George
in my school, there are two groups.
the americans, which consisted of the cool kids being gamers and the smartest dude being a drunk,
and the brits and scotts, entitling me and my friends as the cool kids. also gamers. even though we all came here from the U.K., we still take up nearly half the school and over half the cool kids gang.
the two sides mostly got along, depending on the friend group. it's not like Wilbur and Techno are gonna mix anymore, so i have to be careful who i talk about around certain people.
of course, we all get along over one video game, a 2009 widespread all-device block pixel game about living life.
Minecraft.
at this point in high school, if you're part of the hierarchy of popular kids like i've been sucked into, you're pretty much obligated to have a PC and a discord account and pay $35 for Minecraft. i already had a PC shipped here from my house is London, so i was prepared to become a "cool kid".
the thing is, our world isn't some normal iconic high school story where we cry tears at the end of every school year and graduate to find love in our mid-20s and settle down by 30. in our world, by some unknown force, we have assigned soulmates.
it happens on your 18th birthday. a two sentence message appears neatly scrawled on the inside of your left forearm, ready for you when you wake up in the morning.
Welcome to your new life as the other half of a soulmate. To come in contact with your soulmate, place a pen upon your skin and write.
and that was all that you got. it disappears at midnight on your birthday, but at that point you've already scribbled a paragraph on your hands, arms and shoulders.
or at least, that's what i did. you have no idea if your soulmate is already 18 or not when you hit your soulmate-earning birthday. if they are, it comes as a surprise to them when a billion messages start appearing on their body. but if it's the other way around, you'll be the one waiting for the day of fate when the person the universe decided you will be with writes something.
it's been three months since i turned 18, and my soulmate hasn't written anything. of course, i couldn't be bothered with all that meant-to-be crap, because i've got a perfectly wonderful girlfriend. i'm betting we are soulmates, because i've never seen her write on herself or ask me to write on myself.
Christie's amazing. we've been together for a year now, and she turned 18 two months before i did. she told me exactly what it was like to see the message on your arm, to feel the power of your new ability.
unlike me, Christie really likes believing in true love and soulmates. so if we don't end up being soulmates, i don't know what we'll do.
but for now, all is well. i don't have to worry about soulmates or Christie having someone else for the time being because i know that she loves me, and i know that i love her.
besides, it can't not be Christie. who else could it be?
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i wake up reluctantly with the relentless light of day streaming into my room. sadly, it's Thursday, my least favourite day for one reason and one reason only.
dodgeball.
i sigh in contempt and start my morning routine, combing through my bedhead and pulling on a white t-shirt, putting a blue sweater on top of it. it's a chilly morning, and ice lays thin across the sidewalk as i gaze out of my window, getting my socks on.
Thursday is the day that i've deemed that all good things should come to a halt on. Thursday is the day of the week that i attempt coaxing an answer from my soulmate, writing a simple 'hello?' on my wrist.
trying to shake off the yucky tingling feeling that this message will once again be ignored for the umpteenth time, i go downstairs with my phone stuffed in my pocket to grab a quick breakfast for the road.
Kate saunters out of the walk-in pantry with a NutriGrain bar, tossing me one without even looking up from her phone. i just barely dodge it from nicking my head.
maybe i'll be alright at dodgeball today.
"thanks. do you need a ride to school?" i ask, cramming my wallet and science homework into my backpack. i silently pray that Kate's answer will be a no.
"nah, Carter's picking me up again. but thanks." she mutters. her words are almost drowned out by the crunching of her NutriGrain bar wrapper as she balls it up.
"alright." i swing my sealed backpack over my shoulder and stuff my small breakfast in my hoodie pocket, beside my phone. glancing back at Kate one last time to make sure she's okay...
she's smiling at her phone. we're good.
the air is brisk and cold, whipping around my face mercilessly. it's not freezing yet, so my friends will probably want to spend our free period going to 7/11 or something.
hopping in the car, i start the ignition and let the engine warm up a little before backing out of the driveway and making my way to school.
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why the bloody hell is math class so fucking boring?
excuse my language.
i hope my author gets a lot of goddamn reads for my hellish life. you hear me, Sauce? i know you do.
it's my senior year. it's almost winter break. i'm not gonna be a math teacher, a professor, an accountant, none of that crap. so why does learning calculus and how to find the square root of 121 matter?
i check my watch, willing the second hand to go faster as it ticks immeasurably slow towards lunch. then i get two whole periods to hang out with the only upside to this school, my friends.
