*| KONOHA HIGH |* (sai. sasuke. naruto) *| TICK TOCK |* (number 2 part 1)

Thanks to everyone who emailed about the story. I appreciate it greatly.

KONOHA HIGH

A place for those with talent

*****

My father has been alive for fifty year's, two days, eleven hours and seventeen minuets. He's married to a forty-five year old brunet who drink's white wine; smoke's nine cigarettes a day and wears large amount's of foundation to cover up the wrinkle's appearing on her face. They live alone in an old Victorian house with seven bedrooms, two bathrooms and three balconies.

The hand on my leather watch ticks off another minuet.

My father has now been alive for fifty years, two days, eleven hours and eighteen minuets.

He taps on the table I'm sitting at. I've been sitting here, waiting for him to finish off some school paper work for the past two hours and fifty-three minuets. Even Hinata had been allowed to scuttle off home, her face pale, uneasy and twisted into a frightened state after suffering from her first (and hopefully last) after school detention.

'Let's go.'

*****

Being recognised isn't something that tends to happen to me on a regular basis. I like to think it's because I look and act so differently, and that my developing process has made me unrecognisable to those who new me from a younger age.

Of course, deep down in the dark gloomy pit of my stomach, I know that I'm pulling the wool over my eyes. Truth be told, I always have. It's easier to sit back, relax, and think of the happy, positive reason's for why life has turned out the way it has.

For me, life has turned out pretty kjweghsekjgfkjvs. Which is probably the best - and only - way of fully describing it.

My father slams his door shut.

'Get in,' he snaps to me gruffly, glaring at me through the windscreen as I give him the finger. I yank open the passenger door and slide in.

*****

We're driving at a dangerous speed home.

My father is silent the entire journey. He make's no comment about me. He make's no comment about Hinata. He make's no comment at all.

I've never been so on edge, and can't help but mumble, in a daring tone, 'That camera just flashed you for speeding.'

*****

When I was six year's old I ran into a small, purple haired little girl in the park. I hit her at such a speed that, when we were both sent crashing to the hard pavement, I fractured my wrist. My mother, with a half smoked cigarette balanced carelessly in the corner of her mouth, had strolled over and yanked me to my feet so aggressively that I screamed in agony.

'Idiot,' she had hissed into my ear, roughly dusting me down. 'Apologise.'

'Yes mummy,' I had mumbled obediently. The purple haired girl stood, shaking slightly, in a startled trance as my mother shoved me forward. I bowed, like the freak that I was. 'Sorry,' I looked up at her through the curtain of hair that covered my eyes, 'I really should look where I'm going.'

I could see her nibbling at the bottom of her lip, contemplating what to do. Finally, after three strained seconds of silence, she smiled.

'I-I-I'm Hinata Hyuuga. And it-it's okay, I'm no-not hurt.'

I remember seeing the discarded ashes from my mothers fag brush past the side of my face and land on the ground in front of Hinata. She stared in awe at the tall, lanky woman that stood protectively behind me. My mother flicked the back of my head and grumbled 'Introduce yourself you tit.'

She'd shoved me forward roughly.

'I'm Rose,' I chirped proudly, standing straight and extending my hand in a calm, matter-of-fact manner. Copying something I'd seen my father do a hundred times before. 'It's very nice to meet you.'

When the little girl grabbed my hand I screamed, swore heatedly and pulled away from her so viciously I ended up punching her hard in the nose.

'Fucking hell,' my mother sighed.

*****

At the hospital, the short blonde nurse had found the situation very amusing and very adorable.

My mother, angry that she couldn’t get through to my father, said that I was 'Stupid, childish and crude.' She had also pondered, out loud, where I had heard and learnt such vivid language.

Hinata's father seemed slightly more caring towards the small little girl who had broken his shy little daughters nose.

'How is your arm feeling Rose?'

I briefly examined my muddy brown cast, 'A lot better now. It doesn't hurt as much as it did.'

Hinata had tugged, timidly, on the bottom of her father's coat. With a booming laugh, he'd scooped her up, into his arms, and rested her carelessly onto his hip.

My heart had snapped free of its bloody bindings and dropped, fast, to the bottom of my stomach. My father never did, and never would, do that to me.

