by Anna B. Doe
The pup stares at me, almost like he’s assessing me. His blue eyes are slightly creepy. They are so light and full of intelligence. I can almost hear him think. Will he hurt me? Is he worthy of my trust?
Patiently, I wait for him to get up and come to me. I don’t want to scare him even more than he already is.
Slowly, the dog gets on his skinny legs and limps closer. He is just a puppy, no more than three or four months old. He has pointy ears and his fur is a mix of blacks, grays, and browns. He’s dirty and really skinny. He drags his back left leg behind him. Most likely, he’s been around here for a while, left by his owner.
“That’s it, buddy. Come here.”
His soft nose touches my outstretched fingers. He sniffs my fingers and my hand before slowly licking it. When he looks like he’s comfortable enough around me, I scratch him under his chin.
“What am I going to do with you?”
Amelia
“Lia! Amelia, wait!” I hear my name being called in the maze that’s the school hallway just before the class starts.
At first, I think I’m imagining it, it’s so loud in here, but I can hear the quick footsteps following behind me.
Looking over my shoulder I see one bulky form right behind me. My eyes go up, way up. “Max!” A shy smile curls my lips, but not for long. “What happened to you?”
“What?” He rubs the back of his neck.
“Your lip.”
My hand moves on its own, touching the slightly red, swollen skin. It’s cut open in the corner. Thankfully the blood is not running out of the wound. Still, it looks raw and new. All puffy and swollen, so I guess it happened not that long ago, probably yesterday.
His fingers trace his puffy lip as if he just now remembers what happened. A shadow passes over his face, but it’s gone quickly, replaced by a carefree smile.
“It’s nothing.” He waves his hand. “The practice just got a bit rougher than usual.”
My brows furrow in confusion. “Practice?”
“He’s a Wolf.”
I jump in the air at the sound of his voice. Why does he do that? How does he do that? For a guy that’s over six feet and two hundred pounds, he can sneak up on someone too easily. It shouldn’t be humanly possible to do so, but of course, if somebody can do it, it’s Derek.
Goosebumps rise on my flesh, and I can barely contain my need to shiver. But there is no stopping my heart that kicked up a notch once it felt him near.
Traitor.
I don’t turn around to acknowledge him. It’ll irritate the hell out of him, and no matter how childish it may seem, that small thing gives me immense pleasure.
“You play hockey?”
“Yep.” The P pops and his grin widens, showing off his dimples. “You should come to the game sometimes.”
“I’m not really into sports.” The warning bell rings. “We should really hurry up if we don’t want to be late to the homeroom again.”
Turning on the balls of my feet, my nose touches Derek’s hard chest.
“Again?” I grumble, more for my sake than for his. There is no need to tell him anything because I know he won’t listen to a thing I say. At least, even if only subconsciously, I was expecting him to be there, so I didn’t full on crash into him.
“You should really look where you walk, little one.”
His patronizing tone irritates the hell out of me.
Swinging my long hair over my shoulders I tilt my head back to get a better look at his face.
“If you weren’t...” Once I see his face, I gasp. My hand covers my open mouth. The words that only a few seconds ago were at the tip of my tongue, now hang in the air. Forgotten. “What happened to you?”
His left cheek is swollen. The skin is dark purple and shiny. It’s big and ugly and it most likely hurts like hell. I know my cheek hurts, and I’m only looking at him.
“Ohh...” His eyes look over my head. I can feel them exchange a look over me like I’m blind or too dumb to notice. “Accident.”
“Accident?”
I turn my eyes to Max, then return them to Derek. They just smile like nothing’s wrong. Accident. Rough practice. My ass. They don’t actually expect me to believe that?
“Yeah, accident.”
Yeah, right... I guess they do.
“Come on,” Derek’s hand lands on the small of my back and pushes me forward. “We’ll be late for class.”
I sigh, giving up. At least for now. I’ll figure out what happened later.
We walk through the hallways in silence.
People part to let us through. The two of them like Gods who part the sea.
“You know,” Derek starts, his eyes focused in front of him. “We should start working on this project.”
“I guess we should.”
“Want me to come to your house after practice tomorrow?”
That makes me stop in my tracks, but he doesn’t let me stay behind. His big, warm hand just presses closer to the small of my back and pushes me forward.
He wants to come to my house? I didn’t plan to meet him at my house, with my family present. However, it makes more sense if he comes to my house rather than meeting somewhere else. The main being that I’m home, and he’ll be out in the first place. It makes much more sense for him to come to me than the other way around.
“Okay, whatever.”
I just hope I don’t regret it.
But then it hits me ... only yesterday I decided to stay away, and now here we are. His hands are on my body and we have plans to meet later.
Well, shit.
So much for staying away.
The doorbell rings, the sound of it louder than ever before. I would know because I've been living here since forever. But never in my seventeen years has it been this loud before.
