I have decided to drift back over to the Romantic Fiction side. I am too frustrated with fantasy right now.
Chapter 1: Meet-n-Greet
“I love you.”
He was walking up the steps to his new home with a brown box in hand. His dark blue jeans dropped effortlessly over his magical curves. I watched his arm muscles seep from his off-white shirt and I knew, one day, those hands would be wrapped around my slender waist.
He was seventeen and I was sixteen, but we were both juniors in high school. He moved from Washington, and I had lived in California all my life. The thought that a boy as beautiful as he would ever stroll down my block had never crossed my mind. And the fact that he lived across the street from me seemed completely insane.
Everything about him amazed me. His short brown hair with perfect matching eyebrows, his bright blue eyes that were as dark as the sky, lit up by shining stars and a crystal moon. His perfect V-shaped figure. The way his jeans ended at the perfect area so that the tongues of his shoes could see daylight. And most of all, how happy he was; even though he was new. Even though he had left his friends, moved into a small town hidden behind two large cities, he smiled, and laughed. Oh, every time he laughed my eyes would widen and the little blonde hairs on the back of my neck would pop up like daisies. And every time he peeked over in my direction, hoping for a smile or a friendly wave, all I could do was stare, so awestruck that he had made time to look at me.
“Katrina! Come inside, please. It’s getting cold outside.” She was right. I looked at my arms that were covered in soft tiny bumps. I took one last look at my love unloading the moving truck then walked inside my house.
“What were you doing out there?” My burly father looked up from the television for a mere second to patronize me before tilting his head back to Home Improvement.
“Have you seen our new neighbors?” I asked, sitting across from my father in our brown leather chair, peering up at our forty-two inch flat screen, barely listening to Tim Allen’s attempt at comedy.
“Yeah, I spoke to Christopher, the husband. You know,” he sat up in his seat and focused his attention on me, suddenly interested. “They have a son who is about you age.”
My heart screamed with joy, but I instructed my face to remain casual. “Define ‘about.’”
“Seventeen. But, he is your year in high school. Junior, was it?” My father smirked. I hated his cocky jokes. They always seemed more demeaning than funny.
“Yes. I am a junior in high school.” I rolled my eyes back to the television, hoping the conversation would end. But, of course, his attention remained on our new neighbors.
“And, Honey?” My mother poked her head out of the kitchen, a whole uncooked chicken in her hands. Her wide gray eyes gestured for him to continue. “We won’t be needing that
chicken. They invited us over for dinner.”
The stroll up to my loves house was the longest in my short life. The brick steps that led to his white mansion seemed to hint existence of the shadowy depths of Hell. The black railings seemed like bars keeping me from escaping back to the safety of my innocent home.
But, there was no turning back now. The lovely blonde wife Paige opened their white door, which seemed to represent my surrender, and welcomed us in to their empty home. The light-wood floors contained no sign of furniture, only boxes, and more boxes, lined the
hallways. Several pictures of their son through the years, and an occasional family photo were hung on the walls. We walked straight to the kitchen, which was well at work. I smelt stew brewing on the black stove, and bread heating in the oven.
A table was set for six, four large plates and two smaller ones next to each other. I gulped, imagining the dinner. My sloppy fingers dropping food over my green sweater, my mouth covered with stew, and my elbows landing in his plate, which was next to mine. Eating in front of boys my age was always such a large event. I hated it.
“Welcome to our home. I’m Paige, this is Christopher,” She pointed to her husband who was strolling into the kitchen from upstairs, his son following. “And this is James.” She wrapped manicured hands around her son’s tall shoulders. He was dressed in a blue collar shirt and the same dark jeans he had before. And, even though dressed casual, he seemed to shine more than anyone else in the room. I blushed, hoping no powers like mindreading existed.
“Hello, thank you for inviting us over. My name is Earl,” my father shook hands with Christopher. “This is my lovely wife Mells, short for Molly, and my daughter Katrina.”
“I like to be called Ina.” I smiled at our hosts.
“Not Kat?” James had his head tipped slightly to the left, his eyes were half closed- or half opened- and a little smile spread across the right side of his sculptured face.
“No, Ina. I don’t want my name to be associated with cats.”
“What’s wrong with cats?” His mother barked out in a desperate, manly voice.
“Eh, Ina is allergic.” My mother stepped in front of me and placed a hand on my arm.
“Well,” Paige trotted past us and up the stairs, informing us in a slightly louder
voice, “I’ll just put Mr. Whiskers in our room.”
I stared at her in amazement. No one has ever defended herself so rudely towards me. Every adult I grew up around treated me like an adult and respected my high-class upbringing and clean manners.
And then, I heard James laughing and felt him looking at me. A night I would never forget.
