Blue Hair Pt. 01

Part one, through Dean's perspective. Mia's perspective coming soon! Please let me know what you think! Brutal honesty is much appreciated! Xoxox

*****

I grab the first things that my hands touch, knowing that no matter what it was it would be fine. Khakis and something. Today: a light blue button up.

Whatever.

My backpack is too heavy, the morning air is too cold, and my coffee is too hot. What a way to start the morning. Every. Single. Morning.

The campus is teeming with people, like it will be for the rest of the week. I don't bother to return the polite nods and friendly smiles offered to me. The chances that I will ever cross their paths, or ever see them again are slim. After this week they will figure out the exact amount of time that it takes to get from wherever they sleep to their first class, and time it out so that they get there just as the professor begins to speak. I pass a group of too eager freshman girls. They're all completely decked out in matching university gear. Their smiles are too bright, their giggles too loud, and I am just as chipper as ever.

My "friends" are at the fountain as per usual. I'm surprised that Chris's ass print isn't permanently engraved into the stone. Senior year, and the group still gathers in the same spot every morning, as if we are still in high school- not a group of 22 to 23 year olds.

Seth and Chris flash their cheeky grins as I take my spot on the bench opposite them. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it's still warm from last semester.

Ashley breaks out her megawatt smile and bats her eyes as if she's got a lash in one of them and she's desperate to get it out. If I weren't so use to it already I would find it annoying. We went out a couple of times sophomore year, and for some reason she continues to harbor a prepubescent crush on me. I'd tell her to piss off if turning a blind eye to it didn't mean free blowjobs whenever I pleased.

"Ready for this year, man?" Seth is about as eager as the freshman girls from earlier.

"Ready to get this shit over with," I grunt.

They all laugh and Ashley leans into me and lightly caresses my upper arm. I don't know why they're laughing. I haven't made a joke.

Ashley leans into me farther, "you're going to the back to school party at Chris's tonight, aren't you, Goes?"

Why do they always assume that I have nothing better to do with my time? I mean, I don't. But they shouldn't just assume that, "aren't we a little old to be celebrating coming back to this shit hole?"

They start to laugh again, and this time I've obviously missed what was so funny.

Too soon, it's time to make our way to our first classes. It's the first time that their schedules aren't identical. They're all rather co-dependant. If they weren't a group of such genuinely great people, I'd find them ridiculous. But, they've always put up with my shit, so it's only fair that I put up with theirs...

* * *

A sea of freshman flood into the room. Soon enough they'll learn to navigate the campus quickly enough to get to class on time. But it's only the first day. And I'm sure their previous classes were on the opposite side of campus. Some look eager. Some hold a look of complete despair. A few hold a similar look as my own- disinterest. Currently, I'm kicking myself for waiting until now to get my gen eds taken care of. Most kids get them knocked out the first couple semesters while they figure out what they'll major in. Lucky for me, I've already had my major decided for ten years. The second I picked up my first camera, I knew. Photography was my destined path. My face has been hidden behind a camera ever since.

Now it's senior year, and all of my pleasant photography classes have already been taken and passed. I could do yearbook or newspaper. But I don't exactly like to be told what to shoot.

So here I am. Two semesters from freedom. Algebra 210. Advanced algebra. The only people who take this class are high school brainiacs who think they're too good for entry level algebra, and future accountants.

And me.

Because my counselor refused to have mercy on my soul.

Class starts, and I'm beyond grateful that this is the type of professor that turns the lights down and lectures all period. The low hum of voices quiets to silence. Professor James is old. His voice is low and slow, like the guy from the Visine commercials. It's syllabus day. Which means my attention is not required. I watch in amusement for a few moments while the freshies furiously take notes- over the fucking syllabus- before leaning into my hand and zoning out.

I'm just about to fall asleep into my palm when the the door slowly creaks open. Nobody seems to notice, but the figure in the doorway has every ounce of my attention.

Blue hair. Neon blue green waves of hair rolling down petite shoulders, accentuating her small frame. She's not a freshman. She can't be. At risk of sounding cliché as hell, I find myself legitimately struggling to breath. She's stolen my breath. Even in the dim room, the flush on her cheeks is obvious as she ducks her head and rushes to the only open seat in the large room. Lucky me, it's across the aisle and down one row.