Butterflies start fluttering in my belly, and I jump of off my bed where I’m trying to concentrate on reading a book, but there is no way Jane Austen can hold my attention for more than a few sentences, no matter how good of a writer she is and how charming Mr. Darcy can be. And then I have to reread them just in case my wandering mind didn't connect all dots right. My mind's been going through all this stuff since yesterday morning when you-know-who approached me. He’s the only thing I can think about.
I run down the stairs—Lola running after me barking happily—yelling at my parents, who are somewhere downstairs: “I'll get it. It's for me!”
In my mind, I know it’s inevitable for my parents to meet Derek. He'll be in my house working on this stupid project for a while. They are home, so of course they'll want to meet him. If we want to stay downstairs, where it's safe and nothing unplanned like touching or you-know-what-else can happen, they'll see him. It's not like he's a ghost or my imaginary friend so I can’t hide him from my family.
“Who is it, Lia?” Mom calls from the kitchen where pots and pans bang against each other. “Your project partner's here?”
“Yeah, Mom,” I reply and hurry to open the door before he rings the bell again. Slightly panting from hurrying down, I try to avoid my silly dog that’s getting under my feet and turn the doorknob.
He's standing there, on my front porch, looking as casual and as handsome as ever. If we don’t count the ugly, purple bruise that occupies a better half of his left cheek.
His hands are buried in the pockets of his dark blue sweatpants, and he's wearing a white hoodie with the blue wolf—the hockey team's mascot—on the front, with a backpack casually tossed over his wide shoulder. His honey hair is darker than before, probably because he just took a shower after practice and, like most guys, was too lazy to dry it before leaving.
Derek looks around, but as soon as the door starts to open, his attention snaps right back to the door.
Almost shyly, I peep through the gap I made and look at him. We don't say anything but simply look at each other. His blue eyes wander down my body, taking in my lazy-in-the-house-look. That's what Brook and I call it, and it includes leggings, furry s
ocks because I hate slippers, and some shirt or hoody with one of my fandoms. Today it’s a Harry Potter one.
He chuckles lightly. I’m not sure at what. My shirt? My socks or maybe bun at the top of my head? My hair was getting in the way when I got home, so I tied it up and completely forgot to take it off before I came crashing down the stairs to let him in. Or maybe he simply laughs at me? Because I'm ... well, me.
Heat starts rising in my cheeks, and I will it to stop, but no such luck. I hate this. I hate the way he always makes me so flustered and clumsy. He doesn't even have to touch me and I’m falling apart but in those moments when he does it’s a hundred times worst. Complete and utter...
“-lia? Amelia?” Derek's voice brings me out of my thoughts, and I blush even harder.
“Yeah?”
“Will you let me inside?” This time he smiles for real, showing his straight white teeth and dimples in his cheeks. There is a little bit of light stubble on his cheeks and jaw. It's the first time I noticed it. It’s slightly darker than his hair color but still barely visible.
“Is it safe to come inside? Or is your dog going to bite me?”
“Oh, no. It’s safe. She’s just excited.” I laugh nervously.
“Lia? Where are you two?” Mom's voice breaks the spell around us. “Do you want something to drink or a snack before you get into it?”
I turn around and see her standing in the hallway with a towel in her hands. She tilts her head, making her ponytail swing with the motion, and looks at me strangely. “That's not your friend?”
“Ohh, no it is.”
“Why didn't you let her in?” She shakes her head at me, like I’m being silly, and comes closer.
The door behind me swings open, and I can feel his presence looming over me.
“You didn't tell your Mom we are doing this project together?” Derek asks me disbelievingly. His hand brushes against mine, making small tingles go down the path he touches as he extends it and offers it to my mother. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Campbell. I'm sorry for intruding so late, but practice took longer than usual to wrap up.”
“Amelia,” she starts and looks at me with a big smile on her face. “You should have told me who you are working this project with.”
“I thought I did,” I lie.
I know very well I didn't mention anything but murmur in passing about project and friend coming over to work on it together. She didn't ask more questions, and I didn't expand. If she knew a boy was coming, she would be all over me the last few days.
My Mom is girly kind of woman. Me? Not so much.
She can't believe I don't care about clothes or makeup and that I would much rather stay home and read a good book or watch a movie with Brook than go out to a party. She loves to come to me and talk about boys, but only the boys I talk about are my book boyfriends. I can already see what'll happen as soon as Derek leaves the house later tonight.
“Anyway, Mom, this is Derek. He's in my class, and we are doing this Spanish homework together.”
“Nice to meet you, Derek.” She beams at us. “You should go up to your room. I'm preparing dinner so the whole kitchen is messy...”
“We could go to the living...” I start but she interrupts me.
“And your Dad is watching the news in the living room so it's too noisy to have any work done,” she protests sweetly. So sweetly, I have a need to strangle her. She's doing it on purpose. “I'll go and grab you some soda and snacks from the kitchen and you can go upstairs to do your thing. I'll call you when dinner is ready.”
“Ohh, there is no need Mrs. Campbell ...” this time Derek's the one protesting, but she waves him off.
“Nonsense, you have to join us.”
Then she wanders off to the kitchen, and before the minute is up she is back with two 7ups and a plate of homemade cookies, pushing us upstairs.
