Sabrine + Dylan

b****y Handkerchief

Sabrine's first day at school was finally almost done. 

She'd already trudged through History and Math and Lunch and English when the bell sounded for free period.

Before Sabrine could consider writing a repetitive conclusion to end her badly-written essay with, she was making a beeline for the back lot. She hopped over the chain-link fence, ignoring the girl that shouted out to ask what she was doing.

Hopefully she wouldn't remember Sabrine's face and report her.

But Sabrine wasn't worrying about that right now. Right now, all she was thinking about was how much she wanted to see him, how much she wanted to ask his name.

She was disappointed to arrive at his spot and find it empty.

Sabrine kicked a pebble and sighed.

Of course he's gone, he has classes he has to be at, too.

She took a seat on the ground where he had been and leant against the tree that had held his suit. Now she wouldn't get to see the-

Sabrine stopped short. There it was; leaning against the tree opposite to her was the painting. It looked finished, the paint still wet. The sky looked even more marvelous now that it was finished, with stars far in the distance. Sabrine could feel herself standing there, the wind running through her hair, her fingers brushing the fallen leaves. Even though the September sun was almost unbearable, Sabrine felt the chill of Autumn go down her spine.

She sat there, on some roots in front of the painting, for so long that  her watch went off again. She hesitated before standing. It's not like she would arrive on time, anyway. Would it make a difference if she cut her time short, here with the painting?

Ten minutes later, she began to make her way to the classroom but changed her pathing and headed for the side lot, remembering last minute that P.E. was her next class. The side lot was much bigger than the back one, and better kept, too. The fence surrounding it was high, taller than Sabrine, and appeared to have a new coat of paint since Sabrine had toured the building the day before.

Sabrine found a nice tree on a small mound of grass and settled to draw under it as the boys gathered to play soccer. Some girls were brave enough to join, but Sabrine didn't dare; she'd heard that, a few years back, a fight broke out at the girl that got caught in the middle lost a couple of teeth. Instead, Sabrine turned her attention to the bleachers on her left. There, a few girls were clustered together and Sabrine sighed.

She tried not to feel lonely; it was only her first day, after all. Surely, she shouldn't expect to make friends so soon, right?

Sabrine ignored the fact that she made friends in her first class in her last school.

Her mind was so busy worrying about the near future that she didn't notice someone sitting beside her until he cleared his throat. When she turned, she couldn't help but flinch.

"Hey, Sabrine," Dylan said, turning to her with a smile. Again, there was nothing sweet about it, but it wasn't as cold as it had been earlier.

"Hi. Dylan, right?"

He furrowed his brows. "Are you still going to pretend like you don't know me?"

Sabrine pressed her palms to her eyes in frustration. "I'm not lying!"

Dylan sighed and threw himself backwards on the grass. "No, I guess you're not. Then why couldn't you stop staring at me in class?"

Having no recollection of that ever happening, she shrugged and continued sketching. At least out here, no one could stop her from doing so.

Except, of course, for Dylan, who immediately did so.

"What are you drawing?" he asked, pulling the book from her lap and onto his own.

"Give that back!" she warned, reaching over to try and grab a hold, but Dylan was expecting that.

He laughed, stretching backward to put more distance between Sabrine and her book. They stood simultaneously, Sabrine deciding to keep her dignity instead of her sketchbook and Dylan deciding to annoy her to her limit.

"You know what? Forget it. Keep it, for all I care!" Sabrine said, exasperated.

Dylan's smile died on his face as he stared down at her. "Well, c'mon now, you don't have to get angry. I thought we were having fun."

"No, you were having fun," Sabrine snapped, She didn't know what was wrong with her. People couldn't usually get a rise out of her the way Dylan was doing. But just because she was confused didn't mean she was any less angry. "I'm just trying to get my book back, but if you won't grow up and give in, then fine! I will!"

"Hey, I am grown up!" Dylan tried defending, but with the way he pouted, Sabrine couldn't help but see Margot in her younger years.

