don't know if other authors do this, but my writing style is completely different on Wattpad when compared to reality. so I decided to give an idea of RoaR look like if I wrote it in my typical writing style, aka if this was the first chapter in a book.
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Chapter 1 || No Formalities
{ Rule #22: No Formalities }
{ subsection b - don't shake hands }
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I like rules and I like lists. They organize life into a series of words you can check off with blue-ink pen. Stressed about seeing your ex-boyfriend? Rules on how to act. Always forgetting about your friends birthdays? List of dates and names. Trying to convince your dad to not move to Brooksville, Florida? Well.
reasons on why on moving to florida is a dumb idea:
a) making a whole new friend group on your senior of high school is IMPOSSIBLE
b) the sand
c) with the rising sea levels due to climate change, it's only a matter of time before beach house get overrun with the high tide and we lose thousands of dollars trying to relocate
Point D had to do with the declining wildlife, but dad had interrupted me with one of his 'i'm doing this your for benefit, sweetheart' speech which is basically a nicer way of saying 'we're hoping a nice view of ocean will stop you from acting like a freak'. There was an epic screaming match that last over two weeks. But, since I'm a minor and therefore property of my parents, I had no choice but to relent.
So here I am. In the back of dad's SUV. With my legs cramped between my little sister's backpack and a box of kitchen china that my mom was too afraid to put into the moving van. The seats smell like greasy french fries and spilled hot coffee from McDonald's. I lost my earphones right before we left so I have no choice but to listen to dad's favorite radio station, NPR.
My phone buzzes.
Irene: have you reached there yet
Me: Not yet. Soon.
Irene: send pics!!!
Me: I will.
I go back to looking outside my window. We branch off the highway. Headlights and long roads slip behind us as we take a turn into a set of suburban neighborhoods. Through the gaps between palm trees and sandstone walls, I catch a glimpse of the beach. With the ocean. And sand. Yuck. Sand.
Mom snaps her fingers, catching our attention.
Melody, my little sister, takes out one of her airpods. "Huh?"
"Straighten up," She smooths her hair, running her acrylic white fingernails through the strands of platinum blonde. "We're almost here. Wipe that expression of your face, Peyton. Smile."
"Who's going to care if I smile?"
"You never know who might be watching. It's important to make a nice first impression."
"Dad doesn't have to make a nice first impression. Why do I have to? It's because I'm girl and have to smile at all times, isn't it?"
"Will you chill?" Melody snaps. "Not everything is about feminism."
"The patriarchy reaches goes to all branches of social networks, Melody."
"Enough!" Mom snaps, applying her second layer of lipgloss. "Peyton, please do stop getting into arguments. I don't want any negativity tonight."
"Whatever."
"Can we roll the windows down, dad?" Melody asks. She's redoing her braid, twisting her hair into an elegant pattern around the cusp of her neck.
"Sure," He switches the button.
Both the windows in the back roll down.. The breeze rushes in, daring me to close my eyes and turn away. I face it head on, refusing to look away even my eyes begin to water. Hair slaps my cheeks and neck, sticky with sweat and humidity. Melody laughs even as her braid comes undone again.
We turn one last corner to a cul-de-sac of pastel-colored houses. The lawns and front porches are decorated cheerfully, with statues of praying angels and sings that have NO SOLICITING in a quirky cursive font. Each front lawn begs for attention. Look at how happy our family is, they scream. Look at how luxurious our lifestyle is. Mom examines them, probably already planning on how to make our house look better than the others.
Dad starts to pull on the drive. Before the car stops, I swing the door open.
"Peyton!" Mom shrieks. "Don't you -"
I land on the pavement, knees buckling. The pain sends a welcome sensation up my legs. I stretch my limbs, scanning the street. There's a hopscotch chalked on the sidewalk, the numbers almost faded completely. I hear the distant beat of an outdoor party. A group of boys dribble a basketball in the driveway across from us, but come to a stop once they spot me.
