A/N:SO sorry for the lack of updates! actually writing the sequel to this story on an app, and its been taking up a lot of time. okay, on with the chapter....<3 This may be one of the most important chapters of all. so pay attention! jk, you dont have to if you dont want. But thanks a MILLION for reading and if you really like it, please vote. It would positively mean the world to me(: Any criticism is welcomed, so long as it's constructive<3
-Katie:)
I jogged home alone, to eager to get my ideas down on paper in order to hitch a ride from Zach. As I was rounding the corner of my street, I instantly spotted my bright apple-red house. My mom painted it from an elegant off-white, too that color two years ago, when I was almost 14. Ever since mom died, dad gave up his attempts to persuade me to let him repaint it. He hated the color, and I loved it to the fullest extent. It reminded me of my mom, her passionate ways, and how suddenly she was taken from me when I needed her most.
I practically ran up the driveway, which was strewn with mid-autumn leaves. My hair bobbed lazily behind me as I took the steps two at a time up to the giant entrance to my home. I missed the doorknob a few times when I tried to put my key in, but within a few minutes, I'm inside my room and getting out of my uniform and into some after-school clothes. I dressed casually, not expecting to see anyone but dad today. I choose a forest green pair of Converse to match my long-sleeve tee shirt, and the stripe that ran down the side of my jogging pants.
You should probably take for future reference that I'm a complete and total Chuck Taylor-Enthusiast, because its going to become very important. My closet had upwards of 20 shelves, all wrapping around the walls and leading up to the ceiling, which was two-stories high. On each of those shelves, there were at least one hundred pairs, neatly settled next to each other to form a rainbow effect. I've never had to wear the same pair twice since I was 13... Just to give you an idea of the mass-quantity they were in. Anyways, back to the story.
I tied my mop of mocha curls into an extremely loose braid, dug through my book-bag for my songbook, found a pen, and burned rubber high-tailing out of the back door of that house. I sprinted across the immaculately trimmed, green lawn, not caring that I was splashing through mud and gathering it on my shoes. My lawn was octagonal, huge, fenced in all white, with the occasional pine tree that was evenly spaced and neatly groomed. There was a large flower garden in the farthest right corner from the house, and behind that was about thirty feet of land that we owned and the maple trees there were spaced closely together. Near the very back of that piece of land, at the base of the rose trellis that separated our property and the people who lived behind us, was a tiny clearing that the sun always seemed to catch in the perfect way, and the grass always grew greener there than you'd ever see anywhere else. The snow that fell there glistened in the most breath-taking fluorescent way, the leaves turned just the brightest shades of red and gold. Damn, even rainclouds parted over the thing too make way for the sun to shine. My secret place.
My dad didn't know about this little place of mine. He was always either too busy to care, and let's face it, he wasn't the smartest to begin with. My dad had a busy social life because he was a lot younger than most fathers of near 16 year olds,- only 33. He was always there for me, but he was out a lot, due to his job, as he was a succesful lawyer. Mom did a good job of keeping my secret place a secret from him, too. I would always dissapear there when I was little, and I named it my secret place, im case you hadn't guessed. Because my mother and I were the only ones who knew the clearing even existed.
It was gorgeous all-year-round, decorated with either green grass, new flowers, glistening snow, or in this time of year, fiery orange, gold, and red leaves. Perfect place to hang out, just think, sing a song, or, hell, have a date. But the only way I ever used it was to write music or just escape from people. Because I hate people. So a date was an unfamiliar thing to me.
Never a boy in my life. Only my current best friend Zach, and my good friend Alex. But even Alex had drifted away after junior high and I rarely ever spoke with him anymore. And nothing romantic was about to happen with either of those morons, anyway.
Of course a lot guys were just kind of there in my life, but I wouldn't even go so far as to call them friends.You see, being head cheerleader and star QB, Kennedy and Zach were at the height of the social food-chain, and even though I was their best friend, it didn't mean a thing for my popularity status. I was the quiet type, shy, I thought just a little bit too much due to my colorful imagination, and I acted like I couldn't be bothered to talk to someone other than my two besties. What person wants to hang around with a girl who can't even care enough to keep a conversation going? A lot of hopefuls followed Ken and Zack around, so I was always surrounded by people, mostly guys and desperate chicks. Silent, but surrounded nonetheless.
Sometimes my mom would sit with me in my secret place and talk about life, when she was alive to talk about it. We used to call each other our diaries, because we told each other everything. Her miscarriage at age 26 that pained her so much that she made me promise not to tell my father, my over-active imagination, dad's inability to accept his "vibrant" house, school, work...
Everything.
But she's gone now, and I don't talk to anyone about the things I used to talk to her about. It all stays bottled up inside me, or like now, out on paper and in my canary-like voice being carried across the wind. I'm a songwriter, singer, musician, virtuoso, whatever you want to call me. Piano is my strongest instrument to play, but I could pick up anything and play a song that would make you want to cry till you ran yourself dry. I have emotion behind my music, the kind of emotion a mother might have for her child. And there I sat in my secret place on that warm autumn afternoon and sang my music/child/love of my life with all my might.
I had been working on a song all day at school, and I'd been itching to get home since I'd finished writing everything at lunchtime. I would only try out a song for the first time when I was in the secret place as sort of a tribute to the place where my mother's presence still lingered most.
Usually, a song would take weeks or months to finish, but this song was different. It came about in one random strain of though. It was finished nearly without any thought at all and it flowed so cleanly and sweetly off of my lips that I didn't bother to think about anything, and I let myself get absorbed so completely. But then...
"Hey," said probably one of the most addicting voices in the world.Throaty. Heavy Britsh accent. The simple word already had me yearning inside for him to say more. I stopped singing and looked up.
