

***

Waves. Awesome waves. Perfect waves. Well, perfect for being east coast waves. Even so, the noise was thunderous. It was the sound of a hundred waves breaking at the same time.

Trinity was freezing. It couldn't have been any more than fifty degrees. She knew she was being stupid, and should just go inside. Despite her instincts, Trinity just let out a spasm of shivers, and continued to sit on the beach chair. Out of nowhere, there was illumination of the sky, and an immediate cracking of disruption. The water seemed to glow silvery gold from the electricity.

“Trinity! Get in here!” her mother shouted. “What in the world possessed you to go outside in a thunderstorm?”

“How about I go to my room and think about it?” Trinity rolled her eyes. She pulled off her rain soaked hat. She stomped out of the foyer, and down a long hallway.

“Ahh. Here it is.” Her brother Tom emerged from behind the cardboard boxes. He held a box reading: Tom’s underwear.

“You didn’t seriously put all your underwear in one box, did you?” Trinity asked, horrified. She thought boys got better with age, like cheese. Well, supposedly. Trinity saw nothing appealing about moldy cheese. Anyway, Tom was eighteen, and the two years “advantage” he had over her male peers didn’t seem to be doing any good.

“Of course, I did. I did this on purpose, just to show you how truly weird my gender is,” explained Tom.

“I’m sorry, Tom. You can’t scare me away from boys into lesbianism, just for your sick amusement.”

“I was only suggesting…” Tom trailed off as he exited the room.

Trinity went up to the third floor, where all of the bedrooms were located. Trinity entered her bedroom—the second biggest one in the house. She had worked feverishly at her corner of the castle. It was now the antithesis of her old room, which had been monochromatically blue. This one was a collogue of odd colors.

The next day was supposed to be her and Tom’s first day of school. Trinity was glad there were no uniforms, and hardly any dress code. She had to decide weather or not she wanted to become a clone, decked out in Gap, or Abercrombie & Fitch. But, maybe Mudvayne t-shirt was what the little preppy school needed.


Tom looked at Trinity's clothes disdainfully at breakfast. Trinity looked down at her pinstriped black sheath shirt and white pants. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I mean, guys are going to look at you funny. They’re going to think you’re a girl, or something.”

“Funny,” snapped Trinity. “Let’s go.”

Just then, their mother came down the stairs. “Wait! You haven’t eaten breakfast yet,” she protested.

Trinity grabbed two packages of Pop-Tarts, threw her bag on one shoulder, and walked out the door. Confused, Tom gathered his keys and bag, and fallowed her to the Audi.

Halfway to school, Tom interrupted Trinity’s silence. “What’s up with you and Mom?”

“Nothing. Just the wonderful process of mother-daughter bonding.”

“Oh.” Tom chewed on the crust of his last Pop-Tart. “Is this going to be like the wonderful process of mother-daughter arguments?”

“That’s how mothers and daughters bond.”

“Sorry. Stupid me,” said Tom, sarcastically.


Trye Foreman was in a sea of the same person. It was scary how much they all looked the same. Not that Trye looked a great deal different, but the blue tips did set him apart a little, since all the other guys had bleached blond streaks, new, for summer. Almost all of the male clones had baggy jeans and prep sweaters and/or plaid button-downs; whereas Trye wore vintage comic book characters, or underground punk band names emblazed upon his chest. And all of the girls wore skintight designer jeans, or short skirts, with low-cut shirts straight from the Filenes’ juniors section. Their hair was streaked with fake blond. Their nails were perfectly manicured. It was all quiet sickening.

Most often, Trye called his peers “them,” or some equally vague pronoun. This was because together, they simply were “them”. They had no separate identities. Well, except for Graham. He was the only other truly normal individual—in a sense—in the school, in Trye’s opinion.

And it was at 7:07 a.m. that Trye’s life was altered forevermore. That’s when he spotted Trinity Flavin for the first time.

Of course, he didn’t know her name. But, in his mind—even when he did find out her name—she was dubbed “the Goddess”. Her clothes were light and delicate, and totally different from all of the other girls’. She was a true blond—Trye was sure you couldn’t get that color out of a box. But, the way she conducted herself—her use of gestures, body language, posture—the confidence that seeped out of her every pore—it was all so different and captivating. It was all so different than the hundreds of duplicates suffocating him.

She was walking with Melissa Blendough. Melissa was a nice enough girl, with exceptional intelligence. Trye’s respect for her was high. Just then, a smile broke onto the Goddess' face at something Melissa had said. It went farther than just her mouth; it made her green eyes come alive, and traveled through her whole body, all the way into Trye’s.

Trye was positive that he was in love.

He had heard about love. Love was when your heart started to pound, and your brain seemed very hard to reach. Love was when every shred of common sense was forgotten, and irrationality took over. Love was when you felt dizzy just being in the person’s presence. He had heard about love at first sight, too. He was a firm believer that only fools fell in love. And the really dorky fools fell in love at first sight. But, how else could it be described? Only as dorky and foolish. That’s it. No questions asked. But, Trye now understood all that crap, and he deemed himself both dorky and foolish.

But he would get the Goddess, because he wanted the Goddess. Trye Foreman always got what he wanted.


