[dylan bean]

Why don't you rest your fragile bones
A minute ago you looked alone
Stop waving your arms you're safe and dry
Breathe in and drink up the winter sky

the lightning strike , SNOW PATROL

HARDER, BETTER, FASTER, STRONGER.

The metallic rhythmic beats pulsed powerfully through miniature ear buds, pushing the already fatigued, lanky body to the brink of exhaustion. Shallow breaths puffed into the nippy afternoon air, the thudding of blood through veins moving in time with the electric beat. Dylan stood in the centre of the playing field, eyes sharp and focused, body heaving with fatigue and shimmering with beads of sweat. Athletes jogged idly around the field, unheeded by the frustrated girl. Fellow team-mates remained at the opposite goal posts, chatting and giggling amongst each other rather than honing their skills. Dylan drowned them out.

Harder. Pursing her lips, Dylan’s lean and muscular legs tensed, eyes hard on the ball that lay in the plush new spring grass a mere few feet away. A quick run, a fierce angled kick –the ball rocketed into the unmanned goal. Displeasure marred Dylan’s face. It wasn’t good enough. Too sloppy, too slow, not enough curve. She’d done better. She could do better. Her muscles responded fluidly with all the practice of a well-maintained machine as she jogged briskly to the net, retrieving her battered and muddy ball.

Better. Yes, that was the key, wasn’t it? It always was. Last game had been a disaster, Dylan mused sourly, her expression scrunching with distaste. She’d ruined it all with one sloppy penalty kick. Everyone had attempted to convince her that it hadn’t been her fault. Anyone can miss a penalty kick. It was entirely common. Well, not for Dylan Bean. Not for her father. He had been excellent at taking penalties in the height of his career. How poorly would she reflect upon him if she didn’t get her act together? He would have her head, surely. She would simply have to practice more. She hated to practice, hated to work out, but it was the absolute only way she could improve. She couldn’t let everyone down, could she?

Faster. The ball rolled loosely from Dylan’s slender hand, landing softly at her dirt-caked soccer cleats. In an act as natural as breathing, Dylan adjusted her shin guards, righted her neon pink knee-socks, and tightened her loosening ponytail. Soft, golden tendrils stuck to her damp forehead and rosy cheeks, irritating her slightly. Taking a single deep breath, she eyed the ball with single-minded determination. A swift kick, a bit too hard, sent the ball sailing towards the top corner of the net. A single groan followed by a harsh curse coloured the air as Dylan watched the ball utterly avoid the net and shoot towards a lone runner passing by.

Stronger. Dylan was off and running even before contact was made. She ignored the headphones that fell from her ears to smack and entwine around her bony knees. She knew an oncoming accident when she saw one. She’d been on the receiving end of flying soccer balls enough t know a sock in the face when it was coming. “Watch!” Dylan yelled, far too late. The poor runner in question had only enough time to angle his head just specifically enough so the ball could smack him square in the face. “Out…” Dylan muttered, her face a mask of embarrassment. Upon closer inspection having quickly arrived at the scene of the crime, Dylan noted with a blatant stare of shock and horror the person who’d fallen victim to her killer kick.

Of all the people she’d managed to assault. Of all the people…all the athletes in this school and she’d managed to abuse the most accomplished of them. Liam Cole. Heaven forbid. “Oh God, Liam! I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry! Are you alright? Oh bugger, that looked like it hurt.” Dylan gushed, fluttering about him madly, afraid to touch him for the worry that he would lash out at her in anger but also in part because she was under the impression of being frightfully smelly and sweaty. Not quite the way she’d envisioned her first formal meeting with Paris Prep’s sport star.

He didn’t even know who she was. What an impression.

[liam cole]

Isn't it hard to pretend that there's no feeling
When you're alone on sunny days
Just give me hope there's some light inside your own engine
Some mechanism, still the same

COLBY'S SONG , joshua james

FREEDOM pulsed through his veins with each thrust of muscle, each precise step forward. His feet thudded against the graveled track, small clouds of dust circled around his feet as he lost himself to the familiar rhythm of movement. A gentle breeze caressed his flushed face. Practice was over, the prerequisite laps before hitting the showers performed. As his fellow teammates dispersed, Liam continued, pushing himself forward. With each circle past, the school faded the voices silenced until finally, he reached his goal: a calming plateau where nothing existed but himself. All he felt was the strain of muscle as he pressed on, his mind clear, focused. If he pushed himself hard enough, he would reach her.