One of them waves. "Hi!"
I nod back, then turn around to our house. Two stories, peach panels, white roof and a balcony with a glass railing. It fits right in with the soft street lamps and towering palm trees.
"Couldn't you have waited another minute?" Mom scolds as she steps out of the car. Dad pats me on the shoulder, keys jingling from his hip, as the two of them pass me. "You could have shattered your ankles."
"I call dibs on the biggest bedroom!" Melody, who changed into a tank top and shorts in the car, shouts. She runs into the house after mom and dad.
I take in the humid night, the smell of seawater and the taste of salt. I run my tongue over my lip piercing and roll my shoulders. My back still hurts from sitting in the car. Then, the moving truck rumbles around the corner and I decide to follow the rest of family into our new home.
Our apartment in Chicago was dark curtains, dim lights and thick Persian rugs. This house is creamy walls, arched windows and bohemian chandeliers. There's a thin layer of dust on everything except for the spaces where the furniture was recently removed. I check out the whitened spaces on the wall, where old pictures must have hung. The people who lived here before us was an old retired couple. I wonder happened to them.
"Isn't this wonderful, David?" Mom calls. When I walk into the kitchen, she's playing with the dials on the electrical stove. "So modern and classy. Much better than that gas stove in our old apartment. Some days I'm surprised it didn't blow us up."
"Don't these cabinets look a little sturdy to you?" Dad asks, crouching down and opening them one by one. "Maybe I could..."
"Oh for god's sake, David. No more home renovation projects."
"Check it out," Melody calls. She's out on the backyard porch. "The neighbors are having a party!"
I step outside.
Our backyard isn't a backyard at all, but one elongated beach. The ocean lies straight ahead, velvety black waves shifting under the moonlight. It would take me less than a minute to walk forwards and take a night swim. But all the neighbors would be able to see me. Like we see the party next door.
It's a whole goddamn bonfire. Teenagers in swimsuits and floppy hats roast corn dogs and marshmallows. Firelight illuminates their lazy smiles and wet hair. A pair of speakers plays a song with a slow beat and low bass.
"There's no fences," I say.
"It's a beach house," Melody drawls. "Why would they have fences? Mom, I'm going over to the party to introduce myself!"
"Have fun!" Mom calls, still in the kitchen. "Peyton, go after her."
"Why? It's not like she's going to get lost."
Mom looks like she's going to yell so I roll my eyes and close the back door. Taking my boots and socks off, I step on the porch. The sand prickles my feet on the wooden panels but as soon as I step onto the actual beach, it becomes soft and light. I cringe at the way my feet sink. How can you walk in this stuff? I trudge after my little sister, flipping the collar of my leather jacket up so it hides my face.
There's a group of teenagers sitting near the bonfire, huddled in giant neon beach towels, and playing cards. They look up when Melody arrives. She tosses her hair back and plops herself on of the empty towels. One of the girls hands her a set of cards and they introduce themselves.
Reluctantly impressed, I keep in the shadows, away from the party.
Melody can do that. She's the easy-going, girl-next-door, type of blonde that can make friends in the blink of an eye. She's the sunny blonde, the southern belle blonde, the ditsy one with a heart of gold. The love interest, the main character in rom-com blonde. She's all Elle Woods.
I'm more Regina George.
I'm bitch blonde, the one who talks about feminism and racism and all sorts of things that people sigh in exasperation and roll their eyes. The one who has more ambition than compassion. The head cheerleader, the slut, the bitchy queen bee in all of the rom-coms. I used to be that blonde until Gwendolyn came along and tore me. Because that's what happens to the woman who doesn't end up with the guy, she gets humiliated as a sign of sweet, sweet karma.
But what happens after the bitch blond gets what she deserves? Does she just huff and stomp off to the sunset?
