Friday came sooner than I imagined it would.
Maybe it was the pit of dread ingraved in my brain that I had to go see my dad in two days. The whole trip out of town is exhausting and talking to him is a challenge, but I'm glad I always pull through.
It's already half-past two in the afternoon and the school has let out. And the school orchestra practices on Wednesdays and Fridays. And Mrs. Cheaster has been making us play the same piece seven times already. I don't even know who's making a mistake but it can't be the piano since everyone follows it's lead. So we're stuck with an irritable mid-forties woman, who keeps barking orders at us.
"Okay, stop! Let's have a fifteen minute break and fix the flaw, okay?" She stresses out, running a hand through her golden tresses.
We all nod and release a breath of relief, sagging into our seats. The music room has different area's for each group. There's the orchestra, concert band and the choir. I play for the orchestra and the concert band whenever needed. And since I'm the only one who plays the piano, I also get to play for the drama club.
Joy.
I play a lone tune while everyone visibly relaxes as Mrs. Cheaster disappears out the door.
It's a tune I used to play for my mom when I first learned the piano. Suprisingly, my parent's didn't buy me a piano, it was already there when we moved in. I fell in love with it. And they knew, which is why my dad paid for lessons.
Those were easier times. I wouldn't say I wished for it all to be the same again, back when I could breathe freely without needing a nebulizer. I always had asthma but the whole drama made it skyrocket.
My fingers move lithely along the ivory keys and I close my eyes, trying to absorb the memory. Of cold winter nights. Me. My dad. My mom. Huddled by the black piano, warmed by the fire pit a few feet away. Playing a little tune for them. And when I finshed, they would applaud like I was a world-famous Concert Pianist-
"That's a really preetty tune you're playing." A tenor voice makes my fingers slip from a key, causing an unflattering sound to leave the instrument.
I look up to find Layton leaning his arms on the smooth deck of the piano. His lips are drawn into a smile I can't decifer and his green eyes are calculating.
"What's it called?" He asks curiously, ahfting from one foot to another.
"Hi, Layton." I reply, instead of answering his question. I haven't told anyone about the origin of the song and I don't plan to anytime soon. Especially to him.
"Hi, April." He says with a smile on his face. I don't like it.
Layton Jones.
Layton knows too much about me. He hasn't said anything about anything, but I know he knows. He has that gleam in his eyes and his smile seems sinister most of the time. I hate it.
Layton's father dated my mom, and that's how I know he knows to much. I was frazzled when I found out but there was nothing I could do. My mom would never talk about my dad while sober... The memories hurt her too much. But a drunk version of her would spill all her guts to a man she'd only known for a week. And that man decided to tell his son, who happens to go to my school.
Layton knowing my secrets would come back to bite me in the ass, but I couldn't let him have leverage over me. But it's not like he's tried anything. Yet.
"So, what's the song called?" He repeats, still standing a few feet away from me, his 5" 9' towering over me.
"I haven't named it yet." I tell him simply, paging through my sheet music.
"How's your mom doing?" He asks, his face now somber. My back straightens as I incline my head to look at him.
What is he even doing here? Layton is in concert band, not orchestra. Why is he here?!
"Why are you even here?" I muse darkly, my eyes hardening. He looks amused, that jerky smirk I know so well graving his lips.
"Can't I come and see a friend of mine?" He says noncholantly, feigning innocence.
I'm pretty sure my face blanched in disgust. "Just because our parents dated for three weeks doesn't make us friends." I say harshly, my breath going shallow.
"Okay, fine." He says putting his hands in the air in defeat. "I'll be seeing you, A." He says and pushes off the deck of the piano, sauntering out of the music room.
I try to avoid him as much as I can, but he always manages to catch me off guard, throw subtle hints about my secrets and then sauntering off like the little asshole he is.
I hate him. And I hate his father for telling him everything my mom told him. And I hate that my mom caused me to endure this torment.
A few minutes pass with me tapping on the keys in a dark melody that could rival my emotion. And sooner than anyone wants, Mrs. Cheaster struts in and claps her hands to gather our attention.
"From the beggining. 1... 2... 3. Begin-" she says. And so we began playing the same song for the umpteenth time.
_
The school is deserted, save for the few who are just now going home from practice. The fields still seem to occupied. The track and soccer team still there. And then they dispersed towards the lockers.
I pulled out my phone from the pocket of my jeans and check the time. It was well past five o'clock and the sky was already getting an orange tint. I adjusted my backpack on my shoulders, pulled my hood closer and began walking.
About fifteen minutes into the walk and about five more blocks away from my house, the rumblibg of an engine came to slow very close to the sidewalk.
A very familiar charcoal black Wagon comes to a stop next to me, and the tinted window rolls down.
"Get in." Sawyer says simply, not even looking at me, his eyes focused on his phone.
His eyes seem hard and his jaw ticks every few seconds. His hand clenches on the steering wheel. He seems pissed off and I don't want to be the blunt of that force.
"No, thanks. I'm good." I said, slowing inching away from the car.