Right away, Trinity noticed the blue-eyed stud on the opposite side of the hall. He was fiddling with his locker, throwing glances over his shoulder. Trinity couldn’t help but notice his six feet and two inches, or his sexy little half-smile that kept pulling on the right corner of his mouth. He looked oddly familiar…but she couldn’t remember where she'd seen him before.

“Who’s that?” Trinity whispered, working her lock. She couldn’t help but notice how familiar he looked. She wasn’t sure why, but she was having serious déjà vous again.

“Who?” Melissa turned around. Embarrassed, Trinity focused on her locker. “Trye? Trye Foreman?”

“The one with the blue eyes and hair to match?” Actually, only the tips matched his vibrant blue eyes. The rest was a caramel-y brown blond.

“That’s Trye. Listen to me—Trye Foreman is bad news. Don’t bother,” warned Melissa.

“Why? He looks so sweet.” Trinity studied Trye, even though he was facing the other direction. Not a bad view.

“He’s gotten into a lot of trouble. And he’s a pothead. Well…he uses occasionally, but he has tons of girlfriends.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Don’t waste your time.” Melissa looked at Trinity, staring her right in the eye. “I’m serious. Just, trust me.”

“Okay,” Trinity agreed. Instantly, Trinity was drawn to the boy that made cool, relaxed Melissa so freaked out.


In each class Trinity entered, she was amazed to find Trye there, in all of her honor’s classes. Plus, she was in front of him, because of the alphabetical setup. Even when she went to Calculus, Trye was still right there. How was he supposed to be a pothead and rebel? Neither was notorious for being brilliant.

It was the same in every class; Trye would take his seat behind Trinity, and scribble in a black notebook until it was time for attendance. Each time, the teacher would call out, “Trye Foreman?” Trye would always look up, seemingly amused with the fact that the teacher couldn’t figure out he was there by themselves, and say, “I’m here.”

Trinity arrived five minutes early for fourth period. Only a couple kids were there. One of them was Trye. He was leaning on the desk of a fairly pretty girl in a surprisingly low shirt and short skirt. The girl was flipping her fake-blond hair for all it was worth, and batting her falsely thick eyelashes. The way Trye was standing, his elbows on the desk, face inches from hers, eyes locked on the pair across from him, made you know that a that moment, she was his only concentration.

Trinity turned back to the front of the room. She pulled out her own blue notebook, and found the page where she had left off. But, before she could start to pen new words, she felt a warm breath on her neck and a pressure equal to that of a butterfly on her right shoulder. Turning, she found Trye peeking over at her notebook, and five fingertips barely resting on her.

“Sorry,” he said. His voice was deep and hushed, creating a total sexiness that Trinity hadn’t expected. A faint Southern accent laced it, soft and sensuous. “I was just curious.”

Drawing a breath and biting her lip, she brushed the hair off her cheek. “It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“What do you keep in there?”

“What do you keep in yours?” matched Trinity.

The half-smile returned to his face, and Trinity could see her own eyes reflecting in his. “It’s…uh…few have read my words, let’s put it that way. And that’s what’s in there. Words. What’s in yours?” Trye gently ran his fingers down the outline of her shoulder blade. It sent shivers through her body. “Did you—”

“Will Trye Foreman please report to the office? Immediately?” squeaked a nasal voice from the intercom between the clock and bell.

“That’s me.” He grabbed her binder and books, smiling at her.

“Have fun.” Managing a half-smile of her own, Trinity tried not to faint. His dimpled smile was enough to cause a heart attack. She desperately wanted to kiss him. His smile seemed to be channeling the urge to her.

About two minutes later, the P.A. system crackled on again. “Will Trinity and Thomas Flavin please report to the office?” Trinity took her books, and walked out of the room. Tom arrived in front of the office at the same time she did, and they entered together. The secretary smiled at the pair. “Go on in,” she told them in the nasal voice slathered with Maine accent.

They did, looking at each other, trying not to laugh. They kept straight faces as they sat down in front of the overweight man in a blue suit.

“On behalf of the whole school—” Tom rolled his eyes. “I’d like to welcome you both. Are you both finding everything all right? No problems with class placement?”

“No, Mr. Baum, everything’s fine.” Trinity was just anxious to get out of the principal’s office, and out of the grotesque man’s sight. “We’re fine. Nothing we didn’t expect.”

“Yeah,” Tom finally added.

“Are…are you sure?” Mr. Baum pushed.

Tom and Trinity looked at each other again. “Yeah,” the said in unison.


At the same time, Trye was in the vice principal’s office, which was no big surprise for him. He should have his own chair there, as he often joked. The vice-principal was a middle-aged balding man, with no life.

Mr. Cartier was standing in front of his desk, which completely defeated the purpose of having a desk. “Mr. Foreman, what on earth were you thinking?!”

“About what?”

“This morning, young man. You were caught in an empty classroom with Tiffany LeVine—kissing—”

“Oh, that. We do that in the hallway all the time. Just because we used a classroom I’m in trouble?”

“You—she normally has a top on, does she not?!”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Well, what happened today?!” he yelled.

“I’uno.” Trye looked at the clock above Mr. Cartier’s big bald head. “Don’t ask me. She took it off herself. And, she’s the one who pulled me into the room in the first place.” Trye took his books, and walked out.

“Have a nice day, Trye! Don’t get into too much trouble!” called Ms. V., the secretary.