No, she cries in her bedroom for weeks, then dyes her hair dark blue and gets loads of piercing and goes to protests. She punches men in the nose, sabotages the meat delivery to her school cafeteria, gets suspended and has to have her parents move her to Florida.
Yeah. I bet you didn't expect that in the first chapter.
Whatever.
There's a nice patch of trees at the edge of the party. I sit on a mossy log and sulk.
People-watching isn't my thing. Today is different. I examine my new environment, comparing it to the teenagers in Chicago. These people are louder, both in fashion and conversation, and smile more freely.
A group of jocks plays beer pong on a makeshift table made out of surfboards. Some people pose by the fire, trying to make each other laugh for a candid photo. I spot a guy my age as he rotates a stick (which has at least ten marshmallows) over the flames. He has the most amount of people around him, all talking at once. The guy takes the stick out and begins to eat the marshmallows, all terribly burnt, like corn on the cob. Everybody around him bursts into laughter.
Even I manage to smile. Then he looks up and at me. I turn away quickly, pushing myself off the leg and further into the nest of trees. My heart races for no reason at all. When I turn over my shoulder, I see that the guy's turned back to his group of friends. They're throwing marshmallows at each other.
Once the party's out of sight, I lean against the tree and sigh.
Is it weird to already be homesick? I miss my friends at Chicago. I don't want to make new ones, I don't want to make friends at all. Not for the first time, I wish I was more of introvert, somebody who could be okay with being alone even when they shouldn't be. Here, surrounded by people having a blast, I feel worse than ever.
A movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. I turn my head up. Silhouettes of branches criss-cross under the twilight sky. And there, on one of them, is a black kitten. It peers down at me with giant yellow eyes. "Meow."
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, this is the moment I have lived my entire life for.
"Hello," I call, looking up. "I'm Peyton!"
"Meow."
"Are you stuck?"
"Meow."
"Hang on," Heart racing with newfound excitement, I search the tree for places to put my foot. "I'm coming.
The kitten continues to mewl as I hoist myself up. I've never climbed a tree. It's much harder than it looks. I can already feel the bark digging into my fingers. One step at a time, Peyton. I look up at the kitten. It has its head ducked down, watching my progress. Its body is small and skinny. No collar. Maybe it's a stray.
Maybe I convince dad to let me adopt it. I keep that idea in my head as I push myself further and further off the tree, stretching my body in weird directions to get the next branch. I'm way above the ground, but there's still so to go.
"Meow."
"I'm coming, don't worry," I grumble. "You'll be fine."
"Meow."
"It's cold, I know. How'd you get there anyway?"
The kitten slithers closer to the tree trunk, tail swishing nervously. I sigh and reach for another branch -
"Hey!"
The man's voice makes me look down. My foot slips, the branch cracks underneath my fingers and snaps - a rustle of leaves, branches, sky, wind then -
ouch -
I'm on the ground again. My shoulder hurts. My head hurts. Cheek pressed aganist the soil and twigs, the next thing I notice is a pair of feet in blue flip flops. Damn it, I fucking fell. My stomach churns. I roll myself onto my back, blinking furiously.
"Are you okay?" Two gentle hands pull me up. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for the cat."
"What cat?"
"The cat in the tree." We look up, but there's no cat there. "It's gone."
"I've never seen a cat around here."
"Well, it was obviously a stray," The world spins. "Back off. I'm going to puke."
I kneel over and heave. The man pats my back in a reassuring matter. Nothing comes out, which is a disappointment. Maybe if I actually vomited, he'd leave. I force myself to straighten, even as it sends shivers of pain down my neck.
"I'm fine," I say. "Don't touch me."
He nudges me towards the beach. "Maybe you should sit down and drink something. You might have a concussion."
"I'm fine," I jerk away from his touch and step out onto the beach. My feet sting. I think it's splinters. A couple of people are already heading in our direction. So much for not drawing any attention. "I don't need anything! My house is nearby."
"You're Peyton Monroe?"
I spin around.