I stare uninhibited as she rummages through her backpack to pull out her materials. I laugh silently as I realize that she's wearing red plaid sleep pants. Her black tee shirt is torn at the bottom, and her white chucks aren't hardly white anymore. It's all I can see without being too obvious. When she straightens up in her seat I focus my eyes on my blank notebook page in front of me.

What was that?

When do I ogle a girl? Very much not my style.

I quickly shake it off and try my hardest to find interest in what Professor James is rambling on about. Plagiarism. Ha. Well, they are freshman.

Too slowly, 3:45 rolls around. I'm last out the door because I value my personal space. I'd prefer to not know the aroma of a sea of freshies.

I shove my pen into my back pocket and stack my sole notebook and textbooks into my arm without looking up. I'm at the bottom step when suddenly I'm on the ground, in a mess of limbs. I'm about to rip into whoever thought it was a bright idea to come to a stand still on the bottom step when I look up, and my breath is gone again.

Her eyes are the exact color as her hair. They're beautiful. My eyes move down to her lips, and I realize that they're moving.

Shit, she's talking to me. Not talking, yelling, "hello! Are you deaf!? Get the hell off of me!!"

I feel the blood rush to my face as I scramble to my feet. I extend my hand to her, but she ignores it and gets to her feet. She gives me a look that I'm surprised doesn't kill me as she returns to the floor to collect the contents of her backpack.

I mumble an apology as I join her to gather my books. I try to help her pick up the mess of papers. Her head snaps up and she narrows her large eyes at me, "it's fine."

Her words are venom. But there's something in her soft, feminine features that keeps me from taking her anger all that seriously.

When we're back on our feet I speak up, "I really am sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

The furrow between her brows relaxes slightly, "you don't say? I thought that was just your way of saying 'hello'," she looks down and shakes her head at herself, " It's just not my day."

I unleash my most boyish grin and extend my hand, "I'm Dean."

She eyes me incredulously, but slings her bag over her shoulder and takes my hand, "Amillia."

A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I refrain from saying the cliché aloud. As I feel our introduction fleeting, I take in as much of her appearance as I can before she goes. It's apparent that she's not wearing makeup. But she doesn't need to. Her eyes are large and innocent. Her lips are full and red. Her skin is pale and flawless. She's a head shorter than myself, with a petite hourglass frame hiding beneath her oversized clothes. Her arms are littered with tattoos. I don't have time to actually see what they are before my staring becomes creepy. Looking back to her face, it's already become awkward. I'm still holding onto her hand.

I quickly release her and and look down at my feet.

She clears her throat, "well, thanks for the perfect end to a seriously shitty day."

Her sarcasm is refreshing. When I look up her eyebrow is raised. It's a challenge, so I respond in kind, "my pleasure. Anytime you need a day ruined, I'm your guy."

I'm rewarded with a small chuckle, "well, see you around Darren."

I scoop up my books, "it's Dean," I try to correct her, but she's already out the door.

While I make my way to my car I can't help but be completely baffled at my behavior. Seriously, what the hell was that? Since when do I get all goofy over a girl? Never. It doesn't happen. At risk of sounding like the largest ass on the plant, girls get that way about me, not the opposite.

So, this is new to me, to say that absolute least.

Whatever. Shake it off man.

I turn my radio up as loud as I can without compromising my hearing for the rest of my life. Some Twentyone Pilots to keep me from being alone with my thoughts.

Nikko is at my feet before I even have the chance to close the door behind me. He's gotten too used to my being home every day over the summer. Husky's are known for their dependency. Perhaps I should consider getting another dog. I'm contemplating the idea when my phone buzzes. I ignore it as I grab a quick snack. When I move to the living room to turn on Netflix and zone for the rest of the night, it buzzes again. I attempt to ignore it again, but it doesn't stop buzzing this time.

I fucking hate group messaging.

Chris: I better see all of you at my parent's place tonight.

Seth: We're looking at you, Goes...

Chris: Damn right.

Ashley: Oh, he'll be there if I have to drag him myself. Kicking and screaming...(;

Shit. I thought that if I just ignored the matter that I'd be off the hook. Looks like it's not going to be that easy. Well, it's last time that I'll ever have to go to something like this. Might as well give in. I'll make them squirm for a minute, first.

Me: Oh, there'll be plenty of screaming.