“My day’s only nice when school’s out.” Ms. V. laughed. Trye found it sad that he and the secretary had inside jokes.

The principal’s door opened, and Trye saw a flash of bright blond. Trinity? He stepped outside of the office, and waited. Finally, the unsuspecting Trinity stepped out, jumping a little at the sight of him. “Damn!” she exclaimed. “What the—” Trye put his hand over her mouth.

“Where are we going?” Trinity demanded as he led her away from the office.

“Would you be a little quieter? I don’t want to get caught.” They finally reached a dead-end of the hall, surrounded by empty classrooms.

“What are we doing? Why did you drag me—?”

Trye interrupted her with a soft kiss, with their lips barely touching. Then, they got much more into it, with Trye’s hands on her back, pulling her closer. As he took a breath, he murmured, “I like you, Trinity. I know you’ve only been here for a day, but I can tell when I like a girl. I’m attracted to you, and I was wonder—”

A crack of thunder cut him off short. Touching his cheek, he turned his face away. Trye could feel the outline of her palm, shrieking in pain on his face. The second noise was the crack of the door being slammed.

“Oh. Well. I guess that would be an “oops”. She must actually want a guy with moves. I can use my moves. And you know what? She’ll regret it.”


“The nerve of that little— ooh! Melissa was right about him!” hissed Trinity, making her way back to her classroom. “He seemed so perfect!”

“Well, everyone’s got a flaw.”

Trinity jumped, and exclaimed, “Go away, jackass!”

“We’re going to the same place. What did I do that was so evil, after all?” Trye draped his arm on her shoulder.

“You became a jerk!” Trinity pulled away from him.

“Okay, I understand that I was a little out of line, but did I deserve to be slapped?”

“You were a lot out of line, and you deserved a black eye,” she snapped.

“Why are you complaining for getting kissed by the best kisser in school?”

“If you’re the best kisser in school—which I don’t doubt, because you seem to have the most practice—then all the girls are in trouble,” Trinity retorted.

Trye’s eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve had better, Romeo.” Knowing she’d won, Trinity held herself taller, and a triumphant smile played on her lips.


During the rest of history, Trinity fumed. Trye seemed to forget about everything. After the Class from Hell, she had lunch. Melissa met Trinity at her locker, asking how her day went so far.

Groaning, Trinity shoved her books in her locker. “I’ll tell you about it when I have food.” Melissa smiled, and let out a soft chortle. “Trye.”

“I'm assuming it didn’t go very well?”

“You have no idea what an incredible understatement that is.” Trinity curled her lip at Trye, who was flirting madly with the girl from history. Stalking by him, he looked up, and flashed her his dimples again.


“He did what?!” cried Melissa.

“Shh! I don’t want the whole freaking caf to know!” she hissed. She wasn’t one of those girls that were all giggly when she was talking about boys—she really didn’t want to have anyone hear about Trye’s escapades.

“Sorry. I can’t believe he did that! He does that to the skanky girls,” reasoned Melissa.

“Thanks!”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—never mind. The more I say, the worse it’ll sound. But, he seriously didn’t see what he did wrong?”

Nodding, Trinity chewed on her straw. “Guys never see that they’re doing something wrong. They just say stupid stuff. I’m not trying to make excuses for him,” she added at Melissa’s look of disgust. “That’s just how it is. Boys are stupid and they don’t realize it.” Thinking back to the kiss, a wave of happy embarrassment washed over her. She’d been talking bull—that was the best kiss she’d ever had. And the way he’d looked at her when they talked…how was he totally absorbed in her every move.

“God, I hate him,” muttered Melissa, breaking Trinity’s concentration.

Curiously, Trinity inquired, “What’d he do to you?”

Looking at Trye, Melissa got a far off look. Wherever she was, Trye had taken he there. “I’ll—I’ll tell you some other time.”

Studying her friend’s face, Trinity moved on to another topic. “So. Does anyone around here surf?”

“Oh yeah. The season’s just picking up speed. April’s always when the guys are all getting back into it. But, no one can for a while. At least, not till the storm passes. That may not be for a week, though.”

Sighing, Trinity was brought back to California, where surfing never hibernated. It was open season, and waves were the targets. Too bad her gun was broken, arrows lost, and slingshot misplaced. So, loosely speaking, she was screwed. “How many days?” she moaned.

“Only seven, Trin, maybe less.” Taking a big bite of potatoes, Melissa laughed a little.


The next day, Trinity was more prepared for school. She knew how to dress, how to act, what to say—how to survive this high school without looking like a total dork. And, of course, she dressed and acted like there was no tomorrow.

First off, she knew her clothing choice was casual enough to blend in, but hot enough to make the guys glad she’d moved in. Perfect combination. Her jeans were really low, and really stretch. Her pale pink v-neck tank top plunged low, but not so low as to be slutty. It was simple, and it was perfect. The phrase “dressed to kill” comes to mind. It was all worth it when she walked down the corridor with Tom. She caught the eye of every guy as she walked.

Tom fallowed her to her locker, and went over to Trye’s locker. Trinity’s eyes widened as they started to talk like they’d done it before. She watched in astonishment as they became engrossed in conversation. Part of their tête-à-tête drifted to Trinity’s ears. “So, do you want me to take you straight to my house? Or do you want to meet there?” Tom asked.