"I'm not playing. Get in." He says as he drops his phone on the dash. And then he looks at me. And I swear the colour drained from my face. His eyes, that were a warm light brown, were now a stormy grey. The sight sends a shiver up my spine and my hand rises to scratch the other one.
"Do I have to come out and carry you in?" He says, his tone not in the slightest amused.
I only step closer in to the car and pull the door open, slipping into the warm leather. I shut the door behind me and he brings the engine to life and begins driving.
He seems very intense at the moment, so I'm not even going to try to talk to him. I don't think my chest could handle any of that. My left hand continues to dig into my right, and my teeth sink into my bottom lip.
"How much do you know about the soccer team?" He asks suddenly, after taking a familiar turn into a busy street.
"Uh... not much. Why?" I answer and I hate how meek I sound.
"Y'know I moved for reason, right?" He mutters, his hands clenching around the steering wheel.
And I notice we aren't on the road that led to my house. But I decide to not say anything.
"I didn't." I tell him honestly. I knew nothing about him. Just his name. Sawyer Forster. And that he's really bossy.
"Well, I did. And they say the past always has a way of catching up to you. I believe that now." He says sharply.
"I know the feeling." I tell him and look out the window, hoping my words will dissipate his rage a little.
We sit in silence for a while.
"Where are we going?" I ask, after a few minutes of drowning in silence.
"I haven't eaten all day." He replies simply and we soon pull up at a McDonalds drive-through.
I listen to him order three big Macs, fries and a large coke. He then asks me what I'd like to drink and I answer with a Sprite. Once we reach the window for collection, he pays and grabs the brown paper bag and places it in the back seat.
He then speeds down the mainroad, down a road I'm all too familiar with. The pier. The smallest of smiles graces my lips. The spot is amazing, especially during sunset. Where the sun seems to sink into the ocean, leaving behind a orange and purple glow.
"You know this place?" Sawyer asks, probably noticing my face.
"Uh, yeah. It's a favourite of mine." I tell him and he nods and easily finds a parking space. The pier is practically deserted, which makes it all the better.
He kills the engine and pulls off his seatbelt and I follow suit. He opens the door and steps out, bring the McDonalds paper bag with him. He plans on eating outside without anywhere to sit, I ponder as I shut the door and walk towards him to the hood of the car, where he boosts himself up, taking a seat.
I stand corrected.
"Come on," He says gruffly, motioning to the unoccupied side of the hood. This is embarassing.
I take slow steps towards him and try to lift myself up using my arms, but the car is just too damn tall and I end up slipping, almost falling face-first into the floor. My face tinges red and heat fills me from the inside.
Sawyer sighs loudly, mumbling something intelligable, and slids off the hood to stand in front of me. He then does a quick act of putting his hands on my waist and lifting me easily onto the hood. I shimmy to a more comfortable distance, trying to shake off the feel of his hands on me and my face is still ever-warm.
He then takes his own seat and reaches for the bag, handing me one of the burgers and fries, along with my sprite. All thtoughout this fast food filled madness, the sun and the sea seems to have come to amends as the sun dips into the water, and the water turns silver with hues of purple.
All this beauty and I get a front seat to witness it. And so does Sawyer, who hasn't said a word since we started eating. I don't feel like saying much either. Just sit there, eat, feel the sea breeze and witness the sunset.
Once my burger is finished, I drop my hood, wanting to feel the fresh air around my hair and it does a great deal at cooling me down slightly. I drain down my sprite as I look at Sawyer beside me, who finished eating a few minutes before me.
He's wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. His drak hair is a little damp, possible results from a shower after practice. His shoes are different this time but colour still the same as Nike sneakers adorn his feet. His face is straight and a tiny crease lies between his eyebrows, I can even see it from this angle. His lips are drawn into a straight line, his jaw ticking every so often.
"You're starring again." He says suddenly, still stoic as he looks into the ocean, at the disappearing sun.
"How can I not?" I retort quickly without thinking. The heat I dread so much begins to filter into my face.
I mentally face palm as his eyes dart to mine in mild suprise. Why the hell did I say that?
His face then slightly relaxes and his mouth quirks up in amusement but he just turns to look at the sunset, his face still impassive.
"Are you okay?" I ask after a few minutes of welcome silence. I hope the question doesn't come back to bite me in his face. He seems more angry than upset, so I just want to make sure.
He slowly turns to face me, the tick in his jaw now inexistant. His eyes have grown softer and he seems more approachable. Well, as approachable as he usually is... which is not a lot.
"Just peachy." He says simply, his eyes still boring into mine.
So, he's not okay.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" I ask him, tucking a loose strand of hair that blew over my face.
"No." He replies simply, a smile adorning his features as he looks away from me. Gosh.
"Then what do you want? You kidnapped me just to sit and watch the sun?" I remark sarcastically and he releases a huff of air that sounds really close to chuckle.
"Maybe that was the plan," He muses, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "What did you expect?"
"I don't know. I'm the one who was kidnapped." I reply, releasing a long exhale.
He doesn't answer, only leans back with his hands behind him, still looking towards the ocean. I knew I should've quiet and said nothing but it feels weird to be around him and I couldn't stop myself.