“What do you think about when you run?” Kathleen had once asked him after waiting for him to finish a practice. Liam had tipped his head, brushing back the sandy hair that fell in sweat-ridden clumps into his eyes. “Nothing,” he’d replied simply with a shrug.

“There has to be something,” she’d insisted. “You look too intense for me to believe that your mind is blank.”

“’Kay. What do you think I’m thinking about?”

Kathleen paused, a gentle blush coloring her pallid cheeks. She glanced at the ground, tracing circles with her sneakered toe. “I’d like to imagine that maybe…maybe you’re thinking about me.”

Running was the only time his thoughts didn’t drift to her. Here he merely existed. There were times where he wondered what would happen if he could force his thoughts to her while he embraced the sweet oblivion. Perhaps there they could return to the time where he believed nothing could touch them. And so he continued to press forward, ignoring the numbing pain as he pushed himself further, desperate to find Kathleen once more. Their time together was too brief; nothing more than a ripple in the ocean. There had to be someplace where they could find each other again. Liam refused to believe this was it.

His brow creased as he forced himself to continue. The afternoon sun was warm against his shoulders, causing his thin white cotton tee to cling to him like a second skin. His lungs burned with pleasant exertion. As he fluidly followed the pattern of the track a ball hit him squarely in the face, bringing him to a standstill. His hand absently reached for his forehead, massaging the now-tender flesh as he stared absently at the soccer ball by his feet. “Oh my God, Liam!” He looked up to see a breathless blonde barrel toward him. Soft tendrils that had escape her ponytail billowed around an angelic face. Concern and embarrassment were twin companions in her cobalt eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. Are you alright? Oh bugger, that looked like it hurt.”

Liam stared at her blankly, his hand moving from his forehead to push back his damp hair. “Hurt?” he echoed as he attempted to place the girl. “No, no. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” He shook his head and flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. It was clear she knew him and yet he couldn’t place her within the context of the school. He massaged his neck absently. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

[dylan bean]

I can't untangle, I can't untangle
What I feel and what would matter most
I can't close an eye,
can't close an eyelid
And now there's just no point,
In reaching out for me

relief next to me , TEGAN AND SARA

GUILT COILED LIKE A SNAKE in her gut, an all too familiar feeling for Dylan. It still remained a mystery how such an honest girl carried such a high threshold for guilt. Her mother was amazed at what little esteem her superstar sport daughter held for herself, and rightly blamed the man of the house for pushing their sweet daughter too far too many times. Dylan might have had natural talent at what she did, but more of her success was due to extremes in which she pushed herself. The only manner she knew to push herself that far was to convince herself it was never good enough. And so Dylan Bean has never been good enough since then.

Panting lightly in a mixture of exhaustion and mortification, Dylan shifted from foot to foot slightly, hovering closely to inspect Liam’s face for any signs of bruising. Like a nervous bird her hands fluttered to his face to touch, but she quickly remembered herself and snapped her hands back to her sides. Her concern was genuine. Fiddling uncomfortably with the iPod wires that tickled her thighs, Dylan doubtfully took in Liam’s awkward smile. Oh, bloody hell Dylan. Just walk away. He wants you to walk away. He thinks you’re a total nutter. He’s looking at you like you’re some alien life form just hatched out of a football.

“I’m sorry.” Liam asked, dazed. “Do I know you?” Straight white teeth flashed in a faltering smile, unsure gaze sliding to the ground for a moment as the girl composed herself from the small blow. Don’t be so full of yourself. Just because England was obsessed with your family doesn’t mean everyone in the world is. That’s just cheeky.

“Um…” Dylan mumbled, kneeling to the dusty track to retrieve her ball. She remained there for a moment staring blankly at Liam’s knees before hopping up with a burst of energy. Her face was bright, open. “Nah, you don’t. I know you though. Everyone knows you.” She said with a nervous laugh. Dylan hoped the guy didn’t think she was some freaky stalker for saying such a thing. He must be used to it, really. She clutched the dirt-streaked football close to her t-shirt, practically hugging it for comfort.