Sabrine just gave a sigh and waved him off, heading for an empty spot in the bleachers, leaving Dylan with a confused frown.

Her back was already turned to him when she heard him yell, "Wait!"

Sabrine didn't have time to turn because, in that second, someone kicked the soccer ball and it hurled toward her, crashing against her face.

She fell back, grabbing at her bleeding nose. There was a collective gasp from the girls at the bleachers. Tears of embarrassment and pain pricked at her eyes until she let them run down her cheeks. The field seemed to still as the player who kicked the ball ran to her side.

"I'm sorry," he started. "I'll walk to to the nurse's-"

Through her teary eyes, Sabrine could see him get interrupted by a silhouette. The figure pushed him aside, and pulled a handkerchief from its own pocket. Sabrine felt the soft fabric press against her cheek, and she removed her hands from her nose.

Now that her hands were free, she tried wiping the tears, but the blood only smeared and obscured her vision further.

"I'm-"

Okay, she would have finished but the figure had hoisted her into his arms.

Her breath caught in her throat and all she could do was not squirm to not make herself heavier. To her dismay, she never managed to make out his face. She thanked him, but the figure never responded so Sabrine decided to stay silent. It wasn't until she was placed on a chair in the nurse's office and her face was wiped clean of any blood that she realized the handkerchief was still on her lap, initials clear on the corner.

T.C.

As the nurse talked with her assistant about the ice pack and the new student and whatever else, Sabrine furrowed her brows and racked her brain for anyone she knew by those initials. T.C.

Well, she'd have to run into him eventually.

Once all the blood was gone and the nurse confirmed that her nose wasn't broken, Sabrine took the painkillers the nurse gave her.

"Off you go," the nurse told her. "You'll have to be careful next time. That boy might not be able to bring you in next time."

Sabrine perked up at that. "Do you know his name?"

Unfortunately, she shook her head. "I'm just the substitute nurse, honey," she said, waving Sabrine off and sitting behind her computer.

Sabrine sighed and began to make her way back to the field. Once she was out in the hall, however, she realized how lost she was. It's not like she had gotten a good look around when she was being hauled to the nurse's office, after all, and every hall looked exactly like the next one over.

She wandered around for a bit, every tiny noise sending her nerves spiking, Back at Hemington High, Sabrine would be given a week's detentions for being out without a pass. She couldn't even begin to imagine what the punishment at a school like Daley would be.

Maybe they'll make me write another essay, Sabrine thought, a shiver running down her spine.

A door behind her slammed and Sabrine turned with a jump, expecting to see a scowling teacher pointing a bony finger in her direction, but it was only a girl around Sabrine's age. Sighing in relief, Sabrine asked for directions, which the girl gave hesitantly. Chalking her bewilderment to not being used to seeing new students around, Sabrine thanked her. It wasn't until she glanced down as she approached the door to the field that she realized what was wrong: her shirt was covered in drying blood.

Sabrine groaned as she pushed the door open, trying to come up with an excuse for her mother that would be less humiliating than "I got hit by a ball."

She took her time nearing the field, where she was met with a crowd chanting one word over and over.

"Dylan! Dylan! Dylan!"

Sabrine sighed, making her way back to the tree.

Her tree, she decided, as the crowd went wild.

Apparently Dylan had just scored or something.

Curiosity getting the best of her, Sabrine stood on her tip-toes to get a better look at the game and her breath caught in her throat.

Dylan was playing, evident by the crowd, but what Sabrine wasn't expecting was his opponent. The dark-haired boy was trying to take the ball from Dylan.

Sabrine found herself wishing now more than ever that she knew his name, if only to chant it out loud. No one seemed to be on his side as he expertly kicked the ball from his foot to his knee to over Dylan's head then spun around to kick it into the goal. The crowd booed.

She couldn't believe it. They were rooting for Dylan? He didn't even look like he knew what he was doing!

