I love long road trips. Taking pit-stops for food and having all the time to yourself. Playing personal music through headphones and keeping to myself is something I have always loved. That is until my brother has to interrupt me for a picture or post he thinks is funny. Which would be every 10 or so minutes. Sometimes I just ignore him or pretend to sleep. But he is a persistent guy.
We passed through cities, the country side, miles and miles of trees, and over water. So many different landscapes and sceneries. It's times like this that I start to think about the phrase "it's not about the destination, but the journey it takes to get there". In all honesty I have never connected with that saying. There's nothing better than accomplishing something or finishing a project. All the hard work sucks.
My gaze fixated on the unavoidable ocean in the distance. The blue contrasted with the just as bright shops, restaurants, and other buildings along the coast of the Atlantic. There wasn't a cloud amongst the sky in the sunny state of New Jersey. Lucky for me because maybe I'll actually stop being as white as a napkin after this trip.
I've always wanted to live in a city where you could walk everywhere. But I couldn't live alone.
"Do you know where we're going?" I shook my head at my brothers question without breaking my gaze out the window.
"We are going on a nice family vacation!" My mom said with slight irritation. I looked at my mothers reflection in the side mirror with squinty eyes. I pulled my head phones out and said, "Yeah, mom, with people I barely know."
She said, "Well you're going to have to make friends with him." I raised my eyebrows and sat up to lean over the middle console.
"Him? As in Michael?" Both of my parents answered with a laugh. I mumbled in annoyance at their childish reply as I sat back down.
We drove on a one way road, secluded from the city. The pavement slowly turned into gravel and sand while the trees turned into a field of tall grass. My dad turned right and there we saw a beach house with a large tree and tire swing. Where am I?
"Ashton what is this place?" He stayed silent and I assumed he was doing what I was, studying the house. We were in so much shock because my parents had never planned a vacation like this. It had always been to a hotel or resort. This seemed too out of the ordinary for them.
Neither me or my brother asked them why we were here. We just unpacked the car and wandered to the house. A white stained porch wrapped around the house. This looked like somebody's home, not a vacation house.
It didn't take long to find out where the rooms were. Up the stairs off the foyer. The first door I opened was a bathroom. Score! The bathroom was decorated with fish - clearly meant for children. But I am not one to complain because I love all the colors.
There were three other doors in this hallway; two on the right and one on the left. I opened the door across from the bathroom, immediately regretting it. Behind that door was a half naked boy with blue hair. He was in the middle of putting his shorts on when we both screamed. Seconds later he was on the ground.
"Did your voice just violently crack?" He asked. Not 'what are you doing?' Not 'why are you in here?' Not even 'Get out!'
"Yes," I mumbled. A laugh erupted from him as he stood. A loud, mocking laugh. He mumbled a few words I couldn't make out while he pulled his red socks on.
When he looked at me I saw the thin yet bushiness of his eyebrows and how his eyes were sunken in. His pale skin glowed against his dyed hair. A light stubble etched his chin and jaw. His lips were very pink; I've never seen anyone's so pink!
"Uh..." I said, scratching the back of my head. "I'm gunna just." I gestured to the left and shut the door behind me when I exited.
How great.
My room was an alright size, light and spacious. It faced the ocean and all I heard was the waves. On the right side was a door that I presumed led to a closet so, thinking nothing of it I opened it. I was greeted with a: What the hell? I looked up front the my hand on the knob and saw Michael holding his jaw and nose. I wondered: Did I hit him? Of course I did.
"I'm sorry! I thought it was a closet." My cheeks burned a furious red and I was hoping my tan would mask it. I stepped a half pace closer to him and asked if he was okay.
"The door hit me," He murmured. Blood trickled through this fingers and I knew it was bad. I must've hit his nose hard. The red liquid began to smear on his cheek.
"It's - uh. Your hand. Is red." I stuttered dumbly. A drop of blood fell to the floor when he moved to look at it.
"Nice." I couldn't tell if he was irritated, mad, or hated me. Blood continued to cover his hand. My brain was searching for something to do about it, but his piercing green eyes distracted me. Now I'm at a loss for words and what to do. Never did I think that someone staring at me could make me feel so out of place.
More blood fell and neither of us made a move to do something. Red trickled to the floor. I looked around for tissues, sighing when I didn't see any. Now what? On an impulse decision I pulled my shirt over my head and shoved it towards him. While I was doing that he had stepped back, shocked and confused.
"I need to see if it's broken, so tilt your head back." Not going to lie I felt bad for hitting him and if his nose is broken I'm screwed. Michael hesitantly grabbed the shirt. Instantly, blood rushed down to his top lip. More red.
I took a step closer and held his head in my hands. His pale green eyes watched my mirroring brown ones. Focusing on his nose and not his eyes was harder than you may think. It wasn't broken; no bruising or swelling. I just don't understand why-
"Hey, we gotta -" Ashton stood in the doorway with wide eyes and his mouth ajar. "What the hell is this?"
Michael slipped out of my grip while pressing my shirt to his nose. I stood there awkwardly, holding my arm behind my back.
"I am wearing a sports bra its fine, Ash" I tried to keep my voice calm so he wouldn't get out of control.
"Why is his nose bleeding?" I began to say something, but spoke louder. "Hit your pelvic bone too hard while ea-"
"Mate! Never in a million years would I ever even think about that. Geez..." A pang hit my stomach when he finished talking. I wondered what the feeling was. Maybe I'm hungry.
The three of us exchanged hard stares. It didn't look like any of us were planning on moving. So I took the first step.
"I hit him in the face," I bluntly said. "...with the door."
"I don't believe you." My brother folded his arms over his chest. "But we have to go eat so let's get out of here."
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We made eye contact again. In middle school I thought that was the highest deal of flirting, but now not so much. I cursed bad karma that I got seated directly across from him. On my way down stairs I told my self to avoid him; in big red, bold, underlined letters. That agreement has already been broken.
A foot rested on the side of my calf. What happened to wanting nothing to do with me? I paused briefly then continued to raise the fork to my mouth. The foot remained and I tried so hard to ignore it. Then he moved it toward my knee. Why does this boy even think footsie is cute?
I kicked him. Michael spit water onto his plate and caused a ruckus that got everyone involved. The only person that really knew what happened was Ashton. I couldn't keep the smirk off my lips even when I saw his disapproving face.
When everything had died down I noticed the time and ran outside without excusing myself.
