Chloe Morgan is your average teenager.
However, with her sarcastic comebacks, cynical attitude, and the tendency to push everyone away, it seems like the last thing she wants is to surround herself with friends and enjoy the rest of her summer vaca...
I stare at the horizon of the ocean, the moonlight reflecting on the surface and causing it to glitter like diamonds. I love coming to the beach at night, there's something so serene about the darkness and the soft movement of the waves. I think I can even go as far as to say the ocean is more beautiful after the sun has gone down.
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I bury my feet in the sand, wiggling my toes underneath the pebbles and broken seashells. I'm leaning back on the palms of my hands comfortably. I thought ahead by bringing pillows and my favorite quilted blanket to relax on. Surely, this evening couldn't get any more perfect.
Suddenly, I hear faint footsteps approaching me. I turn around and see none other than Casper, with his hands in his pockets and the hood of his jacket pulled up over his head. He's wearing dark grey, plaid pajama pants and a pair of dirty Converse sneakers but somehow he still looks amazing. He smiles and waves at me bashfully.
When he arrives at where I'm sitting, he looks down at me, "Hey," he says quietly.
"Hey, yourself," I respond nonchalantly.
He hesitates for a moment, "Can I sit with you?"
I shrug. He grins widely and plops down on the blanket next to me, "What are you doing here at this hour of the night?" he questions, "Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"I'm nocturnal," I reply before glancing over at him, "What about you? Don't you have anything better to do?"
"Now that I'm here with you, I certainly don't," he chuckles softly and his eyes seem to have a slight twinkle in them, "Fancy seeing you again."
"I wouldn't call it fancy," I retort, "Instead, I'd say untimely."
Casper sighs, although he still maintains his smile. He stares at me and scrutinizes like he's solving a complex mathematical equation, "I can't figure you out," he admits, "No matter how nice I am to you, it's never enough to receive even the smallest smile," he shakes his head and his curly ringlets bounce loosely, "You must think I'm some obnoxious loser."
"I'm not saying you're a loser," I dispute briefly, "I'm just saying you're really hard to like."
He makes a slightly confused expression, "I can't tell if that's an insult or not."
"It's open to interpretation," I suggest apathetically.
Casper views the ocean in front of us. The pleased look on his face makes me think he enjoys it nearly as much as I do. At least, when I'm enjoying it alone. He exhales deeply as if he's releasing all the heavy thoughts that were weighing down on his lungs. He turns to me and says, "Let's pay a game."
