"I believe in hate at first sight," -Marilyn Manson
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June 30th, 2013 - Zoey Willow Hunter.
SUMMER LOVE was stupid. I never really believed in all the talk about falling for someone in less than a few months. It was unreal, the idea of committing to someone you barely knew; someone who, somehow, managed to turn your entire world upside down. Everything about it was silly.
When you fall in love, it happened with someone that took your breath away just by seeing them smile, because you knew every curve, every stop, every street on their body and soul. And you were prepared to face the obstacles that came along with it, you dedicated a part of your heart to them. They wrote their name on it with a permanent marker.
Pedaling at an average speed, I took a look at the segway by my side and smiled. Mr Walters was humming one of my personal favorite songs, I'm Yours by Jason Mraz. He never grew old, no matter how gray his hair was. No matter how much life spun by, he stayed the same.
We simultaneously stopped our, as I liked to call, vehicles in front of the Johnsons'. I took the heavy blue backpack off, and opened it, searching for the letter J through the flood of neatly placed envelopes.
"Ah, there you go!" I said under my breath, handing Mr. Walters three envelopes with the titles to Mr or Mrs Johnson typed on the face of. He opened the mailbox and placed them inside. The old mailman gave me a grin, which I returned. He lift his hand up, and our hands clashed in a high-five.
"Only three more houses to go, and then it's Haribos time!" He exclaimed, getting on his segway again. Silvercrest had almost 200 habitants, and that was including the little kids or babies. So, there were only about 40 houses. I shook my head disapprovingly at Walters.
"You're getting too old for Haribos," I chuckled. We continued along the road.
"You're never too old for a candy."
We repeated the same cycle of delivering mail. Me carrying and giving him the mail, him placing it in the mailbox, and the high-five in the end. On days where life didn't treat us as well as we would've liked, neither of us spoke or celebrated any of it.
"Poor Bea," I murmured, referring to his wife. He smiled at the mention of her, and waved me off.
"She loves me no matter what, and no matter what shape I'm in," He patted his slightly sticking out belly.
For his age, Harry Walters wasn't a very huge. I mean, unlike the other 55 year old men, his stomach wasn't the size of a watermelon. And, I knew that no matter the amount of junk food he ate, he'd never get fat. Although, I still liked teasing him about his candy obsession even if he and I would share bags of candy every Friday.
After years of this routine, my mom had grown tired of scolding me, but she didn't really mind. It was all her fault for baking goodies. And, plus, having a fast metabolism helped on not blowing up. Aside from home, my bike was always with me. I burned whatever ruined my body with ease.
As we slowed down in front of the Petersons', I glanced at the next and last house in confusion. A truck was placed in front of the house, and two men were carrying boxes in and out. This rang a bell, but I wasn't entirely certain.
"These the newbies?" I asked, taking a look at Walters.
He shrugged."Yeah, they were supposed to come a week ago, but they came this weekend. I thought you would've known," He explained, taking the mail from me and placing it in the box. A wide grin plastered itself on his face as he took something from the box. He showed me what was in his hands, getting a squeal out of me.
It was a transparent bag with a packet of M&M's and Haribos'.
Mrs. Peterson knew that I loved those.
In a lightning speed, I grasped the bag from him and took the heavenly chocolate M&M's in my hands. Walters chuckled at my childish behavior, as he kissed the bag of Haribo's. I opened the bag, savored the taste of five red ones, and forced myself to put the packet in my bag. As much as I loved those rainbow colored balls of magic, I hated working and eating at the same time. It distracted me.
"THANK YOU!" I screamed at the top of my lungs towards the house opposing to me. Mrs. Peterson's kind face appeared in the window, as she gave me a wink and a thumbs-up.
"Tell Sadie that I say hello!" I cried out, referring to her 8 year old daughter whom I babysat from time to time.
I turned to Walters, who was already on his segway, the open package of Haribo's sticking out from his pocket. He popped a red one in his mouth and then ushered for me to go. I nodded and got on my bike.
"Wait a sec, but how didn't I know about them coming?" I asked, mainly to myself. What happened this weekend?
Oh, right.
I swore, sometimes, I had a memory worse than Dory in Finding Nemo.
The events of last Saturday and Sunday came back rushing to me. As Friday had been the last day of school for Silvercrest High School. The entire junior class went on a trip to Niagara Falls for the weekend. Now, when I said entire class, which might've seemed like a lot of students, but considering there were only about fifty students in the school, I doubted 20 junior teenagers were a lot of people. Less than a half of them were considered my best friends, the people I shared everything with. We were more like a family than anything else.
Arriving after a four hour bus ride at midnight didn't grant me much time to receive information from Skye, the blonde wonder I had no choice but to call my sister.
Pedaling for a few moments, I stopped in front of the last house. Men were carrying brand new furniture from the truck. I recognized the symbol on it as Baroque's. My eyes widened in surprise. Baroque's stuff were always expensive, especially in Ontario.
A man, edging towards his forties, walked towards Walters and I. He addressed us with a huge smile, and I couldn't help but notice that he had a foreign look. Probably not Canadian or American.