There, his sculpted arms crossed over the trellis in order to stay up, was a guy. Not just any guy, but the guy with the most absolutely and positively stunning and heart stopping face in the world. And I'm not the kind of person who usually notices people at all. My mouth hung open in shock for quite some time before he raised a dark eyebrow and said more beautiful words.
"Uhm, I heard singing, or at least i think I did. If im not imagining things, was it you? Because it was utterly fantastic," he said.
"Yes it was me," I replied in a small voice. He grinned, exposing perfect, straight, pearly teeth.
I couldn't help but lick my lips at least once.
He pretended not to notice my salivation. "Well, you heard me before. Utterly fantastic. You have a real talent, you know. And such a pretty face," Now I'm the one with a grin. No one has ever called me pretty before. Not even family. "Would you mind if I sat with you?' he said, "Trellises are only so comfortable, you know."
"Sure, sit if you want to," I said. WTF? Is this me, or did Oprah or Doctor Phil or someone tap into my brain and make me say that?! I am Daph, and I don't talk to guys. I barely even talk to girls. So why am I inviting this incredibly gorgeous stranger GUY to sit with me in my back yard? Questions I don't really want the answer to.
So he climbed over the trellis and settled himself across from me so that we faced eachother. And I couldn't stop myself from licking my lips again. This boy better like staring contests, because baby, I'd always win.
He was tall. Perfectly tall. Lean, too, with a body that was nothing short of a work of art. He had dark brown hair that was almost black. It wasn't quite shaggy, and not quite spiky, but it seemed like it would be a fricken' joy-ride to run your fingers through. He had a square jaw and a strong chin, and there was the slightest tan to his smooth complexion, so he was a little bit darker than my pale self. The crook of his neck looked like the perfect shape to rest my forehead. His lips were so elegantly shaped and the palest pink. They looked like they would form to mine seamlessly, and could produce the kind of kisses you'd pay big money for.
But his eyes are what got me. The brightest green you could ever think up. Like emeralds or parsley, but still even more brilliant. And they shown so bright that I swear that stars must be jealous of this boy. When I looked into his eyes, I truly thought I was flying, like my body had left the ground and wasn't going to ever come back. Those emeralds poured his soul out for me, right before my own cinnamon-brown orbs. They told the story of his life, and then somehow story of my own life in just a few seconds. They bore deeply into me and I found myself having to look away from him for a minute because I can't find a word to say. I felt self-concious. Is my braid too messy? my All Stars too dirty? Now I wished I'd have dressed up a little bit more than I had.
"Uh, Emund Richards. And you are...?" He said, trying to introduce himself, but his eyes had already beat him to it.
"Daph Wryder," I timidly put out my hand for him to shake. When he took it up in his warm one and kissed my knuckle gently, I whimpered just a little. I was right about the lips. They made me tingle. And I'd give anything for another little moment of contact with him."Noticed your uniform..." I said, looking away again. He was wearing the dress shirt and tie with a navy blue sweater over it -the sleeves were rolled up a little bit past his elbow which exposed his muscular forearms, and also made me melt like cheese- that all the guys had to wear to school.
"Oh, yeah. First day at the new school. Just moved over from England, but you could probably tell that on your own," he said with a chuckle.
"Hehe, yeah," I said with a smile.
"I saw you around at school today. I thought of making an introduction and all then, but I couldn't find the time. From what I observed, you seem like the quiet type. Am I right?" he said. He observed me?
And then I felt like I could tell that boy anything. He guessed what people couldn't figure out for years. He even seemed to embrace it.
"Very right, Edmund. You seem outgoing. But still the quiet type, too. Deep. Insightful. Am I right?" I said to him.
"Very right... Daph, you said your name was?" I Nodded. "Well again, that song was amazing. I hard it all the way from my house, and I'm a sucker for a good song," Edmund, will you please marry me? "So I decided to come check it out. Who wrote it, by the way?"
"I did." I said, and I could feel myself blush.
I watched his reaction play out on his face before he spoke up. "Wasn't expecting that one... You write and sing? That's awesome," he gave me a knuckle-touch. "Would you mind singing again? Please, just for me?" He grinned again and inched a tad closer to me, so how could I say no? My songbook was still open on my lap, so I handed him my pen and began to sing. I watched him closely, too afraid I'd stumble a bit in the notes, and I did a little bit. But he just grinned more and patted my knee when I didn't want to go on anymore, and that got me to sing it again. Twice.
When I closed off the last bar, he looked like he was at a loss for words. " Blimey," Oh, how I fudging LOVE that accent. "Daph, that was amazing. You're just too beautiful and amazing to be human, so I'm going to call you Angel from now on." And I think that implied that he wants to see me again?
"Okay, Edmund." I giggle. Which I never do. So this boy is special.
We exchanged small talk and mild flirting for the next two hours. I asked him questions about England because I've always wanted to go. He tells me he's from London. He asked me about school and what to expect, why about thirty girls asked for his number, and why one of them was trying to smell him. we ended up on the subject of music. I told him about Lupe Fiasco and all my inspirations, and he told me about his favorite bands. Apparently he's skilled at guitar, which made the back of my neck warm when he told me.
"Ah, dang. I've got to leave now. What period do you have first thing tomorrow, Angel?" He said, pulling a BlackBerry out of his pocket and checking the time.
"P.E. You?" I feel deflated inside to hear that he's leaving me until tomorrow.
"P. E..." We both smile. "I Guess I'll see you tomorrow then. It was nice meeting you. I hope we'll become friends?" He said with another kiss on my knuckles. I smiled again in reply and he climbed back over the trellis and was gone as soon as he came. Like the sun washed away and clouds take over my day.
Wait. WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?