(Please bare with me, there will be more coming shortly. It does get more interesting. Trust me. It's just a matter of getting it down. By the way, please don't move this to romance, because it does turn into a fantasy. Thanks!)
It all started at the beach.
The sand was cold and smooth in between my toes, feeling more like flour more than the grainy soil it usually was. The waves were trying to reach out and pull me into the icy ocean, but I lingered far enough so they could merely graze my feet.
It was a fairly cloudy day, one where the sky was one color; all blue engulfed in grey. The clouds all blended with the dreary background like an endless curtain of smoke. The wind teased my hair around my face, crusting it with the soft sand.
I heard a high-pitched scream and turned around, almost tripping on the wet sand that was sinking beneath my weight. There was another scream followed by a giggle. I spotted my mother running, kicking up chucks of sand behind her, and laughing.
“Lucas!” she squealed.
The air I was holding in came out in a loud whoosh when I spotted my father. He was chasing her with a pail full of the icy water and trying to splash her. They looked like the offspring of a Botticelli and a Norman Rockwell painting.
They looked too beautiful and young to be a penniless. In fact, they were wealthies – technically. That is until they broke the rules and had me, then they were immediately untagged and banished from Sector A (for affluent).
After that, Mom and Dad moved to Sector P (for poverty or poor, take your pick). They still had all their wealthy clothes – such as the Versachi bathing suit Mom was sporting and the Quicksilver board shorts on Dad – but they were exiled from their four story mansion – complete with tennis courts and a Jacuzzi.
Of course, I don’t remember any of it because I was just an infant. I’ve lived in Sector P ever since I can remember. I still don’t understand how they could give up the life they had for me. Honestly, I’m not that interesting. You’d think I’d have the good parts of the gene pool, like Mom’s incredible jet black hair – or maybe even Dad’s maroon hair – but I ended up with auburn hair and hazel eyes. Not exactly the me I was envisioning.
I continued walking along the shore, staring at the washed up seaweed and shells. I nudged a white shell with my big toe, my fists jammed deep into the pockets of my jeans. I never liked wearing bathing suits to the beach; they always made me uncomfortable. I always found it useless anyhow, since the penniless can’t step foot on wealthies’ inhabited land without the risk of being tagged – which is good or bad, depending on the person. The days when the wealthies weren’t having a fun time at the beach is the cloudy days, which is usually when the penniless become manifest. Thus proving there’s no point in wearing bathing suit when there’s no sun to soak or warm water to swim in. I usually just cuffed up my jeans and wore a spaghetti-strap tank top.
“Mel?” A voice called, drifting through the wind.
I turned to the board walk to see Chauncey emerging from the neck high cattails that surrounded the moldy wood. He wore white shorts with red plaid and a red shirt to match. In one hand he held a beach towel and in the other he held a wicker basket. His battered sandals clung desperately to his feet.
Trailing behind him was Rihanna in a midnight blue bikini that stood out on her ivory skin. Around her tiny hips was a tie-dye wrap with tiny beads dangling on the end. It took me a moment to realize why it looked familiar; I made it for her for her sixteenth birthday.
She pulled off her shades – not that there was any sun, but the two of them liked to get dressed like the wealthies for the rare trip to the beach – and set them on top of her chestnut waves.
“Melanie?” she enquired. “Hey!”
Suddenly the trip to the beach didn’t feel so bad. Having my two best friends along made it slightly endurable.
“Hey guys!” I beamed. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, it is our day on the beach,” Chauncey answered.
“Yeah, the wealthies can’t hog all of the sun,” Rihanna added. “Do you think they’ll tag me if I score a major tan?”
“Melanie!” A tiny voice cried.
From the towering bushes ran out Jordyn, Chauncey’s three-year-old brother. He looked identical to his older brother from the crimson curls and lagoon green eyes – right down to the plaid shorts and red tee. His toddler feet thumped loudly on the worn-out wood.
“Hey Jordyn!”
He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He wobbled slightly in the sand, but was determined to reach me. When he was close enough, he lunged himself at my leg, wrapping his arms around my thigh.
I tousled his soft hair. “Ready to spend the day at the beach with the big kids?”
“Actually, little Jordyn’s going to stay behind with Rihanna,” Chauncey stated.
“What?!” he cried, jerking away to glare at his brother.
“That’s right. You’re staying with ReRe.”
Jordyn stomped his foot. “That’s not –”
“Remember what Mommy said?” Chauncey said seriously.
He pouted. “Fine.”
“Melanie?” my mother’s voice echoed. “Honey, where are you?”
“Over here!” I waved her over.
“There you are. Oh, hello Rihanna and Chauncey!”
“Hey Juliana,” Rihanna replied with a little wave.
“Hi, Mrs. Sparx.” Chauncey smiled.
