Never The Same Love Twice

by Charity Rose

  Never the same love Twice

  Charity Rose

  Never the Same Love Twice. Copyright © 2019 by Charity Rose. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Cover Designer

  SelfPubBookCovers.com/ TinaPappasLee

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Charity Rose

  www.nisaryan.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: July 2019

  Dreaming Lily Publications

  ISBN- 9781081890681

  To my wonderful Zachary, who keeps me well caffeinated in the long hours of the night.

  Our love is timeless and weird.

  There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice.

  —F. Scott Fitzgerald

  We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness – and call it love – true love.

  —Robert Fulghum

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 1

  You’d think I’d be a little more excited to start high school, but no. That wasn’t the case. Not even close. The thing is I already started high school once before, at a totally different school. I wasn’t a drop-out or got held back, or did some awful thing to make that happen. My old high school, Preston Preparatory Academy, was closed down over the summer due to funding issues. Our shrinking town couldn’t handle two schools. There just weren’t enough students or enough budget. And so, my family, and a dozen others or so others had two choices; either drive nearly forty-five minutes to the next town or take a quick ride to our local public school, Miller High. You can guess which one most of our parents decided on; my parents included.

  Summer break was over, but summer itself still hadn’t quite said good-bye yet. The mountains around our sleepy town of Millers Hollow were still lush and swelled over the mountain like a wave that ended at the shores of a lake cleverly named, you guessed it, Millers Lake. In the fall the trees turned all shades of colours, but in the summer, it was just hot and humid and green. And the mosquitos, can’t forget those.

  “I’m sure it won’t be that bad, sweetie. The school had great ratings five years ago, or so,” my mom was saying as I gazed out the window. I roll my eyes, “Five years ago? Wow, it feels so special now,” I said.

  Mom ignored me. According to my mom, this used to be a pretty good school. I mean, it looked okay as far as most schools go, I guess. It was big and made of the typical red brick. A flag pole stood on a small grassy hill surrounded by a road for the buses and cars to pull around, and a large lawn stretched out from the building to the road. Groups of kids lounged all across it or hung out beneath the shade of a few trees that were still heavy with summer leaves.

  I didn’t know any of my new classmates though there were a few neighbourhood kids I knew just from being out and about so that might be cool. Maybe. But all the teachers would be different from the ones I’m used to, and I had always heard that public school teachers were hapless romantics who didn’t give two shits about their students; not at all what I was used to. At my old school, the teachers were like part of my family. I cried when I had to say goodbye to Mrs Vaun, my Art teacher and Mr Chism, the Biology Professor. With a sigh, I take one last look at myself in the car mirror, check my makeup, and open the door. Hopefully, things won’t be all doom and gloom. My cousin, Katherine Henderson, attends this school and she tells me that public schools have a bigger cafeteria, football games with pep-rallies, which are basically just parties at school, and who could forget the most important of thing of all? Boys. Lots of boys. The possibility of finding a boyfriend? Now that’s at the top of my list.

  My mom says that boys are not important, that I need to focus on my academics but, first? I have an excellent GPA. And second? I want to just finally have the high school experience, including a boyfriend, just like every teen movie I’ve ever watched. At my old school, I’d known most of the guys since sixth grade, and they were more like brothers than anything.

  I step out onto the hot pavement at the edge of the school lawn; today, my mom and I are carpooling with my aunt and cousin. Kathy is a senior, so she promised to give me a detailed outline of the school and a rundown of the good, the bad, and the ugly as well as showing me where my classes where. Which I’m grateful for because this place is enormous considering how many students actually go here. With a population of around three thousand people, we have only around eleven hundred students between Preschool to Twelfth grade if you don’t count the students at the community college.

  As I walk into the school, I could feel all eyes are on me. I pick up the pace. I’m glad I came to the school during the summer to get familiar with my classrooms; if not I’d be a mess wondering around the halls, but even then, I still have my cousin show me which way to go, the rooms all look the same. After a quick walk and a few turns, I arrive at the classroom for the first period, math class. I hate math with my very soul. It’s not a subject I’ve ever exceeded in. I started getting tutored back when I was in ninth grade. By an extremely handsome young man, I might add. It’s because of him that I was able to maintain my good grades. He made learning fun, plus he was nice to look at. And, sometimes I swore he was casting glances my way as well.

  As I walk into the classroom, I’m greeted by several smiling faces that I don’t know. Many of them and are gawking at me as I walk in. None of them seems overly hostile, just more curious really. Some of them have seen me around town but have never met me so I guess it’s only natural they would be curious. I begin to imagine what they think of me, either private school snob or creepy home-school kid. A few manage a wave, only one scowl. So far, so good. I see a hand furiously waving at me from the back of the class, and I grin. No mistaking that long blonde hair and bright green eyes, “July!” Thank the heavens, I’m not alone! I take a seat next to July, she was one of the few kids I’d kept in contact with after elementary school. We didn’t get together often, but often enough that we were both comfortable with each other.