“Excuse me!” exclaimed Trinity from across the hall. Running her fingers through her hair, she walked to them. Trye’s eyes seemed to soften at the sight of her. “Tom, he is not coming over,” she announced.

“Like you have any say in the matter?” Tom asked.

“He’s not coming over,” she repeated in an even tone.

“I’m right here. I can hear you,” Trye reminded her.

Trinity looked at him, shooting daggers. “Hey—maybe you can go in Trye’s car and I can drive the car home,” she suggested.

“My car.”

“Our car.”

“My car.”

“Why can’t I drive it?”

“Because it’s mine! You’ll probably crash it. You know how hard I—”

“We.”

“I—had to beg before I could get that car?”

Looking interested, Trye asked, “Why—what do you drive?”

“An Audi TT Roadster—new—and blue—and a convertible.”

Rolling her eyes, Trinity said, “Yeah, and he treats the thing like a freaking Porsche, or something. It’s just an Audi.” Turning to Trye again, she repeated, “You’re not coming over.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. Oh yeah, and you’re a jackass.” Trinity looked up at him. He towered over her by at least half a foot.

“Actually,” he told Tom, ignoring Trinity, “my brother came with me to school, so he can drive my car home.”

“What do you drive?” she asked, expecting something generic.

But the words from his mouth surprised her. “A ’73 Duster.” No—that wasn’t generic at all. Oh, but he seemed like the type of boy to own a muscle car—and she bet he looked as sexy as hell driving it.

“Unfair.” She had such a passion for cars. Oldies were her favorite—they were so…she couldn’t even describe them. They sure beat most of the crap that exited the assembly line now.

“You want a ride sometime? Or do you just want to drive it?” Trye tilted his head, dimples showing yet again.

“Could I drive it—like, seriously? ‘Cause, I just got my Maine driver’s…” she trailed off. A boy who shared Trye’s height, blue eyes and dimples slowed as he walked towards them.

“Hey,” Trye held the shoulder of the guy. “I’m going over Tom’s, so you get to drive the car home,” Trye told him.

“You’re Trye’s brother?” Trinity asked, astonished. His face struck chord deep inside her. “Andrew?’

“Trinity? Shit—Trinity? What the hell are you going here?” Andrew seemed halfway angry. That was, until he gave her a long kiss. Then, he seemed to just be in disbelief.


Chapter 2


“I can’t believe it’s you—I can’t believe you’re here! I knew you lived in Maine, but I didn’t know you lived in Williamson! Besides, I thought you were staying with you’re dad in Georgia,” Trinity exclaimed.

“Well, stuff got changed. My mom decided it’d be better for us to come back up here. So—here I am. What happened to California?” Andrew still seemed too stunned to say much.

“My dad got transferred.”

While Andrew and Trinity were having a sweet reunion, Trye was busy panicking. He knew Andrew was smooth—he was probably Trye’s only competition. He had Trye’s charm and looks, and was much more of a prep. Trye also sometimes believe that he had better luck with women. “How do you two know each other?”

Andrew stood for a second, beaming at Trinity. Then, it seemed to register that his brother had asked a question. “Well, we were in Atlanta visiting Dad, remember? Trinity and I were at some bookstore, and she couldn’t reach a book, so I got it for her. We started to talk, then we started to hang, then we started to…date.”

“How touching,” Trye snapped. “That’s who you were sneaking out with?” Trye was pissed off beyond belief. His little brother got the Goddess? Andrew had asked Trye to come with him to that stupid bookstore, too. But, Trye was too busy trying to get with his old girlfriend, Brittany—(he had succeeded)—to go to some stupid bookstore.

“Yeah,” Andrew said, intelligently. “Christ, this is so freaking weird.”

Trinity was now impatient. “Are we gonna pick up where we left off, or what?”

Looking surprised at her straightforwardness, Andrew cracked one of his knuckles.

“Yeah, you heard me, Stud. Was last summer just summer infatuation or true attraction?” Trinity inquired, trying to explaining herself to the stupider of the couple—i.e. the male.

“What was it for you?” Andrew inquired nervously.

Sighing at the true stupidity of males, Trinity pointed out, “Well, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to resume.”

“Good point.” Andrew hesitated. Finally, she decided he’d taken too long. She looked down at her own white and blue Adidas. Trinity adjusted her books and walked away.

Trye hated how upset she was over his useless brother. Andrew was an idiot. Of course, so was Trye. If he hadn’t screwed up yesterday, Andrew wouldn’t matter and Trye would be well on his way into Trinity’s Levi’s.

“What the hell’s you’re problem? Messing with my sister’s frigging head,” Tom cursed to himself.

Trying to protest, Andrew called out, “I’m not!”

“Uh, I’ve gotta go to homeroom,” rushed Trye. He could still see Trinity’s blond head. He half-ran down the hall, and caught up with her just before she went up the stairs. “Trin—calm down. Andrew isn’t that perfect that you need to get upset over. He uses girls—”

“Better girls than weed,” she spat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t act like you’re brother’s the bad one. You do the same stuff—worse, even. Stop trying to be my big bad protector.

“Trinity, what’s you’re problem?! I’m trying to be nice—”

Trinity cut him off again. “Why are you being nice? I don’t like you, Trye—face it.” As she attempted to escape, Trye held her wrist. His action seemed to disgust her.

