Young Writers Society

Chapter 1: Another Monday Morning

It was going to be a shit day.

Trevor could feel it. He usually got this achy sensatation near his left shoulder blade that only happened on the least favourable days or when it was about to rain. He didn't believe in extrasensory perception but that pestering dull pain was a fortelling indicator and usually correct 99% of the time. His worries were only confirmed when his cellphone began to go off.

The ringing grew louder and louder, waking the blonde from his light slumber. He groaned loudly and poked out from under his comforter. He could either ignore the phone call or answer it. The first choice was very tempting but the annoying chime of his ringtone made him think otherwise. Trevor's hand darted out to the night stand, feeling around for the sleek device.

In a clumsy movement, he knocked it to the ground.

"Shit."

Somehow in his sleepy haze, he managed to reach for the mobile and brought it up to his ear.

"What the hell?" he cursed at the person on the other end.

"I was expecting a good morning," a male's voice laughed. Trevor could make out the pulsating beats of electronic club music echoing in the background.

"Tristan…is that you?" he asked groggily, using his palm to rub the sleep out of his eye.

"The one and only," Tristan responded and Trevor could just imagine the crooked smirk plastered on his brother's face.

He glanced at the digital alarm clock instantly.

"Dude, it's five in the morning," the sleepier male interjected. He heard a female's giggle and his brow instantly shot up.

"Where are you?" Trevor questioned but that only garnered a sigh from Tristan.

"Don't worry about it Trev. I just need you to tell mom and dad that I left to work early," he instructed.

"I can't keep covering for you," Trevor complained as he tugged away his comforter. Swinging his legs over the bed, he placed his feet down onto the carpeted floor of their bedroom.

"C'mon bro, just this once," Tristan said but his voice was muffled. Another girlish giggle sounded.

"What about the other times Tristan?"

His brother didn't respond and instead a low moan arose from the other end.

"What the hell are you doing?" Trevor demanded.

"Sorry… I'm a bit busy here," his brother replied. The girl's voice came through again but this time in soft stringy breaths. Trevor knitted his brows as he grew uncomfortable by the noises resonating from the ear piece. The girl's voice sounded familiar.

"Let me guess, Alexis?" he asked again and this time a different person answered.

"Tristan, get off the f***ing phone!" Alexis whined and before Trevor could respond, Tristan spoke.

"I'll talk to you later man."

And like that he hung up.

Trevor was left to stare at the screen of his cell, an annoyed sigh escaping the confinements of his lips. Tristan always did this. He'd sneak out, stay out all night, like some nocturnal son of a bitch, and leave Trevor to lie to their parents. He dragged himself out of bed and prepared for his morning jog, rehearsing the fabricated story he would relate to his parents at the breakfast table. But hey, it was just another Monday morning.

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Trevor stared up at the clock that was hung on the dining room wall. He was waiting in anticipation for the big hand to reach three because at that time he could bolt from the table and rush out, using the lame excuse that he’d be late for school. Time seemed to slow down at breakfast. It wasn’t always like that, at least when Tristan was around.

Trevor could recall the rambunctious mornings when they would fight over the cereal because there wasn’t enough milk for the both of them. He could remember the annoyed warnings his mother would give them for playing with their food, while their dad secretly found their antics humorous. He reminisced on the made-up sign language that they used to share secrets with one another in front of their parents.

He could remember it all.

The scenes vivid and colourful, as if he was looking at them through an Instagram filter. But those were years ago and things were different now.

Trevor turned his attention to his mom and dad. He watched as the young blonde woman became absorbed in the pages of her superficial magazine, pale blue eyes blank and void of any depth. His father was also too engrossed in his blackberry to notice a thing, taking sips of his black coffee and checking up on stocks.

He was filing this scene as a memory, a memory of a broken family through a grey and cracked lens.

Trevor flickered his eyes back to the clock. The big hand was on the four.

“Shit!” he shot up, the two adults unfazed by his sudden outburst.

“I’m going to be late,” he let out quickly, grabbing a piece of toast off the plate in the center and slinging his knapsack onto his shoulder, dashing out. 'Goodbyes' were also a thing of the past.

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Trevor walked through the crowded halls of Morrell School for the performing arts. The aged institute had a regal air to it but was renovated with modern twists He considered it to be the only place that he could truly be happy in. That was before he began his attendance. He was proud to have gotten into the dance program; the school harboured numerous success stories.

However the school was proving off-putting to Trevor and for three main reasons. The first dealt with Madame René Dubois. She was the school’s world-renowned ballet instructor and was notorious for her refusal in accepting male danseurs into her program.

Change had resonated last year when the institute had announced that it was opening applications for male dancers and Trevor had jumped on the opportunity. It was rigorous and extremely competitive since Madame Dubois had stubbornly cut down the positions to only one available spot.