“I’m Dylan, I’m in the same year as you.” Her smile was wide and goofy, uninhibited. “This is where you pretend to know me to cover your tracks and say ‘Oh yeah, that Dylan, I thought you were a boy!’”

Stumbling back a few clumsy steps, Dylan chuckled and scratched her cheek, leaving a mark of dirt at her temple. She shrugged easily, a half smile natural on her face as she did her best to make it look like she wasn’t deeply interested in getting to know the person across from her. Liam had always been someone she’d tried to compare herself to; she used him as a guideline, a goal to work towards. Towards his talent, to be exact. She knew he was a natural, though, and that she was not. That was the way life was, and Dylan wasn’t particularly torn up about it either.

“Anyway, if you need ice or anything…you know, for you face –I could go get some for you or buy you a cold drink from the vending machines. It’s the least I could do.” A short breathy laugh escaped, “I mean unless you’re like the Terminator and have got metal under your skin. In that case you’d be obligated to show me.”

[liam cole]

The way we are
The way we were
It's just a shadow of what's wrong
The time with you
The time is stirred
I've loved you for so long

TIME STANDS STILL , all american rejects

FOR AS LONG as he could remember Liam had had a fascination with fire. He would sit watching the flames lick the wood, their rich amber fingers curling around as they claimed it. His father used to laugh and call him a pyromaniac as he poked sticks into campfires waiting for them to ignite before extinguishing the small flame in the damp soil. His mother on the other hand would caution him to not get too close or he would get burned, to which his father would always chuckle and Liam would roll his eyes.

He could still remember the field trip his class had taken to the museum when he was ten. They had dutifully followed the guide through exhibits and listened to him drone about the origins of man; of beads and fur for currency while his charges pretended to listen instead of giggling at the scantily clad mannequins depicting moments that were now only whispers upon the fabric of time. Liam remember how boredom had swelled within him until he was certain it was going to kill him when they had paused in front of an exhibit and the lights had been dimmed. For the first time since the tour had begun the guide held their undivided attention. He had leaned forward, his voice low and enticing. “…but the most important thing for early man was fire. It not only sustained life but many early civilizations believed that it gave life as well. To them, fire was just as alive as we are.” Liam had watched in awe as small bulbs flickered to life inside an elaborate fire positioned in the center of the display, a crackling sound filling the space. He reached out to touch the ‘living fire’ only to have his hands press against the hard glass protecting the scene.

That night Liam had asked his father about fire earning himself not the explanation he was after but the scientific principles of fire. “No, Dad, I already know all that,”” he’d interrupted, “Today at the museum the lady said that fire was alive. Is that real?”

His father had smiled, contemplating his answer. “I guess that’s right. I always thought it had its own personality. But Liam, in the end every fire is the same: it consumes itself until there is nothing left.”

As he watched Dylan, a flurry of arms and words wrapped within the electricity of her personality, Liam realized the truth to his father’s words. No matter how the fire had started it was always beautiful. The girl before him reminded him of the campfires he had adored as a child. She was bright, vibrant, and barely contained. As she spoke he could envision wood popping as its heat caused moisture in the wood to evaporate, sending a flurry of amber sparks against the blackened sky. He stared at the scuffed toe of his sneaker, dragging it through the graveled surface of the track in a slow arch. Once he had been that vibrant, that alive. Now he was nothing more than a still-glowing ember; a remnant of something that no longer existed.

“Oh, yeah, that Dylan,” he parroted, meeting her concerned expression with a crooked smile. He supposed if he listened to the idle chatter that filled the locker room he would have heard her name mentioned at some point. Her face held the sort of guileless beauty that eluded most of the girls at the school – girls who would rather hide behind masks created from makeup and their own vanity. He had once heard love compared to a fire – it was the only analogy he’d ever heard that made sense. Love consumed you, claiming everything until all that remained was what existed to fuel the fire further. He’d experienced love once and it had devoured him so nothing remained in its wake.

