Lydia was slumped over on the bus stop bench, her headphones blasting some cassette she had made, all of her favorite songs were on it. Every kid in Beacon Hills High School was impressed her ability to tape a full song, without missing a beat or skipping in the sound. She was kind of the black-market tape dealer to her friends. Her love of music was what she was known for around school. The reason she was at this bus stop in this very moment was because of music. She was here to catch the bus to the record store, it was the annual sale on all their cassettes. If she wanted to get the good tapes, she had to leave early, really early.
Because she had to leave so early, Lydia was on her way to dozing off to The Cure as she waited for the bus. Although the seat was far from comfortable and the bus was less than fifteen minutes away, Lydia could barely keep her eyes open. Locks of copper hair fell in front of her face as she leaned even more into the arms of oncoming sleep. She was humming to herself in time with the music playing from her Walkman; one of the only personal music players that was owned in Beacon Hills (Lydia was lucky her Dad was a doctor, it brought in the money for all of her music-related purchases).
I kissed her face, and kissed her head. And dreamed of all the different ways I had to make her glow.
" The Cure ?" Lydia heard a voice inquire from beyond her world of music and napping. It was so distant she might of missed the words being voiced if they had been spoken even a second later. Lydia's reply was a half-assed grumble that could be determined as a form of saying yes.
"Let me guess, you're a fan of Depeche Mode ?" The voice spoke back, Lydia made another grumbling noise, this time a clear indication of a 'no', "Are you also a fan of not speaking? Are you just make an incoherent noise to everything I ask?" Lydia shrugged her shoulders annoyed by all the inquiries this person was making.
"I can speak, I was choosing not to speak to annoying boys at the bus stop. Would you prefer that I didn't answer back at all?" Lydia's intentional sarcasm and sass was made clear in the tone of her voice. She moved her hands up to the headphones around her ears, and placed them around her neck. Afterwards resuming the more comfortable position of her shoulders hunched, arms crossed, still avoiding to make eye contact with the guy next to her, " Depeche Mode is okay, I think that Duran Duran is better than either The Cure or Depeche Mode combined."
"Great, see, now we're having a real conversation. Let me tell you, it's rad to hear words actually escape from your mouth, rather than grunts. I think that I'd like to continue to hear you answer with words, rather than no answer at all." She could hear how smug he thought he was just from his voice. Seemed like a real prick. "Really? You know who tops all of them? Tiffany."
"Conversation's are... great..." Lydia muttered unenthusiastically, finally opening her eyes to take a peek at what this mysterious boy could look like. He was wearing a varsity jacket, a navy and white striped t-shirt, ripped jeans, and black converse. He wasn't too bad looking, by Lydia's standards - his eyes were a deep auburn, they almost looked like one of the bottles of whiskey from her Dad's "expensive" liquor (the stuff Lydia wasn't allowed to bring out during parties); his hair was darker, wispy, boyish, cute. The rest of his face had the same cheeriness and childishness of his personality. Lydia was taken aback by his seemingly attractive looks. She had expected him to look like most of the other lanky, pimple-speckled, drooling boys at her high school. "Tiffany? You think Tiffany is better than Duran Duran ? Are you crazy? Just Like Heaven is so much better than I Think We're Alone Now ... Please tell me you're just kidding?" She looks at him in disbelief.
"Jeez, Red, you seriously think that Just Like Heaven is better than the top pop-hit of this decade? Wait, no, the top hit of this century !"
"Did you just call me 'Red'? And, you must be crazy... I mean... Sure, her song is catchy, but it's not as meaningful to me as Just Like Heaven ." Lydia wrinkled her nose in frustration towards this guy.
"Well, I don't know your name, so I might as well nickname you. I think a good name for you would be Red." He smirked again, all of his sly and charming personality shining through, "See, even you admit that Tiffany is catchy, that must mean something. Soon enough, I'll get you to admit your undying love for her music and pop-princess style."
"Let me guess, you nicknamed me based off my hair? How would you feel if I nicknamed you 'Brown'?" She more firmly crossed her arms, tilting her head gently to the side. "You'll never get me to revoke my allegiance to the British Rock genre. Never."
"No, I actually picked your name from the color of your lipstick; your 'Brown' nickname for me is quite shitty - pun not intended. Now, Red, you may say now that you won't give up on your English boy-bands, I know one day you'll realize that Tiffany is clearly the superior artist."
"Shit? Really? Are you twelve? If you don't want such a shitty nickname why don't you tell me your real one?" The expression gracing Lydia's face was pure amusement. Their silly argument had kept Lydia on her feet and she liked that. "God... I can't believe we're even having this argument. Clearly there is a winner of this battle, and that's me. I don't just like British 'boy-bands', I also think Bananarama 's pretty great, too - they're a girl band, still British."
"I may be twelve, but I've never met a twelve year-old this tall, have you?" He teased, his eyebrows raised to different levels, "When you were checking me out earlier somehow you missed this," The guy paused to point to the name printed under the large BH on his jacket, "Stiles, that's my name." His self-satisfied grin coming back into place. "Whatever, whatever. You win... I guess that I'll have to make you admit your love for Tiffany later." Stiles wagged his hand in the air nonchalantly, "I'm not gonna lie, Red. I was peeking at your Walkman and saw your name, too. Lydia is your name, right?"
"I wasn't checking you out! I just was making sure that you weren't some bus stop creeper." She rolled her eyes with vigor, how had she missed that small detail of his jacket? How had he been observant enough to get the name off her cassette player. "My name is Lydia, which I don't think you would've been smart enough to get the name off my cassette player unless you were checking me out."
"Sure, sure, you weren't checking me out, if you say so, Lydia." He could see a cherry-red blush vining its way up the side of her cheeks and to the tips of her ears. "I'll admit to checking you out, but I was only checking you out because I had to see if there was someone cuter than me hanging around this bus stop."
"I wasn't! And, it makes you a major creep to check out girls at a bus!"
"If I'm a major creep, than you're my fellow creep."
"I'm not a creep... I just was trying to see what you looked like... "
"Seeing what someone looks like could still be considered checking them out, right?"
"Well... Yes... But I wasn't looking at you with an agenda to see if you were attractive."
"Do you think I'm attractive?"
"Objectively, yes..." Before Lydia had to continue her anxious rambling the bus pulled up in front of the stop. The loud screech of the breaks snapping her away from the conversation. She stood up ready to enter the bus, "It's been a nice chat, but my ride's here."
"Aw shucks, I'd love to hear more about my 'objectively' attractive looks. I guess I'll just have to run into another person at the bus stop to tell me about them... Bye, Red." He waved as Lydia began to walk back towards the bus.
Lydia let out a frustrated sigh, stepping onto the bus. She walked towards the middle section and sat down, glad to finally have some peace and quiet. Finally time for her to fade back into her Walkman's music; she reached down to her jacket's pocket retrieve the device, but it wasn't there. Maybe she had placed it back in her bag while talking to Stiles? When she checked, it wasn't there either... Where could it have gone? That was her prized possession, her baby. If she had lost that, what would she use to listen to her personal tapes anymore?
Lydia scratched her head, trying to think of anywhere else on her person she could have left it. She banged her head against the bus window, causing the old lady standing in Lydia's row to look at the girl in concern: she must have left it at the bus stop... With Stiles...