  “My, look at all these new and bright young students,” says a feminine voice coming through the door that startles us all into silence. “I hope you all like math because you guys and gals and non-identifying peoples are in for a hell of a treat. So, buckle up, for numbers are coming your way.” A short, dark-haired woman with a bit too much meat on her
walks into the room. Her heels click against the tile floor as she bustles across the room, her arms are full of books and some xeroxed papers. She’s got strange attire for sure. She is literally dressed all in black complete with black stockings, a black knee-length button-up dress with a Wednesday Adams style colour. Her equally dark hair is up in a tight bun high on the back of her head, and her black glasses rest halfway down her pointed nose. She looks like she’s going to a funeral and I wonder if maybe she’s in mourning. It’s better I not think about it, or bring it up, just in case.

  Class continues on pretty normal, or as normal as this weird ass math class can get. Our teacher, Mrs Marybeth, is totally insane. She has this bizarre theory that the Earth is flat and that gravity doesn’t actually exist, and that we’ve been fooled our whole lives. I don’t know where she got that idea from, but I am sure as hell not going to listen to it.

  Once the bell rings, we all file out of the classroom, “So how was your summer Vidya?” July asks me as we make our way to the second period. We’ve got History class next. I’m actually glad that July’s making light conversation with me and not asking me about my old school. When I graduated from elementary school, and all my friends found out I was going to a private K-12 school supported by the Ivy League, they were thrown back. That’s when the rumours started about the rich bitch across all the major social media outlets I followed. My face was everywhere, and I didn’t even know half of the people that were posting shit about me. But what people don’t know is that I was given a partial scholarship to attend, so it didn’t even cost that much to participate in. Plus, I shouldn’t have to explain my life to everyone else. So, let them believe what they want.

  “Really good Jay, I went to Walt Disney World,” I say, smiling.

  “Awesome! I bet that was amazing. Did you go on any of the rollercoasters? I hear they’re wild,” she asks. I nod.

  “I did, what about you, how’d you pass your summer?” I ask genuinely interested. July got along with everyone. She just the type of person that everyone seemed to like. She’s not afraid of speaking her mind when there are things that bother her. She’s pro-feminist, pro-LGBTQ, and advocated openly when her older brother came out of the closet as non-binary transgender. I had mad respect for that. And she’s always in the mood for trying new things.

  “Not so bad, I didn’t get to travel like you did. But my family rented a villa off the coast, and we stayed there for a few days. I was great! Such incredible sights. I never wanted to leave,” she says beaming, throwing an arm dramatically across her forehead as she flipped through her phone images and showed me some pictures she had taken. It really was gorgeous.

  “Who could blame you? Everyone deserves an escape every now and then,”

  “True,” we walk into our next class, and I’m immediately caught off guard. The room smells like old socks, and I make a face. Also, our Professor is standing in the room as he throws his arms around speaking with bravado. Apparently, our professor is either talking to himself, or he’s giving a monologue on a Shakespearean level. July and I stand in the door frame, clutching the straps of our backpacks, and listen.

  “Oh, infinite universe, hear me. I am all alone on this planet,” he intones. He is facing towards the large but dusty windows, the blinds filter the light in zebra stripe shadows across the desks, “I know no one and no one knows me. For I am empty and alone,” he sounds remorseful and drops his head, a hand clutches his chest over his heart. “I do not know what to do!” he yells and falls to his knees. Not a single student has taken a seat; we are all standing in a growing crowd near the door. What are we supposed to do? This poor man is clearly not right in the mind. As if he could hear my thoughts, he suddenly looks up. Stands. Bows to us with a flourish and waves towards the seats. He says, “Students enter, please take a seat,” We all hesitate for a moment, someone coughs “Psycho,” but I can’t see who it was. “Do not be afraid,” he paces towards the door and directs all of us into the classroom as he continues to introduce himself,

  “I am Mr Summerfield, and I will be your History professor for the academic year, I also volunteer with the Drama club if anyone is interested?” I honestly don’t know what to think of this man. He already gives me the creeps.

  Lunchtime arrives sooner than I expected. I stand by myself, with a tray of food and look around the room. I can already see a few of the new freshman being picked on and while I’m no freshman, I’m already in my Junior year, I’m still the new kid which makes me fair game. Especially given my history as a rich bitch. I may have the protection thanks to my cousin, but I have zero clues where the hell she is right now, and a few seniors are already casting glances my way. One of them points at me, and as he gets up from his table, I decide it’s better not to eat into the cafeteria. I may not like it, but it’s the tradition to haze the new kids no matter what year they were in. Even at the private school, I attended, it was common practice, though usually harmless it was still embarrassing as hell.

