As If Anything Were to Happen [Open]

[Breanna Kimberly]

Breanna made her way - slowly - down to the soccer field. She was just so bored, and what was a better solution to boredom than writing? Sitting down on a small set of bleachers, she looked out over the soccer field, her imagination going to work instantly.

Bree whipped out her writing notebook and and pen and immediately started writing. The words just poured from her head to the paper, making her more and more involved with the story as she went on. She would stop occasionally, scanning over her words to make sure she had made no grammatical errors or to make sure her words weren't too corny.

She was writing about a girl... a girl who was excluded from everyone else because of everything that had happened to her. A girl who had considered suicide many times over. As Bree kept writing, she realized that this girl was reminding her of herself. That was the strange thing about writing, everything reveolved back to her, the author.

[Darren van der Wood]

Darren felt like shit. He'd gotten psyched up, ready for a good soccer practice, but when he got down to the field, all of his cravings for physical activity had vanished. Strange. That was so unlike Darren. Normally he wanted to bounce off walls and play soccer and get bruises and cuts because it made him look heroic, but not today. He didn't know what it was. Maybe he missed his sister. Maybe he was kind of hungover. Maybe he just needed a cigarette.
Darren knew he should probably stop smoking if he wanted to play soccer. It was going to kill his lungs, but he didn't want to stop. It wasn't that he couldn't - he usually smoked that nicotine-free all-natural shit that his sister sent him - because he really could, he just didn't want to. He dug in the pocket of his black Saks Fifth Avenue jacket - yes, Darren was that lame that he wore designer jackets to go play soccer in - and produced a pack of Marlboro Smoothes, just what he was craving. He sat himself down by the bleachers and lit up with his monogrammed lighter, nearly burning a hole in his plain white Hanes shirt. Darren wasn't much of a dresser-upper, despite that fact that he was gay. In fact, that just made him want to resist looking good more because he didn't want to attract French fashion moguls with fake lisps. Gross.
He stretched out his denim clad legs on the ground in front of him, happily taking a drag on his cigarette. It was such a quiet evening: all you could hear were crickets and sounds of pencils scratching. Wait, pencils scratching? No, that wasn't right. But it really was pencils. Hmm. Darren really hadn't checked to see if there were other people around. Great. He stubbed out what was left of his cigarette, and then put a new one in his mouth and turned around. On the bleachers, a couple benches up and over, was a girl, writing. So that's what he heard. He lit his cigarette, but couldn't peel his eyes away. Well, at least he wasn't crazy. Ha.

[Breanna Kimberly]

Bree paused in wirint for a moment, rereading over what she had written on the paper. She wasn't quite sure if she should continue, she was getting writer's block. Oh, no, not now... she scolded herself silently. Finally admitting defeat to the stupid writer's block, she stuffer her pen into the pocket of her bellbottom jeans.

As she did so, she potted a boy smoking a few rows down form her. She shut her notbeook, not taking her eyes off of him, before finally peeling her eyes away from him and stuffing the notebook into her satchel. She turned back to him, studying his loks with her emerald eyes.

Hello, she finally said absentmindedly, still looking over the boy suspiciously. He was smoking. She suddenly winced. Her abusive foster father often smoked, right before he would do something horrible. She still kept her eyes on him for a moment before crossing her arms and leaning on her knees.

[Darren van der Wood]

Darren studied the girl for a bit longer, she clearly knew he was there. He watched intently as she put away her things, and muttered a curt "hello". Darren flinched. He really didn't mean to, but that just made him feel open and exposed and like he really shouldn't be there. He took another drag on his cigarette and tapped the dwindling ashes onto the metal bleachers. He then realized he was being kind of rude. "Hi there."
What the hell? Hi there? Who says that? Darren suddently felt very cold. He tightly wrapped his black jacket around his thin frame, not sure whether he should move and talk to the girl or if he should just stay there. He compromised, eventually, by moving himself one bleacher up and turning to face her. The silent awkwardness of it all was getting to him. "So what's a pretty thing like you doing out here so late?"
WHAT!?!?! Had he really just said that? Oh, he did just say that. Darren sighed. He could be so retarded sometimes. He probably sounded like the biggest creeper in the world at that moment. He wanted to puke. In fact...he was going to. Darren turned around behind him and promptly vomited into the brush at the bottom of the bleachers. He wiped his mouth and turned back around, but kept his head down. He was not going to look that girl in the eyes. Not after all that. He could've just run away, but Darren doesn't think of that kind of thing under pressure.

[Breanna Kimberly]

Breanna looked at him through emerald eyes, trying to decide what to make of the boy. He was smoking, but he was cute. Cute?! Did she just now think that? No boy was cute! Boys were cold-hearted, scheming, backstabbing people! How could she think that this boy, of all people, was cute?!

She blushed as he called her, 'pretty thing', but it didn't affect her really. Bree narrowed her eyes at him, and finally decided to speak. Writing, she replied blankly. I always write. Why was she telling him this? Did it really matter at all? Why should he know? Why was she asking all of these questions to herself? It doesn't really matter what time it is. If I feel like writing, I write.

Bree sighed and looked at him as he vomited into the bushes. She furrowed her eyebrowns with concern, but didn't say anything. It must be the cigarette. They never do any good to any person alive, Bree thought to herself sternly as she watched the boy for another moment.