“Anyway, if you need ice or anything… you know, for your face – I could go get some for you or buy you a cold drink from the vending machines. It’s the least I could do. I mean unless you’re like the Terminator and have got metal under your skin. In that case you’d be obligated to show me.”

Blinking to free himself from his thoughts, Liam shook his head. “No, no. I’m fine, honest. I’ll even sign a waiver so if that changes you’re off the hook – speaking of, you’ve got a killer one,” he offered, hoping to alleviate her misplaced guilt. His eyes traveled over her face once more, a tender smile curving upon his lips as he took in the smudge of dirt at her temple. “You…ah… you have something on your face.” He reached out before he could think better of it, his hand disappearing into the hem of his shirt as he reached out to wipe it away like he had countless times before with a different girl. A girl with a fevered brow and eyes that were dull from medication. Her memory paralyzed him, as her name twisted in his heart reopening wounds once more.

Kathleen had consumed all that remained of Liam.

[dylan bean]

Steel and concrete break
Beneath the steady waves
Of fearless hope and grace
In kindness there is strength


stood up , A FINE FRENZY

RAYS OF NOONDAY SUN struck Dylan’s back with sudden ferocity as the wind picked up and idly brushed away the cotton-ball clouds hovering above them. Liam’s patient voice was muffled by Dylan’s repeated worry on how she must reek. Her workouts were long and intense, and as much as she enjoyed frolicking in the sun it certainly did nothing to help her current status as sweaty tomboy. Had she been talking with anyone else aside from her secret school idol, she wouldn’t have given it another thought. But such was not the case and Dylan simply had to do her best not to appear star-struck and mortified. Easier said that done, really.

Plastering a friendly smile on, Dylan raised her nervous gaze to meet Liam’s, fully accepting the fact that he’d be booking it across the field by now. She certainly wouldn’t blame him. Rather, she found herself brutally assaulted by a pair of dark cobalt eyes framed by unbelievably long lashes. Fleetingly, Dylan was certain she’d never seen a pair of eyes so close to obsidian, and yet so blue. The sunlight glinted and shown on Liam’s unusually long lashes, and Dylan was hardly aware of the fall.

She would kill for eyelashes like those, her mind wandered. Any girl would kill for them, in fact. Dylan never wore makeup because she had essentially no experience or talent for it. But she knew she needed it. If she’d been beautiful Dylan was positive she would be confident with herself. Such was not the case, though, and so she tried to be as content with herself as possible.

So immersed in this mysterious boy, Dylan found herself suddenly hurled back to Earth with the sudden brush of jersey to skin. In that brief moment Dylan’s lashes lowered self-consciously, her senses battered with sudden unwelcome awareness. The sweet musky smell of male, a hint of fall leaves. A flash of pale stomach with the lift of shirt, a reflection of her innocence within Liam’s eyes as her own flew back to meet his in surprise.

There was a slight pause, her face blank before an uncontrollable giggle bubbled and burst out nervously. Mortified by unable to cut off the laugh, the girl took a steadying step back and slapped her hands to over her mouth, bright eyes sparkling with humour until the laugh died off. Dylan proceeded to fling herself into a tizzy of flailing fingers and assurances. “Oh, ah, yeah I guess I’m a bit dirty.” Her eyes widened as she spurted a short laugh, “I-I mean, you know how football is a messy sport and all and I’m always practicing and no one else really wants to do it with me so I’m like my own personal forward, mid, defender, and keeper.” Dylan chattered on, completely aware that she needed to shut up but had no idea how to accomplish such a feat. She eyes flickered nervously from the tranquil boy to her toes.

A simple touch should do nothing to illicit such a reaction from anyone, Dylan scolded herself. Yet this naïve girl was so unused to the affectionate touch of someone from the opposite sex –noogies were acceptable, wrestling and high-fives all on the list of things comfortable and acceptable. But something so casual should unnerve her to the extreme.

Dylan took a blatantly deep breath and offered and apologetic smile. “Sorry. I talk a lot…Um. Again, I’m really sorry about the whole,” she knocked a fist on her own head miming their recent accident, “thing. I’ll be more careful next time. Who knows, maybe next time I’ll knock a bird out of the sky.”