“Why don’t you like me?”

“Why do you like me?”

“I asked first.” Trye was brought back to yesterday in history, before he’d messed everything up.

“Well, I don’t plan on answering.” Before he could utter one more word, she ascended the steps quickly, but silently.

“Screw it, Foreman. She’s a waste of your time.” Graham had snuck up on Trye, lurking in the shadows of the stairwell.

“Hey, Graham. What’s up?” Trye’s forehead still had thought-wrinkles in it. He was so frustrated. Trinity was hot. Trye was hot. It was destiny. Why was Trinity the only one unable to comprehend the principal?

“Any girl who walks away from you is a waste of your time.”

“A waste of my time? Have you seen her? She’s freaking amazing.” Trye recalled her Goldilocks hair, grass green eyes, and smile that quickened his blood pressure.

“Okay, she is pretty hot,” admitted Graham. “So when are you going out?” Trye knew he knew the answer to that. Graham knew that Trye knew he knew the answer to that.

“Never, my friend. She’s not into me.”

Despite his knowledge, Graham still looked in disbelief. “Bull. There’s never been a girl able to resist Trye Foreman’s charm.” Yes, all they guys worshiped their king. Graham not only worshiped, but got the girls when Trye was done with them.

Trye snorted. “Well, I’ve met the exception to the frigging rule.”

“Dude, then forget about her. Tiffany’s going out with you tonight—you nailin’ her?”

“Yeah—I guess.”

“Whoa. You really are depressed. Hey, Tim’s got some pot—a couple of us were gonna cut second period and smoke it. You look like you could use some. It’s been a couple weeks since you cut with us, you know,” offered Graham.

“Which bathroom?” Trye asked.

“The one on the second floor, you know, near where you got caught with—”

“I got it. Hey, I gotta get to homeroom before—” He glanced at his watch. “Shit.” He hopped up the stairs, and ducked into homeroom just as the bell rang. How had he missed the warning bell? Slipping in his seat behind Trinity, he stretched his legs out. She looked down at his foot, and shook her head.

Trye waited until the hag was in the G’s before he leaned forward. The scent of vanilla intoxicated him. “Trin, you never answered me.”

She continued to stare forward.

He let his nose touch her neck. “Trinity, you know you want to talk to me,” he murmured. He let his lips brush her neck. It was soft and warm, and newly exposed. She must have pulled it up once she got to homeroom. Before, she had been using it to flirt. And it worked so well.

“If you desire to keep your lips, you’ll get them away from me,” she whispered coldly, still refusing to look at him.


Meanwhile, Trinity had taken out her notebook. It had pages of daydreams. She started one about a damsel in distress...and Sir Trye, the dashingly handsome knight coming to her rescue.

“Trinity!” someone exclaimed.

Looking up, she found Trye, of all people, alone in the classroom with her. They were even really alone. Not even the teacher occupied the room with them.

“What the hell were you doing?” demanded Trye.

“What time is it? Why are you still here?” she snapped back.

“It’s about ten seconds before first period. I came to get you, Miss High-and-Mighty.” Trye grabbed her wrist, and pulled her to AP English III. “What were you doing, anyway?”

“I was writing…I—uh—guess I lost track of time.”

For the zillionth time, Trye smiled at her, and for the zillionth time, Trinity was spellbound by his incredible dimples. She melted. There was no denying it. But, all she let out to Trye was an unenthusiastic smile. No need for him to get comfy.


After English, Trye casually made his way to the second floor. His blood started to pound. A few puffs on a joint were exactly what he needed to calm himself about Trinity.

Trye wasn’t a druggie, like Melissa and many others thought. Really, Trye just did it because he could, and it was sort of Zen. He did it only when he was bored or need time to think.

“Trye!” Graham called.

“Hey, Graham. Guys,” he greeted. “So what’re you waiting for? Hook me up.”

“Calm down, Trye. Shit, you are edgy,” Tim observed.

“Yeah, I’m edgy, okay? Now give me a damn joint!” demanded Trye.

Tim did as he was told. After inhaling deeply, Trye’s muscles relaxed. Trinity left his mind momentarily, and he just let his mind drift to more pleasant subjects. Of course, the visual of Trinity’s body was very pleasant, so he let his mind linger on that before it moved on.

"God damn Trinity...she’s hot as hell. And she’s just…her personality…and she’s sarcastic like me, and…But, it’s weird—it’s not just that. She just makes me feel…weird, you know?”

“No. Trye, dude, I have no friggin’ idea what your talking about. I can barely see you."

“Good for you,” Trye told him. He forgot about talking for a few minutes, and took deeper and deeper drags on the pot.

“Christ, Trye, don’t swallow the damn thing.”

Heaving a sigh, Trye finally stopped himself. “I should go,” Trye told the potheads, after sitting for fifteen minutes. “I don’t want to get high.” That was a lie. For once, Trye deeply wanted to get high. But, he had to go to his afternoon classes, and he couldn’t if he were high. As it was, he was closer than he should have been.

Quietly, he slipped out of the bathroom. He made his way down the hall, and was halfway to the stairwell when he heard a tell-tale whisper.
“Trye Foreman!” Trinity whisper-shouted, ten feet ahead of him. Rushing forward, she took a step back. “Christ! Trye, you’re a freaking idiot!” She grabbed his wrist. Electricity shot through his body. She dragged him to the girl’s bathroom. Fortunately, it was empty.

