"He's cute."
My eyes shifted upwards from the transparent contents of my glass, my face breaking into a grin as they landed on the focus of her gaze.
"Sure," I scoffed into my glass, "if you're looking for someone to kneel beside you in the nursing home."
My best friend, Vic, turned to look at me, her jaw dropping in mock-surprise, "That's shallow. So what, then? What are you looking for?"
I raised my eyebrow, "What makes you think I'm looking, hm?"
"S'a nice dress you're wearing-"
"Bought it for me," I told her with the roll of my eyes, smoothing my hands over the soft fabric covering my thighs and reaching my knees. She raised her hands in submission, shaking her head.
"S'not a crime to like anyone, is it?"
"It is when we've known them all since we were, like, five," I pointed out, and she shrugged as if to say 'fair enough'. "Plus, I swear you do this every year: New Year's party, searching for appeal in people with none."
I didn't love parties, but I didn't hate them either. I'd never seen much harm in gatherings of people, especially the routine New Year's Party.
It was a tiny town. We called it 'Splodge', because that's all it was. On the map, it was a splodge of ink; tiny - right above Brighton and just below Stanmer, and it was nowhere special. With only 1500 occupants in total - and every December 31st, each and every single person - students, teachers, parents and all - gathered in one place, for a night full of laughter, light drinks and music.
"Harsh, Blair, excuse me for being optimistic" she replied with a laugh, "it's whatever. You're right - same shit, different year."
"1989," I nodded, pursing my lips, raising my glass of water teasingly, "let's have it."
I stood up, setting the glass down. "I need to pee. Give me a sec."
"You're leaving me?" Vic groaned, standing up as well.
"For a sec," I repeated, a giggle leaving my lips, "I should probably find my parents too. It's probably gonna take some convincing to get them to even stay til' midnight."
"Fine, then I'm gonna go spread my optimism elsewhere," Vic said, sticking her tongue out at me. "Come find me when you're done socialising with the other has-beens."
"You mean my parents?" I laughed, folding my arms.
"The point of that sentence was that you, Blair Winters, are becoming a has-been!" she declared, a smug grin on her lips.
"Oh yeah? And what are you?" I countered, "I'd rather be a has-been then have never been at all." I poked a final teasing dagger at my best friend, before edging away from the table and chairs we'd claimed only twenty or so minutes previous to find the bathroom.
I pushed through the crowd, smiling in faces and politely responding with 'hello!'s when greeted. In such a small town - everybody knows everybody; which also has its downsides, I suppose: there isn't an inch of privacy, but that's okay, too, I suppose. There isn't much to hide here.
Bathroom.. bathroom, where on earth is the bathroom?
I turned the corner, leading into empty hallways - contrasting greatly to the compact space I'd just been in. The music faded away as I moved further from it, the only sound to be heard being my shoes against the polished wooden floor.
I pushed open the first door I came across, greeted with a varsity jacket-clad boy on top of a next-to-naked girl on a large king-sized bed, and I quickly slammed the door shut again. Walking in on a makeout session - not what I was planning on.
I tried my luck with the second door, inhaling sharply in hopes I wouldn't catch sight of more side-boob as I pushed it open. Another sigh left my lips as my eyes landed on carpet, realising that yet again, this wasn't the bathroom. I stepped back out, pulling the door behind me.
"Sorry to disappoint," a voice sounded from inside the room, preventing me from fully slotting it shut. My eyebrows furrowed, and I stepped forward to edge the door open a little more.
In my irritation at the lack of tiling and overly-bleached bathroom smell, I'd missed a silhouette seated in the corner of the room.
"I didn't see you, sorry," I said, out of courtesy more than anything else. I just wanted to find a bathroom. "Didn't mean to be rude."
"It was a joke," the voice came back, deep and monotonous. I looked up at last, properly, analysing the figure before me.
He was seated in an arm chair, a wooden table over his thighs and beneath his forearms. As he laid eyes on me, he sat back lazily in his chair, and my lip fell between my teeth. I didn't know his face.