"What's your damage?"
His eyes narrow and his jaw tenses, the tick now returned. His back stiffens as he twists to pin me down with his eyes.
"Oh, so it's fine when you say it. But when I say it- it's a problem. You are unbelievable." I tell him.
He doesn't say anything, just keeps staring at me.
"Well, if you're just going to sit there and look at me, I have somewhere to be." I say briskly, shimmying to the edge of the hood, and jump off. I land on my feet, luckily, and stalk towards the passenger side. I pull open the door and grab my backpack, swinging it across my shoulders.
I shut the door and begin my trek towards home, which I could have been forty-five ago. Before I can even get far, I hear the crunch of footsteps against tar. A hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me back. I twist around to find Sawyer's head taller form towering over mine.
"Y'know, you're really dramatic." He says as he begins pulling me back towards his car.
"And you brought me here for no apparent reason." I bite back.
"I know. But I won't say I'm sorry for it." He says, shrugging my bag off my shoulders and putting in the backseat of the Wagon. He pulls the passanger door open and ushers me in. He then shuts the door and jogs over to his side.
"Any plans for tonight?" He asks as he puts the key into the ignition and he engine rumbles to life.
"No, not really. But I do have a friend coming over." I say slowly, not quite sure of my answer.
"You're not going to Luca's party?" He asks, pulling away from the pier and turning for in the road that leads to my place.
"Nope. That's not really my scene. But my friends are going," I tell him, playing with the hem of my black hoodie.
"What's up with that?" He asks after a few moments of silence. The question catches me by surprise and confusion etches into my face.
"What?" I manage.
"Your friends go out, they invite you and you always say 'no'. What's up with that?" He says clearly. His eyes leaving the road briefly to bore into mine.
"As I said: it's not my scene." I answer, a small smile playing at my lips.
"Why?" He asks. He is relentless.
I almost scowl at his persistance. "I don't do well with crowds. That's it." I tell him curtly and he only shakes his head in disbelief.
"That's why you hide under that hoodie?" He says, more of a statement than a question.
"I don't hide." I tell him. "Stop prying, okay?"
"Fine." He says simply.
I turn away from him and look out the window. It's almost comletely dark now, with the final purple hues of sunset disappearing off the sky. And the first few stars have started peaking out.
"Why did you leave school so late?" He asks, after a few moments of cold silence.
"Um, I had practice. Like you." I reply, rubbing my clammy hands along my jean-clad thighs.
"What do you do?" He continues, turning for my street.
"I play in the orchestra. Piano." I say, awkwardly. He only nods and stops at my gate.
And then it hits me. "How do you know where I live?" I ask.
"I've seen you walk around before." He shrugs, and his smile is not convincing. "Open the gate."
"Uh huh..." I muse as I reach for my phone and dial the code for the gate. It opens a few seconds later and he drives in, climbing up the long drive way and stopping by the circle, close to the front door.
"Nice place you got here." He remarks, as I reach for my backpack in the backseat.
I only nod in answer, and slip my phone back into the back-pocket of my jeans.
"Well, thanks or the ride. Uh, and the food. I'll pay you back when I can." I tell him as I push the door open.
"No problem." He says simply. "See you on Monday."
"Yeah-" I pause, my breath hitching in my throat. "Actually... I'm not coming on Monday." I reply.
"You're ditching? That strangely unlike you," He remarks, a smirk dancing on his lips.
"It's for the right reasons, Sawyer. Plus- ditching is healthy." I tell him, shrugging a little.
"I never imagined those words coming from you." He muses, a chuckle slipping from him.
"You know nothing about me." I deadline, a bland look on my face.
"I'm starting to." He says softly, and I feel my chest tighten, but not painfully as it usually is.
"Bye, Sawyer." I say, jumping out of the tall Mercedes and landing on my feet.
"Later, April." He says and I shut the door, watching him drive off down the driveway, his car leaving a red glow behind it.
I walk towards the door and fish around my backpack for my keys, only to find that the door is unlocked. I push it open and lock it once I've stepped inside. There are no sounds of life fron the kitchen, which means Mrs. Sanchez already left for the day.
Something smells insanely delicious, which says a lot since I'm stll full from the burger Sawyer bought for me.
I climb up the staircase, heading for my bedroom. I throw the door open and freeze to look at the TV, which is currently on and blaring the latest soccer match highlights.
What the hell?
I turn on the lights, adding to the dim glow which was provided only by the screen. I step inside and throw my bag on the bed and grab the remote off the coffee table, switching off the-
"Hi, April."
A scream rips it's way out of my throat and I jump almost three feet into the air, my heart pumping roughly against my ribcage. I twist around to look at the intruder, only to find Elijah's face raised in a small smile.
I'm happy he's here. I really am. But a cold chill settled into my spine, and the tightening in my chest plus the loud pounding of my startled heart didn't work well together. I saw black spots in my vision and my limbs went limp as I crumbled to the ground.
The last last thing I heard was Elijah's curse as he scrambled to catch me before I crashed into the ground.
Everything went black from there on.