Manipulative Attraction

1. ⚛️ Sunlight, Sunbright

What is all that noise?

In big, bright-blue digits, Jeannie Jones's alarm clock spelled out seven thirty-five in the morning. Jeannie rolled over with a groan, grimacing at the half-light that filtered through her gauzy curtains.

The sun hasn't even shown its face properly yet, she thought.

Had she mistakenly picked the wrong area to live? A place where noisy neighbors gave little to no consideration about waking others early in the morning?

Classes for her dual medical and biological sciences degrees began on Monday. She'd hoped to sleep in, her last day to do so until ... only who knew when.

Not so it seemed. Not with all that noise going on.

Jeannie had meticulously researched several areas before deciding where to live. The demographic statistics showed the neighborhood she'd settled on had a mixture of retirees and empty-nesters.

That translated into no loud student parties to interrupt her studying. No cars blasting rock 'n' roll or rap music as they drag raced through the streets, and above all no squealing children.

Jeannie liked kids, but not the squealing kind. And definitely not the squealing-early-in-the morning kind.

However, the voices below her bedroom window didn't sound like children. They sounded young—around her age—and male. One even had a Southern accent which would have been charming, under the right circumstances.

Jeannie lived in an all brick four-plex within walking distance to her university. Since moving in last week, she'd made the rounds and had come to know the other tenants.

Ms. Cox, a retired teacher, occupied the 1B apartment. Judge Winston, a cantankerous but helpful man in his eighties, lived in 1A.

A student who also attended the Uni rented the apartment across from her. Jeannie had looked forward to meeting him as she hoped he would show her the ropes. Unfortunately, he'd moved out before she could ask him.

The landlord, an ancient, diminutive lady from China by the name of Ms. Cheng, told Jeannie the last tenant had vacated the apartment with a new dweller renting it the same day.

"Too bad," Ms. Cheng said, snatching up Jeannie's rent check from her desk and fisting it in her wrinkled hand. Ms. Cheng gave her a fake sorrowful look then scrutinized the check for errors. "Better breeze in the other apartment. Could've had that one instead."

Ms. Cheng let out a small schoolgirl giggle behind her teeth. "Too late for you," she said merrily, dropping Jeannie's check into her desk drawer and then slamming it shut.

The noise, like gunfire from a shotgun, rung out in the small office and Jeannie had jumped in fright at the sound. Ms. Cheng had giggled again and then locked the drawer with a twist of a little silver key. She ten made it disappear into the folds of her small jacket like a white rabbit into a magician's hat.

The occupant of 2A is moving in today. Just great, Jeannie thought with a deep frown on her face.

Thumping and loud talking from the men floated down the hallway, slipping under her door. The pillow over Jeannie's ears did little to drown out the voices.

Someone called Dalton asked someone called Quentin not to forget the hammer in his car. Quentin then told another someone called Thorne to hurry with the last load of boxes so they could unload the furniture and put up the pictures.

Pictures

Hammer

Noise

Oh, hell no.

Jeannie hopped straight up. Her purple baby-doll top and coordinating purple and cream boy-shorts bunched up in all the wrong places. As the noise receded to the street, Jeannie removed the offending material from her cracks and crevices, cautiously approaching the window.

A stocky guy (Quentin?), with short brown hair and I'm-hot-and-I-know-it lopsided grin, closed the passenger side door of the newest Shelby Mustang. Mr. Stocky clutched a hammer tightly in his fist. He wore a gray T-shirt with the Uni logo—a chemistry beaker full of liquid with three symbols—Pi, an atom, and a compound chain floating above the top.

Mr. Stocky stopped in front of a tall guy with shaggy black hair (Dalton?). Tall Guy had the look of a rock star about him. Long and lean. Dark and mean. He had a tattoo sleeve on his right arm and the grin of the devil graced his lips.

Mr. Stocky raised the hammer and made a swinging motion at Tall Guy who dodged the swipe easily. Tall Guy then broke out into a fit of braying laughter that was loud enough to wake everyone in the city.

Mr. Southern Accent said, "Hush" from the back of a small moving van. The two disturbers of the peace immediately stopped their horsing around and snapped to attention.

Well, at least they follow orders, Jeannie thought. Let me see what this last noisy idiot looks like so I can give a good description to the police when I call them.

At that moment, the sun peeked through the clouds, shining its warm rays on the one and only Hawthorne Gable as he stepped from behind the doors of the moving van.