Though he desperately refuses the conformities of modern novel tropes, George acknowledges he's just the same as every book character. A side character that is. Studying his way into writing a hit novel George has to master the ups and downs of his...
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"Young heart, oh what a waste" Boyfriend Coin
George
I am the side character.
In retrospect, that statement is quite a controversy when everything isn't as simple as words in a novel. Part of me knows, with a firm foot planted on the ground, that I'm similar to the people that beg for sympathetic attention. I don't want the pity, nor do I need the attention.
I am a promotional side piece that helps move the story along and have decided that it's alright with me. Like some whiny novel girl, I dote and center my entire life around my perfect best friend. He is glorious and stunning and, unfortunately, the main character in my story. And his own. And everyone else's.
Predictably, he is the definition of envy most find between pages in stories and I've fallen deeply into the trap. Washed out fair hair and six foot something or other, he captains the elite hockey team at Harvard University. Even with a line of puck bunnies waiting for the door to become available or the people throwing themselves at him from every direction, he has fallen fault to the stereotypical love trope.
That is where we meet the beautiful and amazing, Courtney Lynn Maverick. Just by her name, not too cliché anyone, I hope it's easy to picture her. The big blue doe eyes and hair made of sea salt white and caramel brown. She reminds me of a Lumineers song, the one about a girl worthy to run away with. And maybe there are more than one to describe her, a song that is, either way, she fits with the words somewhere between those pressed nails and pearl earrings. And me, well, I envy and admire her charm. Courtney reigns over her own team, the Harvard Dance team, much like Dream and his hockey hotheads.
Dream, my best friend, just happened to need a tutor before midterms last semester. Though I would usually be the first person he asked, my grandfather had recently passed over the holiday so I was back home finishing the term online. That's when Courtney Lynn Maverick waltzed her way in and offered her help.
As the prestigious academic girl she was, waits as small as a pear, boobs as perfect as a model, she refused to have sex with Dream when he offered. She turned him down, much to his dismay, and prompted him to decide he must have her. Which is what happens most of the time with typical men. He won her heart over Valentine's Day and some more mushy bullshit I was only vaguely aware of. It was the talk of the entire university. I wasn't even there to see half of it.
In my grand return to campus, I hoped to receive full attention from Dream as he was always there for me during difficult matters. Like when I came out to my family and half were disappointed the other half exchanging hands in the betting pool. Dream was there. Or the time I nearly flunked out of school on scholarship. He was there.
But he was not, in fact, there when I came back to school after break, he was more or less a surface-level friend. Which was not unexpected. He had a shiny new toy that would most likely blow over within a few weeks and we'd be us again. It hasn't blown over. We're seniors now.