And that’s how it had started. A friendship formed on the basis that I had broken her nose and swore at her viscously.

We quickly became the best of friends.

*****

My father is being, as per usual, one of the world's biggest idiots.

'SHE WAS BLOODY SOAKED. DRENCHED,' he chucks himself down onto the sofa, huffing, 'Hinata was nearly half and hour late because of her. Rose is a stupid, selfish brat.'

'I can hear you,' I hiss under my breath, knocking back a very full glass of expensive white wine. Nile shakes his head disapprovingly at the situation and heads out the kitchen door, not wanting to get involved.

Unlike my mother and Olivia: both of who are very, very involved.

'Rose I tell you to go out, get fresh air,' Olivia snatches the white wine bottle out of my hands before I can poor another delicious glass. 'I did not tell you to go and disrupt your father.'

I snatch up the bottle of red wine that is standing on the counter beside me and slosh some into my glass. My mother lights up a cigarette and takes a greedy intake, and ignores Olivia's shrill hiss about my 'Underage drinking problem.'

'What were you doing that side of town anyway,' she blows the smoke into the air, 'and who's Hannah?'

'Hinata,' my father and me mutter in unison.

'Whatever,' she waves the smoke away before Olivia complains, 'Do you know her?'

I nod, and perch myself on the edge of the leather, ruby red armchair. 'Remember when I was little, I ran into that purple haired girl at the park then punched her in the nose?' My mother splutters out a laugh before taking another deep, desperate drag.

'Say goodbye to your lungs,' my father mumbles under his breath. We all ignore him, like always.

I greedily chuck back my glass of red wine, and its dry taste makes me choke. 'I'm not used to drinking this,' I snap in defence when Olivia rolls her eyes.

'You are seventeen girl. Seventeen. You are not allowed to drink like this,' she snatches away the red wine bottle, 'I don’t think even your brother drinks as much as you.'

'Wanker,' I hiss under my breath at the mention of my older blonde brother. My mother kicks me in the shin; she's wearing shiny purple high-heeled shoes. 'Bitch.'

'Language,' my father suddenly barks.

I swear at him angrily in my head.

The love between my parent's and Deidara, the biggest bum to ever walk this Victorian household, is indescribably. To say a bad word about the tall, artistic photographer is nearly as bad as chucking a packet of my mother's many cigarettes down the toilet.

And I should know. I've done them both a lot.

'So, Hina-whatever,' my mother says offhandedly, flicking her ask into a small dainty tray that sits on the coffee table, 'Did she recognise you?'

I nod, and head over towards the sink, running the cold water briefly before ramming my glass underneath the spray and filling it full. I take a healthy mouthful. 'She's grown her hair out. It looks lovely on her.'

'Yours does too dear,' Olivia says warmly, 'Longer hair makes you look so much more grown up.'

'I am a grown up,' I snap in defence, 'and anyway, can I have the red wine back?'

'No way, I'll be keeping it.'

'But Olivia,' I whine. She shakes her head and laughs, evilly, until I give up and pout. 'Please?'

'Do what she say's,' my father hisses, stretching out on the sofa to make himself more comfortable. I stick my tongue out at him. 'Don’t be so childish.'

'Don’t be so childish,' I mimic, wagging my index finger down at him. A nerve, much more pronounced on his forehead than usual, tenses at my teasing; he slowly rises to his feet.

The opening of the big wooden front door freezes us all.

*****

Living away at a boarding school that prides itself on it's hideous uniform has always seemed like a lovely haven to me. The girls, five-foot-nothings with broad smiles, shiny hair and manicured nails have habits of telling me stories about their hideously gorgeous perfect lives. With happy families, darling pets and eccentric friends.

Every time, weather it is at midnight – whispering so that we are not caught – or during P.E, – where we have decided that physical education is bad for our joints. Ha! – their lavish stories always make me feel as if my home life is amazing.

That is until I have the wake up call of actually being at home. Where I remember that, actually, I would rather be with Melanie: A gorgeous red head with a family that goes out on rambles.

And I hate the countryside. I have hay fever.

*****

Deidara is one of many reasons why my home life has always been so perfectly horrible.

