First Kisses come in Seventh Grade 15

Ok, so I think I am cutting out Seth from the story... just because. It'll be just Chris and Ryan and these other girls. I hope you'll stay tuned after this.

I personally think that part 16 will be funny, I dunno, you might see something different. But I can just imagine the scene and it's funny. You won't regret it! Haha jk, you'll figure that out later.

Created by: 54packers

  1. What is your age?
  2. What is your gender?
  1. You sprint uphill taking long leaps. You collapse nearly at the top. You were tired; your legs were talking to you. They were screaming, “We’re hurt! We’re tired! We’re sore!” You stretch out your legs and reach your toes with your pinky. You turn your head to the right as you stretched to your left. You turn your head to the left as you stretched your right. And you see him. There was Chris, still in his sweaty running shorts and shirt as you were, except that his were way darker than yours. His backpack rested on the floor beside him. He had on a little far off smile. He was staring at his phone. Texting, you think to yourself.
  2. You turn your head to the right again, then you turn your head to the left. He was gone. For some reason you kept staring at the bare wall. You kind of had a lonely feeling now when suddenly two hands grasped your shoulders. “Huh?”
  3. You look right up into blue tinted gray eyes. He had on this knowing grin and you rolled out of his reach. “Looking for somebody?” he asks you narrowing his eyes in a playful way. “What?” you asked him. “You were looking over there all sad and stuff,” he says pointing to the school wall you were just looking at. It takes you a moment to realize what he was saying. “Psh, whatever,” you snort at him and continue your stretches. You scanned the road for your mom. She was unusually late today.
  4. “Your mum comin?” Chris asks you. “Yea, she’s spose to like a while ago. Been what, five minutes already?” you reply. You look at the road again, the one farther off of the school. A crummy brown truck rumbles by with a horrible chainsaw noise. You could feel the loud blasting rumble beneath your skin and pounding in your ears. The truck left a faint whiff of something burning. It disappears with its rumbling and odor.
  5. “Give her a break,” said Chris suddenly, “Mums’ have it a hard.” You were surprised to hear this from Chris who seemed pretty much like a delinquent of the seventh grade halls. You look at him. He was squinting his eyes at the sun. You gaze back at the road. “That truck was loud,” you commented. “My Dad had a truck like that,” he says. “Huh,” you say. “Broken, jammed, slow and smelled like crap fuel,” said Chris. You nod. It was silent for a moment and then Chris asks you something. “Am I bad?” “What?” you ask. He breaks his stare from the sun and turns to you. You look away. “Am I bad?” he asks. “Whadda mean?” you ask casually. “Do you think I’m bad? Like… you know… the bad boy type…” he says quietly.
  6. You suddenly remember Ryan. You think back to when you first met Chris. He did seem like the ghetto, bad boy type. The delinquent, the bad grade, the swagger guy that carried a hint of tough, cool, and bad on his shoulders that you just hated. That all just came hitting you at once when you saw him, heard him. What did you think of him now? You remember how Ryan was always “there.” How he was always kind of nobody to you. All he does is take up space in the hallway to complete your everyday life scenery. He was just a prop. But when you met Ryan, you learned something. Everyone was SOMEONE. You couldn’t just not care about them when they drop their pencils. You had to care. Ryan did. Ryan never categorized anybody. He knows you’re someone, you matter just like everyone else. You just couldn’t judge someone before you meet them. You don’t know their story. The person who just told you to “Move it,” may have had a crappy day, their friend may have just dumped them. The teacher that snapped at you when you were just a second late probably had a crappy morning with headache giving first hour students.
  7. “Well… you can be good…” you say softly. It was silence for a moment and then Chris says, “So… you think I’m bad.” “Well, I didn’t mean like-“ “S’okay, everyone says that and yea, sometimes I am the bad guy. But I do try to be good though,” said Chris, “My mother can’t see that though… she thinks I’m like Dad. I’m not like Dad.” Silence took over for a few moments.
  8. “What’s your Dad like?” you asked. He pauses. He thinks, he says,“The worst kind of husband to a wife,” said Chris. “I had to watch my mom scream at him fifty times a day and the way he reacted was horrid.” You almost heard a tremble in his words. “Dad’s gone now, I don’t think he even remembers my name. But I try to work hard for my mom. I don’t want to be like Dad. I plan to get a driver license at age 16, go to college and get a job. I really do.”
  9. “Whadda wanna be?” you ask him. He paused for a while. “Genetics.” You raise an eyebrow,“Cool. Whatever that is.” He laughs, “You’ll learn that in seventh grade. That’s the only subject I can get right but that means nothing to my mom. My report cards always have the label “Missing work” or “incomplete” so I get a lot of Fs, Ds, Cs. Cs are just luckies. I’m trying but I can’t seem to get the As. This year, I want it to be different. I want to bring home an A paper on the big exam test this year. Only one thing can do that.”
  10. “What?”you ask. “You help me study,” said Chris. “What?” you ask looking at him. He was smiling at you. “But I’m only in sixth grade,” you say. “Yea, but I write down notes, you can just help me like review flashcards.” “But why me? Why not… like that other girl, your girlfriend Jessica? Or a teacher, your friends?”
  11. “I like it better when you’re there,” he says. Your heart for some reason clogged in your throat. You pretend not to hear that last line, “Sure, my house?” you ask. “Why not?” he says, “Everyday after school starting the day after tomorrow at 5 pm in the library?” You nod your head in conclusion. You get up about to jog around the kickball field. “Hey, I gotta go. My mom’s here,” he says. “Yea,” you say. “See ya,” he says. “See ya.” He stops. “Your mum comin?” You nod. “Yep.” “You sure?” “Definitely.” He leaves and the car goes. You watch them disappear over the road and then you jog halfway around the field. You finish your lap and was about to make your second when a car honks at you. You turn around and there’s your mum’s car: dirty and dull, sometimes mini clunker-rattle explosions, slow and break-downs at random times. For a moment the crummy truck from before flashes into your head and you were glad that your mom even had a car.

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