“I’m not supposed to be in here,” he pointed out.

“Like you care about breaking the rules? Anyway, I doubt you’ve never been in here before.” Trinity was furious. Her eyes were fire, and her jaw was set tight. “What the hell is your problem? You were just getting high, weren’t you?! Idiot!”

“How did you know?”

“It's kind of obvious.” Trye was surprised that she—Trinity of all people—could determine that he was high. “Don’t look so damn shocked, Foreman."

“So…what are you gonna do?”

Sighing heavily, she explained, “I’m gonna make sure you don’t get suspended.”

“Why do you care?” spat Trye.

“What—you want to get suspended? If you do, just tell me, and I’ll go.” Ice and sarcasm laced her harsh tone.

Trye looked down, and was silent.

“That’s what I thought.” Trinity took out a tin of Altoids. “Have about six of those at once, and wash your face.”

Picking up the tin, he popped a handful into his mouth. The intensity made his mouth tingle and his senses more aware. When he splashed the cool water from the tiny silver fixture on his face, he felt less groggy. In a way, this pissed him off, because it made it even harder to ignore Trinity’s warm fingers under his eyes.

Trye tried to look down at her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m putting a little concealer under you eyes so you don’t look like a freaking zombie!”

“Concealer! Jesus, Trinity, I may have just been smoking, but I still have some testosterone in me! No makeup! No way!”

“If you really think it’s gonna affect you, you can feel free to grab your balls and make sure they don’t disappear!”

“If you’re gonna help me, you don’t have to be snotty about it!” he exclaimed.

“If you’re not gonna appreciate it, I’m not gonna help you!”

“Fine! I didn’t need your help anyway! I didn’t ask for it, you don’t have to be nice. As a matter of fact, it’s your fault that I was getting high in the first place, because you pissed me off so much! Why are you bothering trying to help me, anyway?” Trye snapped. He instantly regretted his harsh words.

Trinity’s fingers stopped moving, staying a fraction of an inch above his Trye’s skin. “All I was trying to do was help—”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. But, you haven’t answered my question.”

Trinity started to fume. “Well, I feel bad about what I did! I felt bad for being so rude, and I was trying to make up for it! Happy?” She spun around and walked out.

Trye looked at himself in the mirror. She had helped. He was a jerk—he didn’t want to be, he just was. As he turned to leave, Trye spotted Trinity’s tiny triangular bottle of Adidas perfume. She had left it there.


“Hey! Trinity!” Shutting her locker, Trinity started to walk away.

“Trinity? Hello? Stop!” For the second time that day, someone grabbed her arm to stop her.

“Okay, Trye, will you just—” Trinity stopped when she saw whose fingers locked onto her arm. Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes from Andrew’s. “Sorry.”

“No, Trin, I’m sorry. I was a malicious to you this morning. I really do like you—I swear. Will you…do you wanna do something sometime?” It was so cute; Andrew looked just like he did when he first asked her out.

“Yes. I mean, there has to be something to do around here, right?”

Amused, he assured her, “Sure there is. You just keep thinking that.” Andrew grabbed her hand. There wasn’t as much electricity as Trinity had been expecting. “Come on—I’m hungry.” He pulled Trinity to the cafeteria.”

“Is that all guys think about? Food? And sex.”

“Yup. We especially like to think about sex while we’re eating. It’s even better when you can be working on a car while eating, and thinking about sex, all at the same time,” Andrew explained.

“Hmm. Nice.” She watched as Andrew loaded up his tray with about a thousand calories of junk food. She—being a girl, and watching her girlish figure—only took a CranStrawberry Ocean Spray and a small chicken sandwich. By the time Andrew was done, he had about five times as much food as her.

Scanning the room for Melissa, Trinity stood on her toes. No Melissa in sight. It didn’t seem to matter, because Andrew put his arm around her waist and led her to the jock table. Ugh. She had forgotten about Andrew’s jock side.

Almost all of the guys looked up to greet Andrew, but ended up staring at Trinity. She couldn’t help but notice how incredibly cute they all were.

“Hey,” someone finally croaked out.

“Hey,” Andrew answered, oblivious to his social obligations, and his friend’s reactions. He sat and began to shovel food into his mouth.

Smiling at his stupid maleness, Trinity shook her head. “You’re totally socially unaware, Andrew darling.”

“Yeah, I am. Introduce yourself. I have food.”

Trinity sat down, and rolled her eyes. “Hi. I’m Trinity. I just moved here from L.A. And you are…?”

The boy—a very cute one, at that—piped up. He pointed all the way down the line. “James, Mike, Bryan, Reed, and David. Oh, and me. I’m Dustin.”

Each boy muttered a form of greeting, and then returned to their food. Trinity did the same.

She was about halfway through when—she was pretty sure it was David—asked bluntly, “So, is she your girlfriend?”

Suddenly, all the faces at the table were looking up, Trinity included. She didn’t honestly know the answer to this question. Were they going out?

“Yeah,” Andrew said without hesitation.

Trinity could have sworn that she heard more than one “damn” muttered into food.


It turned out that Trinity did ride home in the Audi, as well as Trye. Apparently, she didn’t plan on talking to him. He had no intention of conversing with her, either. The only chatter in the car was between Tom and Trye, and it wasn’t that interesting, because they were cautious to not mention certain things in front of Trinity.