  I walk into the gym and look around. There seem to be none of my classmates here, so I take a seat at one of the bleachers, sitting sideways I cross my legs and set my tray down in front of me. I’m about to take a bite of my cheeseburger when a voice interrupts my meal, perfect timing, of course.

  “Vidya right?” I look up and see a girl wearing a bright black and red flower print shirt paired with denim shorts and red sneakers. Her brown, curly hair hangs around her shoulders, I immediately recognise her from my History classroom.

  “Yes, and you are?” I say, suspicious of her motivation for approaching me.

  “Angela,” she says as she sits down across from me, “It’s nice to meet you,” she seems genuine, so I decided to take a risk and open up with some small talk. It couldn’t hurt to try to make some more friends. The quicker you could blend in with others, the less likely you were to be targeted by the seniors or bullies. Something I desperately didn’t want to have to worry about.

  “You too, so what have you thought about our teachers so far?” I ask.

  “They’re not so bad, except for Mr Summerfield. That dude is crazy as fuck,”

  I laugh. She seemed so sweet that I didn’t expect her to curse like that. I nod, take a sip of my drink, and say, “Tell me about it, he definitely creeps me out—”

  An arm is draped over my shoulder, cutting me off, “Who? Summerfield? Yeah, he’s like a crayon. As in he likes to get his cray cray on,” I look at the owner of the offending arm and break into a smile. It’s my old friend Gabriel along with some other guy whom I don’t recognise.

  “Gabe,” I breathe, genuinely surprised to see him, “You never told me you go here!” I say before he gives me a huge bear hug.

  “I was keeping it as a surprise,” he says and winks at me. I punch in on the arm. “Ouch!” he says with mock hurt on his face. He rubs his shoulder and pretends to cry before hugging me again. He smells nice.

  “You should have told me!” I reproach, “You’ve no idea how nervous I’ve been here. Everyone keeps staring. Sorry, Angela. I mean, most people keep staring at me,” I say. Angela shrugs, “No worries,”

  “Next time Vee,” Gabe says and messes my hair all up, “This is Bradley Davis by the way,” he addressed the guy next to him. “Bradley Davis, this is my good friend Vidya Fletcher.”

  “Hello my Lady,” he says, taking my hand, and lightly presses a kiss onto the top of it followed up with a wink. Angela giggles. I grin, and my ears grow warm. Interesting. What an odd, yet sweet gesture. Either he was trying to play his cards right or he’d clearly been in Mr Summerfields’ class before. But still, this guy just might make my potential boyfriend list.

  Chapter 2

  We’re two weeks already into the school year, and it’s not so bad. A few class headaches here and there, but nothing to die over. I’ve been hanging out a lot with Angela, Gabriel, and Bradley since the first few days of class. I hang out with July every now and then and with a few other classmates. But I try to avoi
d her during lunch, since she hangs out with a lot with her other friends and one of them I, to put it simply, can’t stand to be around. Kassidy Olsen was her name. Many years ago, she had become my middle-school bully, and it was just my fucking luck that she followed me here to Miller High. I wouldn’t say she was a bully, more like a stuck-up bitch that made my life hell. That sums it up better. She had this magical ability to instantly know which buttons to push to drive you insane, and she made damn sure to push them as often as possible.

  I sat at my usual spot on the bleachers, waiting for Angela and crew when Amanda Rhymes walks into my view. She was a real smart ass. I thought I was pretty quick but she was a certified genius; literally, she had a certificate to verify it. Not even kidding. And she knows it. She could get arrogant about it, and sometimes could be a bitch about it, but I get along with her well enough. Ever since the first day, she noticed me answering most of the teacher’s questions in class, she decided I was deemed worthy of being her friend. But her best friend is another genius too. “Hey, Vidya!” Amanda beams taking a seat next to me.

  “Hey,” I say a little less enthusiastic than her. The team’s basketball practice was just starting when I arrived, and several guys ran buy, dribbling the ball and taking turns making passes at the basket.

  Amanda stares out at the team and smiles, “So, any cute guys catch your eye?” She asks still watching the boys, she smiles and then giggles when one of the boys’ waves at her. I’m guessing that she’s into one of the guys on the team. And now I know which one. I thought about her question.

  “Just one,” I hadn’t planned on answering the question truthfully until it was too late. I had been thinking about Bradley. I thought about him a lot lately. Especially how one day he said I was beautiful. Never in my life had a guy ever said that I was beautiful. The thing was that it wasn’t said out of a whim or out of sarcasm or anything like that. He genuinely said it and meant it, or at least I think he meant it. I had asked him if he was serious, and he answered that why would I ever doubt my beauty?