He had lived in this town for years. Since his family had moved from Brazil when he was six, to now, his senior year of high school. He remembered the day he had met little Miss Cecily Herondale; the black haired, blue eyed doll faced girl that lived in the almost-mansion in front of his house. His family had come to America with next to nothing, but had been lucky enough to be offered a place on the Herondale's block of land; a dingy little town house that was used, back in the old days, as accommodation for the salves. It worked, for the most part; there was more than enough room for he, his two sisters, and his father (his mother had passed recently). The only thing that bothered him was being so close to the Herondale's most cherished; Cecily. They had never gotten along; always arguing, throwing stones and mud at each other when they were younger, throwing insults and slide remarks now that they're older.
Ban didn't care that her family was the only reason they had a house to live in; Ban didn't even care that both their parents were now good friends. Every time he saw Cecily Herondale he wanted to throw himself off a bridge. Only when he'd turned seventeen did he realize why, exactly, that was.
He liked her.
"Lookin' good there, sweetheart," Ban baited as he parked his car in the student parking lot, slowly getting out of his car and straightening to his complete 6'8" frame.