At one point, Trinity leaned forward and turned up the radio. Then, she settled back into the tiny backseat, and hummed the intro. Trye couldn’t help but notice her scent lingering near him.

“Christ, Trinity, we’re trying to talk!” exclaimed Tom.

“Well I must have had too many Diet Cokes/cause I’m laughing at all your stupid jokes/you gotta stop spinning my head around/you turn me inside out and upside down,” she sang, defiantly. Her quiet voice bordered between husky and sweet. Maybe it was both.

“Ha, ha, ha, Trin. Now, at least shut up!”

“No, but thanks for asking so nicely.”

“Will you knock it off? You’re being a pain in the ass. No one wants to listen to this chick music,” Tom snapped.

“The Donnas are not “chick music”! You’d like them if you weren’t such a narrow-minded boy.” “Boy” sounded like a remark on the nasty green thing that was growing in the cafeteria kitchen. She resumed singing. “Now, I just can’t get you outta my head/why don’t you just get in my bed/when I first saw you on your big wheels/boy, you know you had me head over heels. Now I’m all messed up/and I don’t know what to do/now I’m all messed up/all messed up on you—”

“Oh yeah. They’re just awesome,” he spit, sarcastically. “Really sophisticated.” He made a move to turn it down.

“Don’t touch it!”

“It’s my car; I’ll do what I want!”

“It is not! We’re supposed to share it!” she continued to protest.

“Bullshit!” shouted Tom, pressing his foot on the accelerator.

“Why do I no longer feel safe in this car?” Trye asked to no one in particular.

Fuming, Trinity shot, “You shouldn’t; Tom’s a crappy driver and he has a short temper. Fine—I’ll change the damn station.” Again, she reached to the radio, and pressed the “play” button on the CD player.

“We’re over and I’m all done/yeah/it’s time to have some real fun...” The Donnas CD played—at least, that’s what Trye deducted it was. Trinity had it planned—she must have. The CD was too much of a coincidence.

“Trinity!” Tom shouted.

“Oh my,” Trinity murmured with mock innocence. “How did that get in there?” She reached up a third time, and pressed “stop”. A new song had started. An old New Found Glory song. On the way back, Trinity made a point of brushing her hand on Trye’s bare forearm. Soft tingles erupted all up and down his arm.

“Why do you always have to turn everything into some huge drama?” Tom snapped, slowing the car down to the suggested speed.

“The same reason you get pissed off every five seconds.”

“Don’t blame this on me!”

“Well, don’t blame it on me, either!” she exclaimed.

Tom thought. “We have to blame it on someone.”

It was Trinity’s turn to think. “How about Dad?”

“Works for me.” Tom returned to Trye. Trinity resumed her quiet stance, singing along to the radio in that beautiful voice.

“And I thought Andrew and I were bad,” mumbled Trye. Disbelief creased his forehead.

“No. Just you are. Andrew’s an angel.”

Trye refrained from answering.

When she leaned forward a fourth time to turn down the bass in the back speakers, Trye got another chance to be intoxicated with the aura of Trinity. Just her being that close to him made him feel lightheaded, and disconnected from everything but the body inches away from him. Again, she brushed his arm, and again, heat coursed through his body.

Slowing even more, Tom pulled into a four-car garage attached to a colossal white house. It was three stories, and about three times the size of Trye’s house. He was stunned. He knew they lived in a huge house, but not anything this huge.

“Yeah,” Trinity said, smiling at his face. She grabbed her bag. “Mansion sweet mansion.”

She let herself out of the car after Trye, because the TT only had two doors. Running to the house without saying anything, she pulled out her key, and threw herself inside.

Trye noticed that the Audi was the only car there. “Parents out?”

“Yeah. My mom’ll be here at about six-thirty, and my dad’ll be here…eventually. We hope. Well, we don’t, personally, but my mom does.”

“That late, huh?”

“Yeah. Every night.”

Craning his neck to the door, Trye inquired after Trinity and her whereabouts. He fallowed Tom inside, awaiting an answer. They entered the kitchen, which lacked the drab decor that was usually found in large houses. Bright yellow paint was on the walls, and the ceiling was painted with clouds.

Tom was already digging through the fridge. Emerging with two cans of Pepsi and two pre-made sandwiches, he answered, “Who knows? There are forty rooms to choose from. Pick one, and we’ll look there,” snorted Tom. For some reason, neither Flavin sibling seemed too thrilled with the house, or their parents, or the money. Oblivious to Trye’s wonderings, Tom led him to the stairs, which were in the foyer. There were windows all over, and white marble floors. The ceiling was a story and a half up, and the whole room was light blue. The stairs themselves were wide, and at the top, widened even more, into a fan shape.

“Gotta love the early twentieth century. They went all out.”

Trye laughed, and Tom shoved one hand in his pocket. They traveled down a short hallway to a more ordinary set of stairs, which were unglamorous and carpeted.

“All of our rooms are up here, plus Trin and my Psycho Room. It’s great—you have to see it.”

Tom turned the knob of the closest door. “My room,” he announced. It was painted black, with huge naked windows. Posters of punk-rock and metal bands hung on the walls. Spider-man claimed the spot above Tom’s bed.