Seth: C'mon man! When will you ever have another chance to celebrate your last year of college?!?!

Me: Welp, hopefully never. That doesn't exactly mean I want to celebrate now...

Chris: Dude, don't make me sic Ashley on you...

Seth: Seriously dude. She can get pretty nasty... but you should know all about that XD

Ashley: Oh yeah...like I said, kicking and screaming. d;

Me; OKAY, OKAY! Pulling out the big guns. I'll be there. But I won't be happy about it...-_-

I laugh to myself as I throw my phone on the couch beside me- after turning the vibrate off. One night of "fun" won't kill me. I owe them all that much. Especially after this past summer. I turned into a complete recluse. After finals last semester something snapped in me. I got stuck in some kind of rut that I have yet to find an explanation for. I've made myself this trench that I have yet to climb my way out of. But, then again, I have yet to really try. So tonight should be good for me.

I think.

I roll up to Chris's parents house around 11:30, and the party is already in full swing. They live right on the edge of campus in a neighborhood dominated by teachers and administrators. Lucky for us, Chris's older brother Thomas and his friends were old enough to drink long before we got the taste for partying. So when the cops got called for underage drinking, we'd retreat to Chris's room, and there was nothing to find but some 21 year olds having a good time.

His parents always conveniently went out of town the first week of school so that Thomas or Chris could have some good college fun- even now that he's 23 and has a place of his own. But none of our apartments are big enough for a party of this size.

The second I walk in the door I have a red cup shoved into my hand. I take a sip, and the familiar taste of Seth's Deadman's Punch slips down my throat- 50% actual punch, 50% a mixture of whatever liquor he can find. I push through the crowd of people I've never seen until I see my group of friends sprawled on one of the couches in the livingroom. The smile their greetings. I'm slightly peeved when I see Ashley in my chair, but she quickly removes herself to make way for me. She scantily clad in a silver sequin number that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

When I flop back into the chair I think for a second that she's going to take up residence on my lap like she usually does- which I am not in the mood for- but I'm relieved when Nyle grabs her hand and she falls into his lap. Seeing the flush in her cheeks, and hearing the way that she giggles, she's already trashed.

I give Nyle a grateful look, and he just rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"Great party, huh?" Chris shouts sardonically over the thumping music. Here in the living room it's just loud enough to still hear yourself think.

"Aren't they always?" I reply as I knock back the rest of my punch. Somebody making rounds quickly replenishes my drink. I down it as Chris and Nyle start in on the colorful group of partygoers. Seth and Ashley are in stitches. I keep a smile on my face to ensure them that I'm listening- I'm not- when Miss Blue Hair comes unbidden into my mind.

I think about the way that she snapped at me, about the way that she wasn't completely disarmed by my million dollar smile. Her sharp remarks were a refreshing. People don't talk to me like that. Mostly because nobody would dare talk to the Dean's son that way- haha, I know, Dean the dean's son; very funny.

And suddenly, like a scene in the tackiest movie that you've seen, I look across to the room full of dancing, horny co-eds, and my eyes land on waving mermaid blue hair. My mouth is dry as I study her. If her hair was any other color, I would question if it was the same girl. Her hair is down and flowing just as before. But her ill fitting sleep clothes are replaced with some sort of playsuit thing that's very short, showing off her amazing legs, and a bunch of flowers tattooed on her right thigh. The neckline plunges in a deep v. It's sleeveless, finally giving me an uninterrupted view of the tattoos the cover her slender arms. From the distance, all I can see are more flowers between shapes that I can't make out. She's gyrating to the beat of whatever song is playing. My eyes are stuck on her as she moves so sinuously with a darker skinned girl. There's a smile on her red lips.

I suddenly wish that I had brought my camera. I want to shoot this girl. A face like that- a body like that- needs to be photographed. I want to hear her sharp words again. Before I know what I'm doing, I've stood from my chair.

Ashley's high pitched whine pierces through my trance, "Gooooeeeeesss! Did you hear me?"

Shit. Were they talking to me? I don't even look at her as I continue in Amillia's direction, "yeah, yeah. I'll be right back."

As I get closer to her, I find my sanity. What am I doing? What exactly was I planning to say to her? 'Hey, remember me? I permanently bruised your tailbone and my ego. Can I take pictures of you?'

