Chapter One

New York. August 21, 2012.

      “Elizabeth!” my mom called from somewhere inside the house.

      “Yeah?” I yelled from the front room, where I had been hiding all day.

      “Can you please go see how the painters are doing?” she screamed back.

      “Sure!” I replied, lazily dragging myself up, and walking down a hallway, only to remember that they were painting the basement. I went back through the hall, and down some stairs, until I reached the elusive dungeon of the house.

      The painters were busy at work, trying to hide the hideous green color that the previous owner of the house had had no taste in putting on the walls. It looked to be about half way done. The vibrant color was slowly fading away, and being replaced with a mellow cream color that better suited the room.

      “Do you guys need anything?” I asked, somewhat apprehensive of the strange workmen.

      “Nah, we’re fine. Thanks though, doll!” one of them said, as he continued to roll the brush across the wall.

      “Okay,” I said, turning away, and quickly running back up the stairs. I reached the main level of the house, and decided to start unpacking things in my room. I passed through the hall once again, and came to a white door at the very end. Turning the doorknob, I then entered the room.

      It was close to empty, and looked like the middle of Antarctica. White walls were stripped of all personality, lacking the homey touch of a poster or two. The barren floor had only a bed, dresser, desk, and countless boxes assembled on it. I felt sad, standing in the middle of the vacant room, only surrounded by brown cardboard cubes and the few pieces of furniture that I had brought from my previous life. It was depressing.

      I approached one of the boxes, and pulled off the tape that had sealed it, opening it. Within the box lay trophies. I closed the box back up again, and went over to the desk. I picked up a sharpie that had been lying across the top, and brought it over to the box. After taking off the cap, I messily scribbled, “DO NOT OPEN!” on it. I didn’t need to relive those days. Well, not yet at least.

      “Elizabeth!” my mom shouted once again.

      “What?” I cried back, groaning inwardly.

      “There’s someone at the door! Can you go get it?”

      “Yeah!” I said, unenthusiastically leaving my new room, and making the dull journey down the long hallway for what felt like the billionth time. I went down a few steps, so that I was at the landing, and trustingly opened the door, hoping that a rapist or murderer wasn’t on the other side.

      “Hi,” greeted a boy who looked about my age, smiling brightly at me.

      “Hey,” I said, looking him over.

      He was gorgeous to say the least. He had hair the color of coffee that looked as if it had been recently combed, and warm hazel eyes that were tinted green. His height amounted to about 5’10”, so stood a good two inches taller than me. As if a memory of the hours of sunlight the summer possessed, his skin was a dark tan color. His body looked to be well toned, leading me to the conclusion that he preformed some sort of physical activity. He had on a simple blue polo shirt and jeans, also giving me the impression that he cared enough about his appearance to make some effort.

      “I’m Eric,” he said, as I noticed his eyes were too giving me a once-over, “Eric Wilson.”

      And, of course, I happened to look like crap. My hair was tied back, and I was wearing the only things that I hadn’t packed away: a pair of black, mesh shorts, my “Yankees Suck!” T-shirt (something that could legitimately get me shot around here), and an old pair of Air Jordans. Well, this certainly sucked. When a hot guy came knocking on my door, I obviously had to be dressed like a dude. Yeah, fate truly loved me. Note the subtle use of sarcasm.

      “Elizabeth,” I said, “Elizabeth Turner.”

      “I know this must sound really creepy, but you’re really pretty,” he said, staring straight into my eyes. 

      “Thanks,” I said quietly. “Everything else is packed away, which is the outcome of my current fashion statement.”

      “Nah! You look cute. Oh, gosh! You probably think I’m a total loser. I actually came here to welcome you and your family here on account of my family. My mom sent me over to give you this,” he said, handing me a basket that I hadn’t even noticed had been by his side.

      “Thank you,” I said, slowly contemplating what else to say, “do you…want to come in?”

      “Sure,” he said, entering the house. We went up the steps, and I put the basket down on a counter.

      “Yeah, it’s kind of a mess,” I said, noticing his eyes wonder around the bleak house. We were standing in the front room, where there was only a couch, two chairs, and a squared coffee table. The entire house simply looked bare.

      “Well, that’s understandable—you just moved, after all,” he said lightly.

      I smiled at his considerate words. “So, do you live in the neighborhood?”

