"Normalise a little crazy for what you believe in" Maxime Lagace

I'm walking out of school, minding my own business when all of a sudden, a giant, man-eating bear topples from the roof of the school, slides down the flagpole some kind of gymnast and starts scaring off all the kids. Students flee for their lives, dropping their bags and running to their cars, devoured by fear.

Well, of course, that didn't happen. But something just as unbelievable did.

I'm walking out of school (hold your horses, I'm getting there) when a motorbike pulls up right in front of me and the driver kills the engine. Hundreds of other kids are minding their own business, saying goodbye to their friends, yet somehow, I stick out. I yank out the buds of my earphones realising by the letterman jacket number and broad shoulders, this punk in front of me is Skye. And when he removes his helmet, my point is proven correct.

He smiles at me, all pearly white teeth, tossing his head so that his copper hair isn't in his face and with the angle of the sun, and the background blurring, Skye looks unbelievably hot. I feel my stomach turning and my cheeks darken infinitely.

Crap.

This is why cute, nice guys shouldn't exist. If a guy is a good-looking jock, he should be egotistical, not sweet, charming, and so very Skye. At least it wouldn't be so disarming. So impossible not to like.

Realising I'm staring, I smoothen out my features then frown. Better be safe than sorry right? I could do snarky, I couldn't do flirty.

"Hey, Woods," Skye puts his arm around his helmet as he leans forward on the bike. "Fancy seeing you here."

Is it possible, to stop the rapid pulsing of your heart, if you had, say, telekinesis?

"We go to the same school," I say drily. "Of course, you'd see me here. Why'd you stop?"

He shrugs. "Thought you might want a ride to the cafe."

I can't – this is too endearing. Too sweet for someone as bitter as I am.

"Um, I don't think that's a good idea," I hesitate. People will see me get on his bike. People will talk. I don't need that kind of attention. "Did you even think this through?"

"Seldom it is that I do, Woods."

"So I've noticed."

Skye holds out his helmet between us, dropping one foot on the ground to get closer to me. I'm rooted in my spot, clutching the strap of my bag. Since when did I behave like a lovestruck fool? This is ridiculous, I have no time for emotional baggage.

"Kourtney, are you coming or not?"

"Hard pass," I push his helmet gently back towards him, then lift my skateboard for him to see. "I've got a ride, but thank you."

He tilts his head. "Really? I've never seen you ride that thing."

"So you're stalking me now, huh?"

Skye flips his visor over his sparkly eyes. "Call it what you want, Woods. I'll see you in a few."

He drives off, engine roaring in his wake, exhaust pipe clouding thick ringlets of grey smoke. Instantly, I feel stranded, and, in my heart, I know I've made the wrong choice. But my head consoles me. Boys are a waste of time. They mess with your mind; make you believe they love you, then leave as quickly as a traffic light changes colours. 

Shaking my head from a cloud of murky thought, I find the closest alleyway to teleport to. I know I can't show up at the cafe before Skye, given he rides a motorbike, which is much faster than a skateboard, so I have to stall time to not seem suspicious.

I take the high route, see: Rooftops.

My landing is a high skyscraper that curves into the cloud, obscuring my vision in misty white. The faint sound of a telephone rings and heels click against the wooden floors of the room below me, and incoherent chatter fills my ears. I stride over to the edge of the building, and dirty grey, pudgy pigeons flap their wings, leaving me alone. The rooftop is clear, a turbine sounds from somewhere close, thrumming hot air and dust settles on my sneakers and jacket when I walk.

Thank goodness, I didn't wear my white leather jacket today.

I cross my arms over the ledge, peering hundreds of metres at the drop below. Vehicles hoot and blare, whizzing like bees, and people walk on the sidewalk at different paces, looking like tiny ants. I snap a quick photo with my phone, of the scenery – because let's face it – this is a rarity. 

It's so nice up here, far from the crowds, the people, and the world. It's quiet. Calm. I take my time to revel in the solitude, breathe in their fresh air (okay, not so fresh air) and close my eyes as I lean back against the ledge, my hands pocketed in my jacket.

I could stay here forever.

Minutes pass until I'm ready to face reality again.

I look around for Skye when I enter the café, my mouth watering at the scrumptious aromas, luring me to get a coffee.

"Woods, I'm here," Skye beckons me from where he's leaning a hip against the bar counter. The female barista giggling at what he said, twirls her hair when she spots me and reaches over to touch his arm.

"Are you ordering something?" Skye asks me, dropping his hands to his pockets, oblivious to the way the girl is pining over him.

"What looks good?" I scan the menu board, then relay my order. The girl scowls between Skye and me, then turns around to work with her back to us.

People see what they want to see. I'm not gonna say anything.

"We have the outlines for the project, the introduction and some rough diagrams," I note once we've settled at a table. "So now we can work on the next part."

"Okay," Skye nods, tilting his head closer so that I can smell whatever cologne or aftershave he uses. Clearly, this boy has no qualms about personal space.

And okay, maybe he smells really nice.

I lean back, just a bit, before I end up sniffing him or doing something equally stupid.

"We need to make a scientific evaluation," I tell him. "You know aim, hypothesis, that sort of thing."

Skye gives me a look. "English, Woods."

It's gonna be a long day.

"We need to write down our thoughts of what the results of the experiment will be."

"Oh, okay, gotcha."

I watch him jot down what I said, his tongue jutting out from the corner of his mouth in an oddly endearing way. He creases his eyebrows as he writes, and the look is so strange on him – seeing Skye frown – that I have a sudden urge to smoothen out his forehead.

The thought jars me, and my heart stumbles. What is wrong with me today?

By the time Skye is finished, our drinks are also done, and I silently volunteer to collect them. Another girl is behind the counter this time and she's hanging up her beige apron. I get our drinks and settle back, only to find the girl who brought them following me. She looks vaguely familiar, a curly redhead that I swear I've seen before. And then I realise it when she approaches Skye.

They look the same.

"Lizzy!" Skye grins brightly, when the girl clears her throat. "You're back!"

The girl smiles, eyes the same golden colour as her brother or cousin, maybe? 

"Yeah, I just got off from work."

"Stay awhile?"

She checks her watch. "Just a few minutes, I've got errands to run for Aunt Stacey."

I wordlessly watch the exchange between the two, piecing together their resemblances. Other than their hair, eyes, and warm smiles, they look quite different.

"Lizzy, this is my dear friend, Woods," Skye says, gesturing to me. "She's not very big on talking."

I talk enough. Don't I?

"Hey," I nod, my lips curving on their own accord. "It's Kourtney, actually."

Liz's smile widens. "Nice to meet you! This dork over here is my cousin."

"Ah, okay," I look between them again. "I thought y'all were twins for a second."

Skye pretends to shudder. "No way. I couldn't."

His cousin shoves him on the shoulder, laughing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I watch them banter back and forth, smiling as someone finally puts Skye in his place. Liz says she has to go soon enough, and she gives us a hearty wave of goodbye, hugging Skye tightly and smiling at me.

"Is everyone in your family like that?" I ask.

Skye frowns, confused. "Like what?"

"Chirpy," I smile, amused. "Liz and you are both so full of energy. You're so happy."

"We try," he shrugs. "What's the good in always being unhappy anyway? Life's too short to be miserable."

I don't reply, and Skye reaches out to tap my lips with his index finger. Heat burns my skin, engulfing me in flames.

"You know what they say. Frowning takes more muscles than smiling does," he sits back, staring at me intently.

"Does it work?" I swallow hard. "Smiling? Does it make you happier?"

"Making other people happy makes me happy," Skye says instead.

And that's that.