Mediocrity 50% [Brallon: Deja Vu, Book 1]

3

Taylor's house was relaxing, soothing, while still retaining some of the eclectic features of her personality in the decor, art, and various sentimental knickknacks placed around the house. She had an odd aversion to overhead, way too bright lights, so her home was almost entirely lit by lamps. It was painted mainly grayscale, with dark purple and red accents in her rugs and furniture. The art and her belongings were where all of the sunny, vibrant color lay. Spencer had helped her paint over the previous owners' periwinkle blue walls.

Her sitting room had purple curtains over the windows. There was a wine red rug on the painted white hardwood floor, where Brendon was sitting cross legged, fidgeting with the soft fabric of the rug. Taylor had a white couch, which all of her friends hated with a passion, because none of them trusted the others not to spill something on it. The walls were white, with black and gray polka dots painted over it. There were two armchairs, which everyone had passed up to either sit on the floor, or on top of the others, just to be annoying. That was the friend group way, after all.

Tyler and Josh had recently gotten back from their excursion to Texas to visit their friend Awsten with Geoff and Otto. The couch they were sitting on was too small for five people to sit on it, so Tyler was half on Josh's lap, to which Ryan and Brendon had shared a glance, then proceeded to snicker at. Their relationship status was ambiguous at best, and it had always been unclear if they were actually in a relationship, just friends, friend with benefits, or if some weird unrequited love thing was going on. Seeing them again, they were just as abnormally close as before. Since Tyler and Ryan were both teachers, and August had just begun, they both had a few weeks longer of summer to laze about inside, away from the California heat.

Jon's family reunion had ended and he was back with the rest of his friends. He loved his family, but he had this odd rivalry with his second cousins that he just could not explain. The rest of his family was pretty chill. His dad was the typical suburbian dad, who grilled barbecue and hosted block parties. Which, yes, meant that was the entirety of the cuisine at his great grandmother's house, where the reunion had taken place. They were biannual, which meant this was the first one Jon had attended while knowing Brendon. Jon, being so good with kids, was all of the family members under 15's favorite extended family member, and even some of the adults and older teenagers. He'd been compassionate even as a child. For a very long time, when he was still a little kid, he'd wanted to be a veterinarian, though as he got older, he'd wanted to help disenfranchised children, and thus became a social worker. He'd religiously studied the signs of suspect, abusive, and unstable behavior, and always denied any prospective parents that exhibited these bad signs. He wanted kids of his own, too.

Ryan was sitting on the edge of the couch, bent over, elbows on his knees, face cupped by his hands, staring at Taylor, who was sitting on the arm of the couch, towards his right. Spencer was next to him, toying with Brendon's hair absentmindedly, while listening to Taylor recount her recent gig in France.

She'd been sent to the countryside, to photograph villages and small towns. She worked for National Geographic, and the magazine was doing an issue on the French rural areas. Brendon hadn't seen the photos yet, because that's what she'd invited them over to do, but knowing her, they'd be stunning. She was amazing at photography, and, to be honest, Brendon was a touch envious of all of the places she got to go for her job. Think of all the possibilities! After college, he'd wanted to spend a year or two living in Italy, but that obviously hadn't panned out. Now he was a classic hasbeen who had no clue where his life was going, and had given up on any hope that he'd be successful. Just another failure who'd have to return to Alabama one day or another.

"Okay, so while I was in France," she began, skirting around saying the name of the town. She didn't want to butcher the pronunciation. While she'd been in France, she'd had her journalist friends do most of the talking for her. She could understand and read French, she just didn't trust herself not to pronounce the wrong thing the wrong way, and have another China situation on her hands. "I met this guy, who, yes, could speak English—"