AllFreeNovel
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The price of fame. The price of getting to play the sport that I love at the highest level. The price that I no longer think is worth it.
“Come on, let’s get you inside.”
Jerry and Jordan do their best to shield me from the paparazzi all waiting to get their money shot. I’m all but launched into the emergency department where everyone appears to be frozen in place.
“Um, hi.” I wave my good arm, feeling stupid, but also trying to break them out of their collective trance. Shouldn’t they be rushing to help me?
“Come in.” A small, blonde woman issues this order to me and I jump slightly. She’s tiny but scary. “Amy, Natalie,” she snaps behind her. “Come here and help.”
I watch through my pain-filled haze as people snap to attention, a smirk forming as they scamper about. And then my smile dies when I see her.
That can’t be right.
But it is. She’s there. An older version, but just as beautiful. Maybe more? Waves of jet-black hair swept up into a messy bun, her aquamarine blue eyes holding me captive as they’ve always done.
“New Girl, is that you?”
She freezes. Like a deer in headlights, her eyes are wide behind her glasses frames as they stare straight into mine. And I feel it down to the tips of my toes. Just like I’ve always done.
“Natalie,” I try again when she remains an unmovable statue. “It is you.”
She gulps, her head swivelling from side to side, taking in all the eyes that are laser focussed on us. She’ll hate being the centre of attention. She always did.
Natalie is standing in front of me and I’m dumbfounded. She’s the girl of my teenage dreams, the one who’s haunted me throughout the years, the one whose blue eyes and quirky sense of humour have stuck with me since the day we parted.
The one who got away.
The air around us swirls with tension but before I can say anything else, she gives me a limp wave and turns on her heel and scuttles away.
Running away from me again. Just like she did all those years ago.
CHAPTER 1
Natalie
Six years ago, aged 16
“There he is!”
My best friend Bianca elbows me in the ribs, quite unnecessarily, alerting me to his presence at the end of the hallway. Unnecessary because I’m already acutely aware that he’s there, much like the rest of the students milling about at 8.30 in the morning, waiting for the bell to signal the start of our day of collective learning.
“I can see that, B.” I poke her back and fiddle with my glasses, pushing them back up my nose so I can get a better look at the view up ahead.
It’s Matthew Barkly, a senior at our high school and objectively the hottest guy who goes here. In fact, he’s probably the hottest guy to go to any high school, ever. He’s currently walking down the long corridor surrounded by a gaggle of admirers and people he calls friends, and it’s like he’s the star of a 90s rom-com (I’ve watched enough of them to be an authority on the matter). Tall, at least a head taller than most boys his age, he’s got dark features that make him look like Liam Hemsworth, but with a perma-tan. His olive skin hasn’t ever seen a pimple and his body belongs to someone much older, all broad shoulders and defined muscles. It’s the end of winter, with temperatures well below chilly outside, and yet he’s wearing shorts and a lightweight sweatshirt. His usual uniform. He has the aura of someone who is above everyone else; someone marked for greatness.
“Doesn’t he feel the cold?” I grumble, pulling at the sleeves of my baby blue knit sweater, trying to get warmer. As per usual, I’m freezing.
“Maybe his legs are so far away from his brain, he can’t feel that they’re cold?” Bianca ponders, pulling a reluctant laugh from me.
It’s true, at well over six feet, Matthew towers over his schoolmates, his long legs making him the star of the school soccer team. The rest of him makes him the star of everything else. Including most female (and some male) student fantasies.
“He’s coming towards us,” she whispers, her tone reverent. It’s not like being near Matthew is new to us—we’ve been sharing the same learning space for the past three years—it’s just that the seniors, especially the popular ones, tend to keep to their side of the campus and thus a close-up encounter of this kind is rare.
“Do I look alright?”
I give her a long once over, knowing before I even glimpse at her that she will look more than alright. Like Matthew, she’s one of those lucky teenagers who never goes through an awkward phase. She went from pre-teen pretty to gorgeous overnight. Me, on the other hand…well, let’s just say my body hasn’t got the “time to grow some womanly curves” memo yet.
“You look great.” And she does. Today she’s paired a tight-fitting soft-looking grey sweater with tight black jeans, tucked into black healed booties. I don’t know how she walks around in those things all day; my feet would ache and have blisters within the first hour.