But it's too late, her eyes have met mine. A slow, mischievous smile spreads across her lips, "hey clutz! Fancy meeting you here."

I take a deep breath before responding, "You know what, my clumsiness isn't completely at fault. Who decides to stop on the bottom step?"

"A true genius," I'm fascinated by this woman, "didn't think this was exactly your scene."

They way that she looks me up and down lets me know that she's criticizing my rather cookie cutter appearance. I laugh lightly, "It's not. But my best friend is the host," I nod in Chris's direction."

She looks over to the group and purses her lips in distaste, "those would be your friends."

I flinch, "what's that suppose to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing," she chides, "they're exactly what I would expect," there's venom in her voice. I meet her eyes. She's wearing makeup now, but not a lot. The soft back around her eyes make them stand out more, as if that were possible. I search them for a moment before I see the challenging humor.

"Oh, yeah. They're great," I shoot back, raising my eyebrow with a challenge of my own, "wanna meet them?"

Her eyes widen as she shakes her head, "you know what? I'm gonna pass. Thanks."

We both laugh at my friends' expense. Am I flirting with this girl? I feel a small spike in my heart rate as I realize that's exactly what I'm doing.

We're both just kind of grinning at each other when I hear Ashley whining at me again, "Goooeeeesss, sweeeeeetyyyy!"

At the sound of the pet name Amillia's eyes widen and look over my shoulder. Mine narrow as I turn to shoot daggers at Ashley. She has the most devious smile that a drunk girl is capable of on her face. She looks proud of herself.

Bitch.

"Goes?" Amillia sounds slightly accusatory. I'll be having none of that. We were just flirting.

"Yeah," I snap, "Dean Goes."

"Hm," she mumbles, looking away from me, "well, you better not keep your girl waiting."

With that, she turns and disappears into the crowd of people.

I roll my eyes and return to my friends. Her reaction may have been unnecessary, but I was far from finished talking to her. Now I'm forced to deal with Ash.

She has the same drunken smirk on her face. She tries to wrap her arms around my neck. I quickly stop her and lightly push her back onto an empty spot on the couch between Chris and Nyle. She gives me the pout of a petulant child, "what the hell was that?"

"I don't know, Ash," I snap, "what the hell was that?"

"I don't know," she slurs, "since when are you into goth girls? Very not your type."

"Oh, yeah? And what is my type?" I know the answer she's going to give me.

"Me!" she huffs, "I am your type!"

I know that I shouldn't say what I'm about to, but she's soured my mood, and I'm a little bit drunk so I can't stop the word vomit, "No, Ashley, you're not. You're a booty call. Don't think so highly of yourself."

Everybody stops talking and laughing. Smiles disappear from all the faces within earshot. I know that I've fucked up. But that doesn't make what I've said any less true, and they all know it.

Flush covers her face as the alligator tears immediately spill down her cheeks, "that was so mean!"

She stumbles from the room in a hurry. I look around to our friends for some confirmation, but they're all shooting daggers in my direction.

Chris is the first to speak up, "Dude. I know what she did wasn't cool, but shes harmless. You really think that was the best way to do that?"

He gets up and heads in the direction that Ashley ran. Nyle follows suit after mumbling, "not cool, man."

Welp, so much for having fun tonight. My mood has taken an even steeper nosedive. I know that what I said was shitty. I've never found Ashley's behavior this annoying, and she's one of my best friends. Over the goth girl? I mean, I wouldn't call her goth. Maybe a little eccentric, but not goth. Who says I even have to have a type? Why the hell am I getting so eaten up over this whole fucking situation? What the hell is wrong with me?

I need a drink.

I push my way through sweaty bodies to the kitchen. I find Seth mixing a pitcher of punch. I fill and drain my glass about four times before he cuts me off, "save some for everybody else, bro."

Are all my friends this annoying?

The fog of my intoxication is amplifying everything that I'm feeling: annoyed at my friends, guilty that I yelled at Ash, pissed that Seth cut me off, pissed that I'm not having fun, pissed that I'm not dancing with Miss Blue Hair.

I'm surprised by my wayward thoughts until I realize that I've stumbled onto the makeshift dance floor, and am gazing at the tattooed Goddess gyrate in the middle of the crowd. Before I can stop myself I've made my way to her and place my hands on her hips. She jumps slightly at the contact and looks up at me.