When we climb, Derek stops at the top and looks back downstairs before returning his gaze to me.
“What the hell just happened?”
“My Mom.” I shrug standing in front of the door of my room.
I don’t want him to come inside—it’s too intimate, too telling—but I don’t have much of a choice. In just a few seconds, Derek King will enter my sanctuary and I know nothing will ever be the same again.
Derek
Her Mom is like a hurricane. Apparently, there is no stopping her once she starts, but that is fine with me. I get to see Amelia's bedroom, and I’m invited to stay for dinner, which means more time I can spend with her.
I follow her to the second door on the right and stop at the doorway.
Her bedroom is small and so girly. There is a huge bed in the center of it all with a lot of pillows on top of it. There are also a ton of books, everywhere, on the shelves, on her messy desk and nightstands, and there is one on the floor in front of the bed. I start to close the door, but she stops me. “Leave them open.”
I do as she requests, without saying a word. Entering slowly, I squat down and take the book from the floor. Putting a finger between the pages where it fell to, I close the book and look at the cover.
“Pride and Prejudice?” I look at her, chuckling.
“Something wrong with Jane Austen?”
She doesn't look at me but keeps on arranging papers on her desk.
“No, but it's so like you.”
That makes her turn and look at me. “Why would you say that?”
“Just saying.” I shrug. “You don't have to do that for me. I can sit on the floor or bed or whatever.”
Her dark eyes narrow at me, and all I want to do is laugh at how pissed she looks. Her hair is pulled up, but few wild strands don't want to be tamed by the hair tie so they are curling around her face. It's the first time for me seeing her this way. She always wears it down in the school, it closes her off, makes her more guarded. But this, it’s cute—messy, girly, and fragile.
Her outfit is a completely different story. She is probably going for comfy, but those leggings are so tight they stick to her like a second skin. When she opened the door, all I could hope for was not to swallow my tongue at the sight of her. But, then there are her socks. All furry and soft and colorful, like something a little girl would wear. That’s Amelia—a living, breathing, and walking contradiction.
She stands in front of me and carefully pulls the book out of my hands. “Then you go and sit wherever. We have work to do.”
After she quickly skims through the pages and finds one where she left off, she produces a bookmark and puts it in its place before putting the book back on the nightstand.
“You really are a witch,” I say half-amazed, half-scared.
“What?” She scowls at me.
“Nothing.” I laugh, shaking my head at the silliness of my thought, and sit down on the floor, reclining on the bed. As soon as I touch the floor her dog waggles to me, turns three times and settles against my side. “What are we doing?”
“Well,” she starts and then goes back to her desk, picks up one soda and plate with cookies, and puts them next to me. Her gaze lingers on her dog for a while, but she shakes her head slightly before turning away. I was hoping she would join me on the floor, but no such luck. “I was thinking that we make a plan today. Do a bit of research on the interesting subjects we could mention in our project and write them down. Then we can divide them between the two of us. Each person does his work and we meet up to put the work into one and make a presentation.”
I know what she’s doing; I’m reading her like an open book. She wants to divide the work so we don't have to actually do anything together until the very end. If she could, she would probably tell me she’ll make a presentation and to just send her written part of my half of the project.
“Why don't we do the outline today, and then we'll discuss other things as we go on?”
She frowns at me but doesn't comment further. “We got Argentina, so we should probably start with...”
And so for the next forty minutes, I let
her talk about our project. We talk about geography and history, about culture and language and everything in between that makes Argentina the country that it is today.
From the way she talks, I know she already looked into the subject, probably another way for her to tell me she'll spend only the most necessary amount of time in my company and not a second longer than that, but I’m not buying it. I contribute in my own way, giving comments and opinions when necessary and by writing down all we agree on for later stages of the project.
“You know…” I look at the way her eyes yet again go to the plate with cookies. The few rare ones my stomach spared. “You can come and take one if you want. I'm sure your Mom meant for us to share them.”
I push the plate a little bit in her direction. “Come on, little one,” I taunt her. “You know you want one.”
Amelia looks between the plate and me. She's nibbling at her lip and playing with her fingers in her lap nervously.
“I don't bite.” I like to see her flustered. Her nervousness makes me calm down. My heartbeat evens, and the sweat dries off my hands.
“Just one,” she agrees finally. With the notebook and pen in her hand, she comes closer to me and sits on the other end of the carpet, leaving way too much space between us.
Amelia takes one cookie and bites into it, moaning softly.
My eyes are glued to her face and I can't look away. My body reacts to her and there is no stopping it. Shifting slightly, I let my notebook fall in my lap. I watch how her eyes close just for a few seconds and how she enjoys the damn cookie like it's the best meal in the whole fucking world.
She opens her eyes and catches me staring at her. “What's wrong?” Her cheeks become that rosy shade of hers again. “Do I have crumbs left in the corner of my mouth or what?”
“You-,” I start but have to stop myself and clear my throat before continuing. “No... actually yes. Yes, you do.”
“No, or yes?” she looks at me confused and wipes the corner of her mouth.