But in the end, she had chosen him. She must have seen something promising in his auditions to have granted him the only spot in her program. However, for the past two weeks he had been attending the school, Trevor was absolutely sure she hated him. She never vocally expressed it but the look in her eyes when they burned into him proved it.

Other than having to deal with the instructor from hell, Trevor found it difficult to make genuine friends. Everyone in his program was female and so that entailed either them gawking at him or just ignoring him. There was no one he could really talk too and he had yet to relate to anyone outside of the dance program.

"Out of my way, twinkle-toes," a mocking voice sounded and a loud thud followed soon after. Trevor had collided into a nearby row of lockers. The three seniors laughed obnoxiously as they disappeared down the hall. Trevor's piercing pale blue eyes, the appearance of turquoise glass, glared after them.

Those guys were also a pain in the ass. Donovan and his buddies were on the lacrosse team and had been on his case ever since he got to the school. He didn’t know what he had done to them but he found it even more pressing as to why an art institute even had a sport's team.

It was later that he found out the lacrosse team was one of the best in the district and generated a lot of funding for the school. Even with that, the lacrosse players were still fellow art students. The whole 'jock cliché' should have been non-existent. To think, a performing arts school would be different from any other high school.

He sighed with annoyance, bending down to pick up the books that had fallen out of his hold after the shove Donovan gave him.

"Neanderthals," he mumbled but was startled by a pale hand that reached down to help. Trevor looked up with alarm but soon relaxed when he was welcomed to a warm smile.

"They're idiots," the soft female voice said.

As she bent down to assist him with the remaining books, Trevor stole the opportunity to study her. She had blond ringlets that hung over her shoulders, tiny freckles sprinkled across her skin, and a pair of lovely hazel orbs that contained specks of green. She was really pretty.

"I'm Bonnie; I'm in your dance classes," she stated, breaking him out of his reverie. With a shake of his head, he smiled.

"Really, I've never noticed you before. I'm sure I would have remembered a pretty face, those aren't usually forgettable," he complimented, causing the slender girl to blush from the flattery.

"Well that's because you don't notice that anyone's watching you. When you dance, it's like everyone disappears and it's just you and the steps. You're really good," Bonnie grinned, handing him the books as they both stood up and began walking.

"Thanks, but I'm not that good," he shrugged, a bit embarrassed that people watched him dance in class.

"Please, Madame Dubois is really impressed," she praised, walking alongside him. Trevor couldn't help but laugh.

"I doubt it. She hates me...or just men in general. That's probably why I'm the only boy enrolled in her ballet class," he proclaimed through a chuckle.

"That's exactly why you're so good. Madame Dubois never accepts male dancers into our troupe, so for you to have gotten in means that she saw something really special. I mean, I've never seen someone execute a cabriole with such elegance and precision," Bonnie stated amazement evident in her voice.

"How long have you been doing ballet?" she asked.

Trevor rubbed the back of his neck, not too fond on sharing minor details about him-self.

"I’ve been doing ballet since I was five."

Bonnie grinned, the image of a little Trevor stumbling and falling while doing pirouettes made her giggle.

"I've been dancing since I was ten. Not as long, but I'm really serious about it," she explained.

"Yeah, I am too, just wasn't expecting the rep that came along with it," Trevor explained.

"Oh just ignore Don. He and his friends are just intimidated because of your elegant and undeniable talent," she hailed.

"Yeah, the adjective isn't really helping there," he joked and the blonde beamed.

"They're jealous and like I said before, idiots," she reassured. They had stopped near a stairwell and Bonnie took a quick glance at her wrist watch.

"Well, I have to get to music theory class," she stated.

"What kind of music are you studying?" he asked with raised brows, illustrating his interest.

"The emergence and evolution of Hip-Hop," Bonnie replied, sweeping her bangs back. She couldn't help but notice the weird look Trevor had given her.

"What, I like hip hop too," she laughed, giving him a light punch on the arm.

"No, there's nothing wrong with that. It's just so 'Save the last dance'... part two… and no one liked part two," he laughed. Bonnie rolled her eyes as she laughed too.

"Whatever…but I'll see later, right?" she asked, slightly changing the subject. Trevor grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yeah of course, in class, remember," he chuckled causing Bonnie to blush, her cheeks the colour of roses.

"That's right," she giggled with a roll of her eyes. Trevor smiled at her.

When Bonnie had turned around to head to room 202, he grabbed her wrist, halting her actions.

"I'm still pretty new here and I have no idea where my improvisation class is. Would you mind being my tour guide?" he asked slyly and Bonnie wetted her lips, his warm touch sending shivers up her spine.

"I wouldn't mind at all," she responded, her voice fluttering out as a whisper.

The boyish grin he flashed made her heart flutter.

"Cool, I'll see you later then," he winked and she only nodded, as they both left in separate directions.

Trevor smiled to himself. Bonnie was a nice girl, with the plus side that she was cute. Maybe Morrell wasn't so bad after all and maybe it was just going to rain today.