Tom kaulitz

The shop smelled of rubber and warm wood. The floor was scratched by thousands of boards, the walls covered in stickers and posters of old competitions. A fan with slow blades tried to fight the heat, but only moved Gustav's sweaty air, arguing with the owner about prices as if he were going to pay them. George checked out some wheels, turning them over in his hand, comparing the hardness as if he really understood the difference. I balanced on my board, pushing with my toe against the floor, unhurried. I wasn't going to buy anything. I was just there to kill time. I didn't need anything, but looking at skate stuff always relaxed me. Then I saw her.

She walked through the door. She didn't look at anyone, just at the boards. Ripped jeans, a worn t-shirt that probably belonged to her brother or some ex-boyfriend she stole clothes from. Her hair was tangled. I knew who it was. Her. Well, at least by sight. I'd seen her a couple of times at the park, always alone, and I know she's much younger than me.

George nudged me, but I ignored him. She ran her fingers along the griptape of a skateboard, feeling like she knew what she was doing.

"Do you skate?"

I let go. She looked up, raising an eyebrow. She had the eyes of someone who isn't easily impressed.

"Are you a cop or something?"

I smiled. I liked it.

"I'm just saying, you don't seem like the type to get into this."

She crossed her arms, leaning against the shelf with an "I don't give a shit what you think" attitude. George and Gustav stopped talking. They knew that when I was interested in someone, I wouldn't shut up until I got what I wanted. I shrugged. She narrowed her eyes, analyzing me. And with that, she turned back to the counter, completely ignoring me. George chuckled. Gustav patted me on the back.

"You got beat, asshole."

I smirked.

"Nah. The game just started."