A nice balmy, April breeze and an exceptionally bad afternoon for sixteen-year-old Sierra O'Conner....
At least a dozen articles lay before her, in precarious stacks, on the Formica table, screaming to be edited and adjusted into the school's own magazine: Skywards.
However, Sierra had other, comparably better, plans than to spend the beautiful 'beach' day sorting out through none-too-remarkable writings in the dreary, god-awfully silent Literary Society Hall; alone.
She knew Venus Hale would gladly offer to keep company as they soaked up the last, warm rays…and Venus always was the best-friend…the best friend who would never let you down, and whose reputation in the school was absolutely to-die-for, even if Sierra admitted it rather grudgingly.
There was no need to scroll through the never-ending contacts for Vee's number. Vee was on speed-dial. Of course.
Exactly forty seconds later, BlackBerry in hand, a fountain pen stuck in her prettily messy hazelnut hair, Venus Hale glided into the room.
'Ready?' she called in that chiming voice of hers that could turn lethally high-pitched, mind she got fuming.
'As ready as I'll ever be,' Sierra responded in her cut-glass British drawl, tossing her stuff into a white leather bag. The cream, butter-soft Chloe Paddington Special number Sierra had 'borrowed' from her no-nonsense-Starbucks worker slash full-time model-cousin; Lisette Margeson.
Together, the two young women strutted across the corridors, hallways and to the parking lot, finally.
The abandoned articles the least thing on Sierra's carefree mind, she noticed with not much dismay that everywhere they passed, people stared.
Why, Sierra thought half-haughtily, wouldn't they?
Venus-who oddly looked as if she'd materialized the real goddess with her name-was an indisputable beauty, however, too obviously unconscious of it.
While, Sierra, not exactly as breathtakingly gorgeous as Vee, was cute, alluring-well, her features did tend to take 'alluring' to a whole different level.
Features, those were far more suited if fixed in a mischievous ten-year-old, and not on a child-woman of almost seventeen's face.
The screen door of my apartment was being rapped on, for quite a while now.
Well, technically, Lisa's apartment; not exactly mine-as much as I'd love to take it's ownership. Sighs. Eighteen seems like such a long time away now.
Leisurely taking all my time as I swung my legs around the velvet-upholstered armchair where I'd been curled up, I rose and treaded gently past Lisa's soundly sleeping form on the settee.
The marble floor gleamed nicely beneath my bare feet and felt cool to the touch, giving the house an almost polished look. Passing the surgically-clean kitchenette, I strode to the backyard, where Vee lay sprawled on a sun-lounger.
'Might be Robb, to my room, quickly,' I hurriedly motioned for Vee to get a move on. In response, her huge Oliver's People sunglasses peered at me blankly, plucked brows shot up to her hairline.
I pulled her up on her feet and nodded impatiently to my room.
The banging was louder now.
Nodding with relief as I saw her tip-toe upstairs, I reminded myself to smooth my riotous streaked mass of waist-length raven-brown hair, and flatten the front of my oversize, hitched-up smock tee.
''S about f**king time,' a highly exasperated masculine voice cursed above me.
I hobbled. Whoa. Craning my neck then, and only then, did I get a clear view of the man who blocked my doorway....
Geez, not my doorway, but fine, whatever...
So, my thoughts; holy shit... My reaction = my thoughts.
The nineteen-year-old (or maybe eighteen) standing before me had had to be the best-looking dude in the whole universe. Well, scratch all those gorgeous Hollywood beefcakes. But yes, he could pass up for movie-star hot.
My trance shattered shortly when my widened gaze met his clearly hostile glare.
'Inspection already over, kid?' he spoke through gritted teeth, I could tell.
My chin came up in air. 'Who're you?' my fury darkening up the civility in me.
The set of his graceful jaw line with the appealing, pronounced cheekbones was drool-worthy.
'Sherr. You can call me Sherr.'