It's the guy from before. He's hot, I guess, and Asian. I'm too white to know which specific country he'd be from. He has brown, wavy hair that's tossed back lazily. Since he's not wearing a shirt, it shows off his defined abs. They're nice abs. More swim team than bodybuilder. He has a really nice smile though, the type that makes you want to smile back.
"How do you know that?" I say, glaring at him.
"Your sister came over -"
"Ugh," I roll my eyes. "Say no more."
"Peyton!" Just on time, the she-devil herself flops over. An entourage of people follow. It's the same group that with the guy before, at the bonfire. Melody presses a water bottle into my hand. "What happened? There's leaves in your hair."
"I fell out of a tree," I run my fingers through the strands of midnight blue with one hand. Sure enough, a few broken leaves fall out. "Tried to save a cat."
"Where's the cat?"
"He lost it," I nod towards the guy.
"You were on a tree that wasn't meant to be climbed," He raises both eyebrows. He has that typical wow-she's-a-bitch expression that most people do when they first meet me. "I was trying to help."
"Well, I have a concussion now so that didn't really work out for you."
"Ignore my sister," Melody elbows me. His friends are watching our interaction, some with bemused smiles, others with frowns. "She likes to repel everybody she meets."
"Nothing personal," I agree. "So what type of Asian are you?"
"Peyton!"
"What? The readers need to know."
Melody looks ashamed to be my sister. I feel sorry for her sometimes, because I know it must be hard being related to a a bitch when you're trying to make friends. But the world is cruel and your family is worse.
"I'm Korean-Filipino," He says. Still smiling even after I insulted him multiple times. "My name is Archer Raine, by the way. It's nice to meet you."
And then, he extends his hand.
Obviously, I shouldn't shake it. I mean, I have a rule against shaking hands in general. But I usually never have to come across this situation. People have stopped being nice to me at this point, much less extending their hand out for a greeting.
Archer Raine has been nothing but kind to me this whole time. I know I should ignore it and walk away.
Bad idea, Peyton.
But I 'm a big fan of bad ideas. I shake his hand, making sure to squeeze it hard. He narrows his eyes and smiles, like in a I-know-what-you're-trying-to-do type of way. It's... kind of unnerving.
"Okay," I say slowly. "Well. I got to go."
"See you tomorrow!" Melody shouts to her friends before hurrying up to me. "You're the worst, Peyton."
"That's the point."
I shove past Archer Raine's friends. They break into excited chatter and laughter as soon as we leave, gathering around him. I stomp up the back porch and into the house. Mom and dad are talking to some of the contractors, probably trying to get a discount now that all the work is done.
"Can't you ever take a break?" Melody snaps. "From being mean to everyone? Doesn't it getting tiring being a bitch all the time?"
"It's exhausting work," I agree, giving her a sarcastic smile. "But someone has to do it."
She groans in frustration and walks into her new room, slamming the door behind her.
I work over to where the movers put my boxes. This room is smaller, a neat square shape with a large window that faces the sea. I unlock the hatch and swing it open. You can see the party from here. I look at the batch of trees, wondering where the cat went. Did I imagine it after all?
My eyes fall down to the party. Even though I know I shouldn't, my eyes land on Archer. He's back by the bonfire, the flames casting his face in a golden glow. I watch until he looks up - shit - and our eyes meet. He waves to me teasingly, causing everybody to turn in my direction. I scowl and slam the windows shut, backing up so I'm no longer in view. My heart races.
God, what's with that guy? I need to stay from him.
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things I've changed: Archer's asian obviously (for a plethora of reasons, but mostly because I think the type of culture fits well with his internal conflict in the original story), Peyton's backstory is revealed earlier, she falls out a tree instead of jumping out of a car (because that makes way more sense), her internal monologue is more chaotic, and there's more conflict between her and her family.
so what'd you think? :)
thanks for reading!!
QotC: (it's been a while huh) What's your ideal Valentines Day date?