Mr. Simmons drones on in his monotone voice, occasionally writing some new insanely unrelated equation on the board for us to figure out.
tick. tick. tick.
thirty seconds. so bloody close.
tick. tick. tick.
this could be the day that i confront Christie about ignoring my messages.
tick. tick. tick
BRRRING!
the lunch bell rings and two dozen chairs scratch against the floor as we all scramble to get out of this hellhole.
muttering profanities and cursing the subject of math, i clutch my backpack straps tighter in my hands and try to squeeze through the mess of people in the packed hall. i feel an arm around my shoulder and look up to see Sapnap with a face of relief.
right, Sapnap has math with me.
"fina-fuckin-lly! i hate calculus!" he whines, steering me through the tangle of teenagers and through the doorway to the cafeteria. "now, George, are you gonna sit with your british buffoons or us cool americans?"
i huff, my eyes flicking between the several circular tables dotted around the large cafeteria. at one, there was Phil, Schlatt, Fundy, Karl and Skeppy, at another there was Wilbur, Tommy, Minx, and Tubbo, but the one that Sapnap was steering me towards was full and loud. Dream, Techno, Quackity, Bad, and now me and Sap were sitting there.
"ayy, it's Georgie! what's up, man?" Dream says loudly, clapping me on the shoulder with a huge grin.
"not much, really. hey, has anyone here gotten something from your soulmate? because Christie's dead silent." i reply, swiftly moving away from the topic of how i was doing.
"i don't know if i even have one, bro. they don't say anything, i swear." Quackity says, half-jokingly and half-solemnly.
"i'm not even 18 yet." Dream says. we're all silent for a moment before i burst into laughter, Sapnap and Techno chuckling as well. "what? what is it?"
"you just act so much older for your age, like you're better than all of us." Techno says, leaning back in his chair.
"shut it, Dave." Dream mutters behind his Coke can. Bad's eyebrows shoot up. Techno sits up, sneering.
"what did you just call me?"
in our popular friend group, everyone has a nickname that everyone calls them by. i barely know half of these people's real names. and if you do know their names, you don't mention it unless it's an emergency or you've been given permission.
my nickname is GeorgeNotFound in full, because one time in tech class my computer screen went blue with the flashing words '404 NOT FOUND' across it, and it didn't stop doing that for weeks on end, which earned me the nickname. but everyone just calls me George.
we all know Techno's name, but we never speak of it because he's the one who's parents are always out of town when we hang out. and that's the only reason.
"yeah, you heard me. i'm 18 tomorrow, calm your shit." he addresses us all in the last sentence, bringing his hands up in surrender.
me and Dream have been friends since grade 9, when i moved here after my parents got divorced. i was already excited enough to come to a school with a bunch of my friends that i had missed so much, but then a whole new batch of insane people with the same interests? don't mind if i do.
Dream was the first person from the American group to come up to me and introduce himself. he seemed secluded, but not shy. but also not proud of himself, for some odd reason.
the first thing i noticed about Dream was his eyes. they're a faded green in my vision, the same color as the grass in the field or a young flower. the way his tan skin complimented his irises, his strong jawline and warm cheeks. i was magnetized to him.
and his personality never changed for anyone. he was kind but snarky. his spelling remained terrible for the past 3 years. his hair was always terribly but cutely messy, and he always gave a bright smile every time he saw me, and it felt like it was a secret, like a little gift just saved for me. it makes me feel special, connected.
we're best friends!
Tommy's table erupts in laughter and happy yells, Tommy himself slapping the table.
he leans out of his little bubble of people and flicks his wrist vaguely at Techno.
"oi, Techy! we're still on for the party tomorrow, yeah?" he yells, despite being only two tables away. Technoblade sighs and nods, flashing him a thumbs up. Tubbo cheers.
"party? am i invited?" i query.
"why the hell wouldn't you be?" Dream chuckles.
i slap his arm and hide a smile as Sapnap grins beside me. the lunch bell rings, and i'm only half done my sandwich.
"so," Wilbur shouts. "who's up for slurpees?"