He doesn't even glance our way as him and a group of friends stroll towards games room, a large white room with an amazing TV, four comfy sofas and a mini fridge: filled by my mother with very strong vodka instead of the usual childish orange juice, which used to be in there.

I take this opportunity – everyone silent and gawping at my lanky older brother – to tip out my glass of water into the marble sink, scoop up two bottles of delicious red wine that is stacked under the breakfast bar, and make a quick escape out into the garden.

My father swears about my brother first.

*****

For the last couple of years my mother has written to me about the excitement and activities that have taken place in Konoha. She told me about the new family that moved into the road to our left, and about how my father had brought a new briefcase after a student accidentally set fire to the lovely deep brown one that I got him last Christmas.

My mother also tells me stories about Deidara. How he still hasn't got a full time job, how she never sees him, how he doesn't care any more, how much he's changed, how he hasn't got a girlfriend yet, how good looking his friends are, how he's in a scary gang…

I know nearly everything there is to know about my single, blonde haired artistic photographer of a brother. Which is strange, as the last time I saw him I laughed so much milk came out of my nose, I had pink and metal braces chained to my teeth and my hair, in a scraggily uneven bob, only reached to my shoulders.

Olivia was the first to mention that, as Deidara is the golden first child, the information I have over him is far greater than the information he holds for me.

Which, in reality, means he still thinks I'm a weird little girl who sometimes snorts when she laughs.

*****

I slide the French patio double doors shut as quietly as I can, and juggle the two bottles of wine from one arm to the other.

'Stupid family,' I mutter under my breath.

*****

The sun is scorching my skin. I place my half full glass of wine down onto the unsteady table beside me and drag myself over to the shed. Carefully, I wriggle myself into the mess and pull out the large garden umbrella.

It's heavy.

'Fucking hell,' I groan, letting the bottom scrape across the grass. 'I really need to work out.'

'That's an understatement,' Niles states cheekily. I snap my head round in his direction and smile: he's carrying a large bowl of chips.

'Yummy I'm starving,' I call, feeling a wave of saliva rush to my mouth.

'And probably drunk,' he examines my nearly empty bottle of wine, 'you drink like your mother.'

'Don’t insult me.'

'Sorry,' he places the bowl onto the wobbly table and heads towards me, 'Here.' He gingerly takes the umbrella out of my hands before gracefully swinging it over his shoulders.

'Show off.'

He grunts as he hoists the rusty umbrella down and thrusts it into the ground. I snatch a chip from the bowl.

'These are nice,' I mumble, taking a large handful and ramming them greedily into my mouth, 'what flavour are they?'

'Not yours,' he pushes up the clip, and we're flooded in shade, 'They're for your brother and his friends. He asked me to 'grab them something to eat'.'

I giggle at his impression. 'Was that supposed to be Deidara speaking?'

'Yes,' he slaps my hand away from the bowl, 'you’re a drunken pig.'

'Oink oink,' I grab my glass, 'Can I have some?'

'No, this is the last of the packet,' he runs his hands through his hair, 'Now if you don’t mind I have a lot of work to do. Your mother and father have gone out for a meal and I promised dear Olivia I would take her to see a film,' he slaps my hand away from the bowl again. 'Rose, please.'

'Sorry,' I perch myself on the edge of the chair, 'What about my tea?'

Niles heaves a sigh as he picks up the bowl, 'Are you not capable of making something yourself?'

I shake my head and pout, looking up at him through my thick black eyelashes. He sighs again and mutters 'Typical,' just as Olivia swings open the double doors.

'Niles are you ready to go?'

'Let me just go give these to the boys and I'll be ready.'

'No no we must leave now,' Olivia marches forward and snatches the bowl out of his hands, and a tasty chip falls to the ground, 'We shall miss the bus.'

I crush the chip under my foot and sip at my wine. 'I'll take it too them,' I offer, looking up just in time to see the pale blue bowl speeding towards me.

Olivia thrusts it into my arms and grabs Niles by the wrist. 'Come,' she screeches, 'We must go now.'

Niles slams the patio door behind him.

I take another chip.

'Yum.'

*****

THIS CHAPTER CONTINUES IN PART TWO…