Okay, that's not entirely true, Sabrine admitted, as he took the ball from the painter and made a beeline for the goal. But what is Dylan? An actor? A singer?

Sabrine grunted in frustration as a girl on the sidelines threw the ball to Dylan, despite the fact that he was the one to kick it out of bounds.

A senator's son? A magician?

Dylan shoved the boy to the ground, making Sabrine gasp. He took the ball from the boy's feet and raced to the goal where he scored now that his opponent was on the floor. The crowd went wild once again, this time following as Dylan threw both fists in the air and ran off the field, leaving the painter to roll on his stomach.

Sabrine went to rush to his side, but then Dylan said that he wanted his space, causing the crowd to disperse, blocking her path. She couldn't see him anymore and returned to her tree, hoping someone had helped him up.

Despite her trying her hardest, Sabrine found her vision wandering back to the laughing girls. As she gathered the courage to go and speak to them, once and for all, she took note of the new soccer game starting.

Without Dylan this time.

Good riddance.

She rolled her eyes at the thought of him and stood, before realizing someone had sat next to her She whipped her head in their direction, expecting Dylan.

But then, her eyes came in contact with his blue ones and her heart stopped cold.

It's him.

Sabrine cleared her throat and tried to keep her breathing under control. He was wearing his dark blue P.E. shorts, allowing her to see his grazed knees and bruised calves. His hair was tied at the back of his neck, his sweat dripping down his forehead and onto his gray shirt,

"It's you," she said, hating how her voice went up at the end, making it sound like a question. He was only human, after all. Sabrine ignored the fact that his painting was beautiful enough to have him pass off as some sort of deity. 

The boy glanced at her before turning to the game.

"You play?"

Sabrine put a thumb to her chest. "M-me?" She shook her head and made a nonsensical motion with her hands, like of she were dusting the ground. "No. I mean, yeah, but no, mostly. I draw, uh, draw, mostly."

Very intelligible, she chastised.

The boy didn't seem to realize she had just spoken the messiest sentence ever spoken. "You draw? Are you any good?"

Sabrine wanted to feel offended by the question, because the words themselves sounded mean when Sabrine repeated them to herself in her head. Still, his voice was so soft and sweet that Sabrine couldn't help but smile. It might have been unintentional; maybe his voice always sounded like that. Maybe he couldn't do anything about it.

Sabrine liked to think he chose that tone especially for her, though.

"I like to think so."

The boy finally turned to her, but he looked slightly confused, He took her in for a second before furrowing his brows like he didn't understand a word she said. "Like to think so about what?"

Cheeks aflame, Sabrine swallowed hard. She had answered his question but he obviously hadn't cared enough, been invested in her enough to even remember what the question was. Maybe she shouldn't answer now. Would he remember this question? Had too much time passed? Would it be awkward if she answered? Would he care? Maybe it would be weird to do so now. 

Sabrine answered anyway.

"That I'm good at drawing. You asked..."

He finally returned his excruciatingly piercing gaze to the game. "Oh, right. I guess I did."

Sabrine followed his gaze and bit her tongue to keep from embarrassing herself any further.

Maybe if I close my eyes hard enough, I'll wake up at home and all this would have just been a nightmare.

The awkwardness that ensued was enough to get Sabrine pinching the skin on the inside of her elbows. As she racked her brain for any ice-breakers, a voice behind her spoke.

"Well, I gotta be honest, it's no fun to steal your sketchbook if you aren't going to try and take it back."

Dylan was standing at the bottom of the mound. He had- for a reason Sabrine couldn't fathom- removed his shirt and was holding her book to his sweaty chest, but stretched it out for Sabrine to take when she turned to face him.

For a second, his eyes flew to the boy's and his smile faltered before he regained his composure and turned to Sabrine again.

"I'll leave it here. But, just so you know, you owe me one. For being so kind, and all."

Sabrine took it hesitantly, reminding herself to wipe it down as soon as she could. Hopefully none of the pages would be plastered together.

