Lera Thatcher. She doesn't usually fall for people. She's a daydreamer, and loves to find the best in every situation.
Christian Laurence. He's irrational, impulsive and a friend of Lera's older brother.
He's been hanging around for years, becoming...
"I know that, I'm just saying, in all the years I've known you, I've never seen you carry so much as a heavy schoolbag on your back." True, but that's only because I like to protect my spine from unnecessary weight.
I sigh at his growing smirk.
"Fine, whatever, just, help me find them and then we can get out of here." I reply, his grin only intensifying at the fact that he's won. For now.
We continue to rifle through the piles of junk in the store room, (someone really needs to clean this out) until we finally find the chairs. Christian hoists 2 chairs under his arm leaving me with only one, ignoring my protests.
We turn around, and begin walking to the door. The closed door. Huh, Christian must've closed it on his way in. I try and turn the handle, only to find it... locked. My eyes fill with fury, and I flip my head around to look up at him.
"Did you close this door?" I ask.
"Yeah, why. I thought I'd give us some much needed privacy." he replies, wiggling his eyebrows at me.
"Well that's just great, except did you lock it too?"
He knits his eyebrows together in confusion, as I purse me lips together.
"No, well, not intentionally anyway."
I groan, dropping the chair and sinking onto the floor.
"Hey, it's fine, we'll just, bang on the door and call for help or something," he says, dropping his chairs and looking down at me.
"Christian," I reply, raising an eyebrow, "I can hear the hottest hits of the 70's blasting from their speakers from here, they're not coming to find us until their asses get tired and they need these chairs to sit on."
He thinks for a minute, before lowering his body to sit on the floor opposite to me. We stay silent for a minute, looking anywhere but at each other. He breaks the silence first.
"So, whatcha thinking about?"
I sigh, considering which point I could start out with.
"Uh, so I'm stuck in a shed which is probably roaming with 100 year old bugs, I'm cold because I forgot to bring a singular sweatshirt, across the room from the person who hates me the most in the world while I'd much rather be dancing to the ABBA out there." I say, massaging the migraine I feel coming on.
He doesn't reply, and for some reason I find myself feeling worried. Did I hurt his feelings? Hold on, why do I care if I hurt his feelings. Good riddance.
I hear him sigh before I feel him tapping my shoulder. I open my eyes to see him standing above me, holding out the sweatshirt he was only just wearing.
"What's this for?" I ask, confusion etched across my face. He shrugs his shoulder slightly and replies.
"Well, first of all" he mimics, "You said you were cold, and that you wanted to dance. So put this on, and stand up," he thrusts the sweatshirt into my arms before extending his other hand. I begrudgingly take his hand, and he pulls me up towards his body. The force of his pull makes me accidentally fall into his chest, and I quickly step back, pulling the sweatshirt over my head. Unfortunately, my head gets stuck in the hole of the sweatshirt. As if this couldn't get any worse.
And now he's laughing at me. Great.
"Do you want to help instead of just laughing at me?" I yell at him.
He continues laughing as he pulls the sweatshirt through my head. Bad idea. We're close again. He's looking down at me, with his trademark grin spread across his face. Why is he looking at me like this? Why hasn't he moved his head. Why haven't I moved my head.
I quickly turn to walk towards the other side of the shed, but his hand catches mine.
"Come on, you said you wanted to dance, didn't you?" he says.
"In all the years I've known you, I've never seen you dance, so it's fine, we don't have to..." I'm cut off as he starts to dance. Badly. His hand, still connected to mine sways in a different rhythm to his hips, which are swinging from side to side. I burst out laughing and can't seem to stop myself.
"You want dance, so we'll dance! Come on, I look stupid here!" he says, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.
He looks desperate, so I join in, copying his unnatural looking moves.
In no time, we're both swaying around the shed, completely lost in our own world to the sound of 'Waterloo'.
Wait, why isn't he teasing me? Or, trying to put a bug down the back of my, no, his sweatshirt. Or, being a pain in the neck?
Almost as if he can read my thoughts, he bends slightly to whisper in my ear.
"Lera, who said I hate you?" a small smile dancing on his lips as I look at his eyes in alarm.
"I... I just..."
"Shhhh," he shushes me. "No need to answer". Hold on, I'm confused.
A banging on the door, startles me out of his grasp.
"Are you kids still in there!"
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A/n:
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Thanks again for reading!
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