And I was sure I didn't know it, because a face like that - hell, I would've remembered it. His skin was tanned, yet it didn't seem fake like most of the boys from school, who laid in tanning beds from dawn til noon and denied it. It was a real tan - from somewhere actually hot, with sun; real sun. His skin glowed, it properly glowed. His eyes a piercing green like nothing I'd ever seen, framed by thick, dark eyelashes, and his lips - his lips; they were pink, and plump, and his tongue was darting out to wet them-
"Oh my God, I was totally just staring at you," I blurted out in embarrassment, "I'm so sorry. That was so weird of me-"
"You're good," a smooth chuckle left his lips in response, as one of his hands moved to rake through the chocolate brown curls of his dishevelled hair, his fingers ring-clad. I'd never seen so many rings on one hand, and I tore my eyes away from him.
"Sorry, um - do I know you?"
"Doubtful," he responded flatly, yet somehow he didn't seem hostile. I remained in the doorway, practically hanging off the doorframe.
"Then who are you?" I asked curiously.
"Not who you were looking for, I presume."
"Probably not, since I was looking for a bathroom," I countered, deciding to return the simple, lacking responses he was providing me with.
"I'm Harry. You don't know me. It's cool, I'm just visiting over the holidays. Family things," a ghost of a smile tugged on his lips, emotion now etching its way onto his face. "First time at the infamous annual bash."
"Is it living up to expectation?" I found myself asking, and somehow wanting to know the answer. I'd known him for two seconds and for whatever reason I was hoping that he was satisfied with what my hometown had to offer him - I wanted to impress him, and I wasn't sure why. I put it down to the look he was giving me. "I'm Blair, by the way."
"Pretty name," he remarked, tearing his eyes away from me as if he couldn't be less bothered, his gaze shifting down to the table in front of him. "It's been a riveting experience," he added, dryly, answering my question.
It's only then I noticed what was on the table. A board - a board game. With tiny pieces of plastic spread over it, and a tiny book rested in his lap. I squinted, analysing the table's contents.
"Scrabble," he clarified, without even looking at me. "I play a mean game."
"Can you even play without an opponent?" I wrinkled my nose in confusion, glancing between him and the empty chair a few feet away from him.
"Well I'm doing alright, aren't I?" he returned, lining up one letter with another, his voice lowering to a mumble, "I always win."
"Of course you do, when your only opposition is yourself," I chuckled, and he looked up at me again, eyebrows raising as if he hadn't expected a response.
"We're our own worst enemy, no?" he asked, "brave words, though. I dare say you think you could beat me. If you even know how to play."
"Doesn't everyone know how to play Scrabble?" I returned, and he simply shrugged.
"Shouldn't you be in search of a bathroom?" Harry cocked an eyebrow, and I pursed my lips.
"Could knock your ego down a few pegs first," I teased, testing the waters to see if he could humour me in return.
"I beg you, Miss Blair," he replied, smoothing his tongue over his bottom lip as a smirk tugged on his features, his lips twitching in such an action,"Give me your best."
"You asked for it," I took a few steps into the room, sitting down in the armchair opposite him, as he began distributing the printed tiles.
I drew a blank, pursing my lips as I knew it meant it was me who would start the game.
I lay down my first word: 'Classic.' Lacking any paper, Harry drew a pen from his pocket and scrawled my number of points down onto his palm, before he reached for his own tiles, taking advantage of the positioning of my word.
'Deceit', he spelled out, his eyes on my face as he did so.
"Nine points for me, then," he inked it down, tracing his fingertips over his cufflink when he was done, "I like that word. Nice number, too, isn't it? Call me weird, but 've always had a thing for numbers."
He won the game.
-
hi !!!!!
back with a new book :') FEEL LIKE I SHOULD POINT OUT:
- this town is completely made up; hypothetical.
- i don't have the first clue how to play scrabble, which is probably not the wisest thing considering i'm writing a book with the title 'scrabble' - but i've done some research, and i'm adapting the game to my book. sorry if u hate it i still love u
very excited for this one .xx