The boy glanced at the sketchbook but glanced away just as quickly, like if he couldn't be bothered by Dylan.

"Thank you!' Sabrine called to Dylan's retreating figure.

"Can I see your drawings?"

Sabrine felt blind-sided by the request, clutching her book to her chest.

"You- But they aren't as great as yours!"

"I don't draw."

"Your paintings, I meant. My drawings aren't as good as your paintings."

"Oh."

Neither of them said anything after that, Sabrine willing the bell to ring.

*

T.C.

Sabrine held the b****y handkerchief in her sweaty hands, continuously running her hand over the initials.

T.C.

She'd find out who that was.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

The last bell had rung already, and she still had no idea where her classroom was. All she remembered was that it was on the third floor, but which door was it? For all she knew, she was already staring at it, her eyes scanning the hallway of identical doors.

They were numbered, but what good did that do her if she couldn't remember her number?

"Sabrine, right?" said a voice behind her.

Sabrine turned to find a sour-faced girl staring back at her. Sabrine couldn't help but immediately see the similarities between herself and the stranger; they shared the same, straight, black hair; the same pale skin; the same dark brown eyes. The only, immediate difference was really the fact that this girl looked like she never smiled. Her eyes were much too serious.

Threatening, even.

"Yes, that's me."

"Yeah, I thought so," the girl said, pushing her only wayward strand of hair behind an ear. "Let me guess, you're lost?"

Sabrine subconsciously pushed her own hair back, displeased that more than one strand had gotten loose.

"Yes! My homeroom is Mr. Urales. Do you think you could help me out?"

The girl narrowed her eyes at Sabrine. It wasn't necessarily in a mean way; it looked more like she was trying to read a word that was just an inch too far for her eyesight.

"Sure. Down the hall, to your left. Fourth door."

Sabrine thanked her, too preoccupied with getting to class to even think about asking the girl her name.

When she walked into the room, a woman was standing at the back of the classroom. Everyone's eyes were closed, including the woman's.

Well, except for Dylan. His eyes were downcast, annoyed, and he was picking at his nails. As if he sensed her walk in, his eyes shot up to meet hers. He raised his brow as his vision fell to the handkerchief in her hand, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

She ignored him as she walked to her desk, stuffing the handkerchief in her backpack.

It wasn't until then that she realized the teacher had been speaking the whole time:

"Breathe deeply. If your voice does not quiver, you will be demanding attention for your audience."

Sabrine groaned. Speeches and Control. This class was the one she looked forward to the least, though it made sense at a school with so many future senators and CEOs.

CEO.

Dylan.

It finally clicked.

Dylan Marandola, sole heir to Ivahna Inc, "A company dedicated to bettering the world, one opportunity at a time", age 18, a student at Daly Academy.

Sabrine, half satisfied with the new information, smiled to herself and pulled out her sketchbook, ignoring the teacher for the rest of the class. She made a mental note to get rid of that habit soon, but right now was not the time.

"Where did you get that handkerchief?" Dylan asked, leaning over the boy between them to whisper.

The boy scrunched up his face but didn't open his eyes.

"A friend," Sabrine lied.

Dylan raised his brows. "You're a terrible liar, you know."

"I'm not lying!" Sabrine said, raising her voice in defense more than she meant to. "And if I was, you wouldn't know because I'm a great liar."

The teacher cleared her throat, demanding Sabrine's attention. "Miss Rodgers, yelling is impolite. You will lose your audience's attention."

Sabrine apologized and the teacher closed her eyes with a satisfied smile.

Dylan put his hands up like he was surrendering. "Relax, sweetheart, I was kidding," he whispered.

She didn't notice he had switched seats with the boy between them.

"Oh, yeah, duh."

Dylan raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly, finally closing his eyes with the rest of the class. "But, if you were lying, I would know. I've got a sixth sense for those things, you know."

Sabrine laughed nervously.

He totally knew she was lying.

***