“Nice,” Trye commented. “But too clean.”

Tom grinned, and sprawled on the carpet. He started to eat his food. “Ahh.” Tom took a swig of Pepsi. Starting to relax, Trye did the same. He was surprised at how long it took for him to slip back into his habits in the pristine palace.

Tom grabbed a remote off of his bad, and aimed it at the stereo. Guitar riffs and drumbeats filled the room. Then, Trye was totally at ease. When they finished eating, they talked about girls, then school, then girls, then cars, and then, of course, girls. At times, they sort of lapsed into silence.

“What are the other rooms up here, again?” asked Trye. Almost three hours had passed, and they had not moved, or accomplished anything. Then, there were light footsteps. Tom looked up before answering, but the footfalls faded away. He turned back to Trye. “Trinity’s room is over there—” he pointed to the wall his bed was against. “And the Psycho Room is across the hall--you’ve gotta see this. Trin and I claimed it, and then attacked. It looks so cool.” Tom walked diagonally across the hall, and threw the door open.

He was right. The room was awesome. Like Tom’s room, the walls were black. The rug was electric blue, and the ceiling was bright purple. A black couch hugged one wall, and a chair was next to it. There were five windows, because it was a corner room. Each was surrounded by floaty purple curtains.

A stereo and TV were set up, and this stereo seemed more jacked than the one in Tom’s room. The TV cast a soft glow on the room. One bright blue lamp sat on a totally clear coffee table, but it was off.

Yeah, the room was amazingly kick-ass, but what Trye was focused on was upside-down on the couch.

“Christ! Can’t I get one minute of peace in this house?” Trinity twisted into another contorted position.

“This isn’t your room, Trinity. Don’t expect privacy.” Tom motioned to Trye to sit. Tom had already taken the chair.

Thank you, Tom. You’re a freaking genius, Trye thought. Trye flopped on the couch, in the way guys do. “And what do you need privacy for? Well, other than secretly practicing cheerleading moves so you can show up all the other girls at tryouts in a couple weeks.”

“Is that supposed to be a hint, or something?” Trinity asked. Tom stopped laughing, anticipating a spaz attack. “Because, don’t say anything till you see my routine, okay? Omigod—it’ll, like, totally beat those other, like, skanky bitches.” Trinity’s imitation was deadpan for a Willaimson Academy cheerleader. She smiled, pleased, as the boys cracked up.

Changing position again, Trinity stretched herself out on the couch, her legs against Trye’s. She was sending mixed messages, but she didn’t care. To her surprise, he shot her a look that said, “Get your legs off me before I move them off.”

Quickly, Trinity pulled her legs up to her chest. She forgot that even though her anger had melted away as soon as she had looked into those worn-in-jeans colored eyes, Trye might still be red-hot. Well, he was obviously red-hot, but his anger was probably still flowing viciously.

Suddenly, Tom got up. “I’ve gotta take a leak,” he announced.

“Tom, you’re not five anymore. You can feel free to go without announcing it anymore.” Trinity rolled her eyes at Tom’s desperate attempts to ward her off of any male she might meet.

Tom made a face, and was gone.

Trinity looked at Trye. She had to get angry back at him, so she didn’t seem like too much of a pushover. She crossed her arms and put a defensive look on her face. Trinity spat, “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed off at me for trying to save your ass.”

Trye made a fist. As he talked, he cracked all ten of his knuckles. “The way you did it sure as hell didn’t help my mood.”

“And how did I do it?”

“Like a bitch.”

“You took it like an ungrateful bastard.”

“You did it like it was some great thing, and it wasn’t. Like I give a shit if I get suspended? I’ve been suspended about fifty times. You didn’t do me any damn favors, Trinity, so don’t act like you did. Besides, I was only like that ‘cause you were such a bitch when I was telling you about—”

Trinity set her jaw. “About your evil user brother. Yeah, Trye, that’s real believable. Especially coming from you.”

“I should know about him better than you, okay?”

“Trye, you’re a hypocrite!”

Jumping up, he snapped, “How am I a hypocrite?!”

Fallowing his actions, Trinity did the same. “You say that Andrew’s a player, and he’s so bad, when you’ve probably screwed more girls than you can count. You’ve got a girl a week, and you’re trying to tell me that Andrew’s the bad one?”

“When you put it that way…”

Trinity pulled at her hair, now genuinely angry. “I don’t have to “put it” any way! That’s how it is!” She threw up he hands. “It sounds that bad because it is that bad!”

“No—” Trye protested.

“That’s easy for you to say! You’re the one doing all the fucking--”

“Trinity!”

Whipping her head around, Trinity saw Tom near the open door. Oops, she thought. Colossal “oops”.

Tom started playing the role of Big Brother. “Watch your language!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Trinity shouted.

“Trinity!” both boys exclaimed.

“Oh, like you never say it?!” she screamed. She spun on her heel and ran from the room. Loud, sharp stomps were emitted as she thumped down the stairs. Trye was sure that each riser now had a deep crack in it. There was a loud slam as the door closed. The front door. Trinity was about to be long gone.

To be continued...

*all of the other parts are in my portfolio, along with some other goodies...

Waves (Part 2)  (13+) Classic (sorta) story of hate, love, and misunderstanding. (Continued) #716472 by JessB, Architect.