“You know I’m too old to be called that,” she said playfully.
“Mom, you’re thirty-five,” I reminded her.
“Shh!” She turned back to my friends. “I thought I told you to call me Jewels.”
“Family trip to the beach?” Rihanna asked.
“You bet.”
“Us, too,” Chauncey said, stepping aside to reveal Jordyn, who was hiding shyly behind his leg.
“Jordyn! Hey there, buddy!” Mom’s blue eyes glittered whenever the young child was around, which was perfect when we were short a babysitter.
“Hi,” he said timidly.
Shy. He’s just like his brother, I thought.
“Why don’t you come and play with me? I’m making a sandcastle with Lucas.” Mom offered her hand.
Jordyn’s face lit up. “Okay!”
“You kids have fun. Remember not to walk too far. It’s easier to get tagged on your lonesome.”
Mom and Jordyn walked back hand in hand.
“Mel, your mom is gorgeous,” Rihanna said dreamily. Rihanna wanted nothing more than to become a wealthy. “What brand was she wearing?”
“Versachi,” I answered flatly.
“I’m going to ask your mom if she has any old clothes she wants to donate. We’re about the same height, right?”
I sighed. Mom shared her clothes willingly, but most of the time I was too tall. Penniless’ clothes were the out of style clothes wealthies didn’t want anymore.
Rihanna set off towards the others, leaving Chauncey and I alone.
After a long silence, he asked, “Why do we have to be the outcasts?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “But with all those rules in Sector A, I don’t know which is better.”
Chauncey kicked off his sandals and dropped the basket and towel. “I just don’t get it. I look into Jordyn’s eyes, and I… I see potential. He could be somebody someday.”
We started walking, flanking the ocean. “Maybe the wealthies will see him and tag him.”
He smiled grimly. “I don’t know if that should scare me or please me.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I simply shrugged.
“I don’t want to loose him, but if it’s a better life…”
The thing about Chauncey was that he is extremely self-sacrificing. It took me years before he would even open up about his feelings. He doesn’t want to have to bring down other people in his own grief.
We were walking so close that our arms brushed, sending shivers up my spine. “We’re sixteen and he’s three. We’re most likely going to be tagged before him.”
“If we get tagged. Which, knock on wood,” – he knocked on my head playfully – “hasn’t happened yet.”
I swatted his hand teasingly. “Look at my parents. It must’ve not been all that great if they left.”
“Mel, they left because they didn’t want you to get killed. They love you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘Wealthies’ rules’ state that rich snobs don’t have children.”
“Just another thing they rely on us for. If they didn’t have us, they wouldn’t have food, energy, people to tag…”
For a moment we walked in quiet, just listening to the melody of the ocean and squawks of the seagulls.
I wondered if there were any other people in Sector P that didn’t have their minds set on being wealthies. Was there anyone like Chauncey and me who were undeceive? Rihanna firmly believed in the wealthies lifestyle. Didn’t anyone besides the two of us see both the benefits and disadvantages of Sector P and A?
“I wish they would form an alliance. Get a mixed economy, sort of like Canada. Take the pros and throw out the cons…” My sentence hung in the salt scented air.
“Wanna’ race?” Chauncey challenged, cocking an eyebrow. He knew a little running would get my mind off our issues.
“You know I do.”
“Ready…set…go!”
We both set off at full speed, our feet spitting up sand from behind us. I laughed when the wind blew back my hair, bringing tears to my eyes. I didn’t look around to see where Chauncey was; I could hear his steady breathing right beside my left hip. I knew his tactics; he would sprint when I got tired. I tried with my best effort to keep a hefty distance between us.
He caught up with ease, shadowing me dangeriously close. I reached behind me to playfully shove him.
“Hey!” he laughed between gasps. “You…asked…for it!”
Chauncey stretched out his muscular arms and grabbed me around the waist. I screamed and giggled madly.
“Tickle war!” he declared with an evil grin.
“No! Chauncey!” I laughed uncontrollably, trying to catch my breath. “Stop!”
“If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime,” he said mischievously. “Mwa-ha-ha!”
“Stop!” The word was slurred out by a series of giggles.
I tried to detangle myself by pushing against his chest – which wasn’t the brightest idea since his chest was rock solid from lifting heavy crates. My movement proved itself effective; the uneven sand caused him to tumble back. Unfortunately, he took me down with him.
He continued to tickle me until I grabbed a hold of his hands. I stared deep into his eyes, which were glowing like a mirror in the sun, and forgot everything around me but him. His skin beneath my fingertips was so soft and warm. His smile was straight, but yet imperfect in its own unique way. I felt like melting to jelly.
“Am I interrupting something?” Rihanna asked, surprising us both.
Our heads shot up.