      “Yeah, two houses over,” he replied with a smile.

      “Cool.” Crap. Note to self: Don’t say the word “cool” as a response to incredibly hot guys.

      “Yeah. So, are you going to Madison High, or…” he trailed off, not having an alternative to offer.

      “Is that the town’s high school?” I asked, sitting myself down on one of the chairs, and gesturing for him to take the one opposite me.

      “Yeah,” he nodded, sitting down on the dark leather, facing me.

      “Then, yes, I’m going there.”

      “What grade are you in?”

      “I’m a senior,” I said, praying that he was in the age vicinity of me.

      “No kidding? I’m a senior too!” he grinned.

      “Really?”

      “Yeah! Do you know what type of classes you’re taking?”

      “Uh…all honors and AP, I believe,” I said, not wanting to appear overly smart. I knew it was awful, but generally when people figured out that I was smart, they got intimidated, and started to feel disconnected from me.

      “Me too! Hey, maybe we’ll be in some of the same classes!”

      “Yeah, maybe!” I said, repositioning a small strand of hair that had somehow made its way across my face.

      “The girls at Madison are nice; they’ll like you,” he assured me. Why did everyone always assume that girls were going to become friends with girls? It bothered me when people presumed, profiled, misjudged, and stereotyped based on gender. Being a girl didn’t mean anything—it was just another label used to differentiate between two biological categories.

      “You think?” I asked hesitantly.

      “A pretty blonde like you? Yeah, they’ll love you!”

      “Have any advice?” I questioned, smiling nervously at him.

      “Yeah, most of the guys at Madison are total jerks, and you should probably only hang around the right ones.” Right, because of all people I needed to be told which guys were jerks. Man, I couldn’t wait to meet the girls! Sarcasm, yet again.

      “And who, for instance, would the right ones be?” I asked, having a hunch as to what his answer would be.

      “Well…me!” he smirked. Shocker. What an answer.

      “You?”

      “Yes, me. I’m a good guy. I’m the type of guy you should hang with,” he grinned at me once again. I was beginning to notice a strange pattern, for it seemed as though this guy never stopped showing off his perfectly white, straight teeth.

      “Okay,” I bit down on the edge of my lip.

      “What time is it?” he asked abruptly.

      “Uh…two fifty?” I glanced up at the silver-edged clock that was hung in the distance.

      “Shit. I have to go. Hopefully, I’ll see you again before school starts. It was really nice meeting you, Elizabeth,” he smiled again, rising from the chair.

      “You too, Eric,” I said.

      “Do you want my number?” he offered.

      “Uh sure…” I said. “One sec, let me go get my phone.”

      “Okay,” he said, the sides of his mouth twitching up for the hundreth time.

      “Be right back!” I said, getting up off the chair, and speed-walking down the hallway to my room.

      When I got inside, I was thankful that my phone and charger were among the first few things that I had unpacked. I went over to the desk, and unplugged my phone, sliding it into the palm of my hand. Once I had left my room, I jogged back to the front room where Eric was still soundly seated.

      “Here,” I said, throwing it at him. Damn it. I never used my brain. Hopefully, he found that cute, and in no way, shape, or form even moderately aggressive or annoying.

       “And mine,” he said, lightly tossing me his phone. I caught it without a problem, and went to contacts. I entered my name, and was then stuck.

      “Uh…can you check what my number is?” I asked awkwardly. 

      “You don’t know your own number?” he asked skeptically, slightly amused.

      “Nope, never bothered to learn it. I know it’s dumb, but, uh, whatever,” I sighed. Yes, I never learned my own phone number. Why? Because I happened to be an idiot. It was pretty sad that a senior didn’t know her own phone number, but, oh well.

      He read my number, and I punched it into the phone, saving the contact. “Here you go,” I said, handing him the phone.

       “Thanks,” he said, returning mine to me. “If you ever need anything, or some advice, or anything, just call.”

       “Thank you,” I said, trying to sound sincere.

      “Sure. Now, I really have to go, but maybe we could hang out sometime?” he said optimistically, standing up from the chair.

       “Yeah, totally,” I agreed, as we walked over to the front door.

       “Okay, awesome! Bye, Elizabeth,” he said, opening up the door.

       “Bye, Eric,” I said, standing a few small feet away. He waved, and, in an instant, he was gone.