"Hello! I'm James Forrest," He greeted, with an accent that I identified as English.
Just because I lived all of my life in a tiny, almost non-existent town didn't mean that I never watched any Harry Potter movies. I mean, who hasn't watched the best eight consecutively made movies ever made?
"Welcome to our little town, I'm Walters, your favorite mailman," finished Walters, chuckling. I elbowed him jokingly, and he rolled his eyes.
"Actually, I'm the best mail girl you've ever seen. I'm Zoey," I shook Mr. Forrest's hand with a welcoming smile.
"As if, we all know who the best here is," scoffed the old man. I replied with a grimace. Walters stuck his tongue out at me.
Sometimes, I forget that he's an old man in his fifties.
"Would you like some help?" I offered, the sight of boxes on the grass catching my eye. They looked light enough, and as I was involved in every sport the town had to offer, I was pretty sure they wouldn't be heavy.
"Um, no, I think my son will take care of everything. Besides, I'm certain that you still have mail to deliver and it would be inappropriate and impolite of me to let a girl carry heavy boxes." He hesitated, running a hand through his gray streaked hair at the mention of his son.
"No, really, I insist. We're done for the day anyway," I sneaked a glance at Walters for affirmation, and he nodded.
"Well, if you really want to. Just be careful, alright? And don't put the boxes any further than the living room, I don't want to tire you," He gave in, still unsure about that decision.
"Don't worry, I'll be fine," I reassured him, while Walters gave me a one sided hug as a goodbye.
I headed for the boxes, and took one that seemed averagely sized. I carried it to the house, and entered through the open door. The living room was completely empty, except for the boxes which were everywhere.
Sighing, I placed the one in my hands beside one of the piles and headed to take another one.
Halfway through the path back to the truck, I was mentally playing a game of White Blocks or Death, you know, the one where you only have to step on certain colors on the floor because the rest of the blocks are on "fire"?
Ah, I understood myself.
My eyes were glued on the ground, and I had put all of my concentration into what I was doing. I was walking slowly, calculating every step.
"Shit," I murmured, I had almost stepped on a yellow square. Regaining my balance, I continued on.
Suddenly, I found myself on the ground. I grimaced, recalling what had happened. Something, or rather someone had bumped into me so hard that I'd fallen to the ground.
Ouch.
The path was burning with the heat from the sun. My rear end hurt from the effect from the fall. My head hurt from the sudden rush, but this was relieved by my heart's beat at the next seconds. When I saw him, my senses blurred.
His nose was straight, a bead of sweat sliding from his forehead. Green eyes were staring down at me, with no emotion at all. They studied me, a slight glint of curiosity in them. I recognized a teenage mischievousness in his eyes, the same that I had in my eyes when discovering something.
I instantly felt uncomfortable underneath his stare, and cursed myself. Exhausted from the weekend, I'd let my hair set loose and had chosen not to wear any make up at all.
Snap out of it.
I cleared my throat, and stood up, brushing dirt off my butt.
"Hey, I'm Zoey. What's your name? "I introduced myself, offering my hand to shake. He was probably Mr. Forrest's son. Or, at least, I hoped so.
The stranger looked at me from head to toe, and walked past me and towards the house. I heard a thud resonate on the ground from the huge box Forrest's son had been carrying.
I looked down at my hand, the one I'd offered for him, and let it fall to my side. I was confused, why had he been so hostile? He refused to apologize for making me fall, and ignored me when I asked for his name.
He went to take another box, completely ignoring me. I placed myself in front of him and put my hands on my hips. He sighed tiredly, and rolled his eyes at me.
"I think you owe me an apology."
He stared at me blankly, as the weight of the heavy-looking box in his hands seeming like a feather. A sleeveless white shirt reading Shut up clung to his body. I kept a stern look on my face.
"Hello? Are you deaf? You refuse to apologize for making me fall to the ground and you refuse to tell me your name."
He muttered something that sounded like: "Stupid Canadians." He had the English accent, even though I barely heard it.
And that's when he dropped the box and crossed his arms. He put on a fake cheery grin, revealing shiny, straight teeth.
"Hi, I'm Nico. And I'm super, super sorry for bumping into you. I just looove to bump into lunatics who have an obsession with the ground." He exclaimed in a giddy, high pitched voice. I felt a sharp pain in my cheeks, as he pinched them.
"Excuse me," I pushed his hands away, "what gives you the right to touch me like that?"
He looked away and continued putting up boxes.
"Being rude isn't really the best way to be friends, you know."
"And if you stopped annoying people, you might be a bit cute. "
I rolled my eyes, "at least I'm not an asshole, eh?"
Nico's nose crinkled and he turned away. He continued unpacking, ignoring my presence. Frustration bubbling in my throat, I released a collection of hushed insults. I apologized to Mr. Forrest quickly and got on my bike, thoughts clouded.
Sorry Nico Forrest, I wasn't Taylor Swift.
I was definitely not enchanted to meet you.