Let's visualize an image inside our heads.
You're in your house, late at night, and your family is all asleep. But you're awake, because you're thirsty. You go downstairs to get a glass of water, and you are drinking it when suddenly you hear a soft click, and you see a boy of about sixteen standing in front of you pointing a gun straight at your head.
This is the exact scenario I find myself in on a Monday night, when I’m meant to be asleep getting what my mother calls my “beauty rest” like any other fifteen year old I know. Also, I’m pretty sure any other fifteen year old would be freaking out inside her head and planning for escape. But I guess then I’m not a normal fifteen year old, because bizarrely my hot-guy-standing-within-ten-metres-of-me instincts are kicking in, and I’m automatically checking him out like I would with any other guy.
BUT, my voice of sanity screams inside me, THIS IS NOT AN ORDINARY GUY, ALICIA! HE’S GOT A GUN AND COULD KILL YOU IN A SECOND! I listen, I agree, but I carry on looking.
And then he speaks, in an urgent, desperate voice.
“I need money. Now.”
I look around and see my sister Lu's hot pink wallet lying on the kitchen counter. She leaves it out every night so that she won't forget it in the morning.
Thanking god for having given me such a freakishly organized sister, I grab it and pull out twenty dollars. As I do that, I suddenly realize something: I can see his face.
He hasn't bothered to cover it with a mask or anything, like robbers do in all the cop movies I've watched. And I'm not a policewoman or anything, but that seems kind of strange to me.
I hold it out to him and as he takes it from me, our hands brush and I can feel my stomach go WHOOOSH, like I'm on a rollercoaster at a theme park. I look up and find myself looking straight into his dark eyes, which kind of remind me of melted chocolate.
God, this is getting ridiculous! Why am I so attracted to this guy? I mean, he's hot and everything, but usually I'm not that shallow! Suddenly he jumps back, as if he's just realized where he is, and mutters something that I can't hear. Then he walks quickly to the door, turns the handle and disappears into the blackness outside.
And all I have left to prove that this weird, unreal night wasn't just a dream are shaking hands, a thumping heart and minus twenty dollars.
In the week that passes, I can't stop thinking about him.
The guy who pointed a gun at me. The guy who could've killed me but didn't. The guy who took twenty dollars. The name possiblities are endless!
As I sit in math class, willing the hands of the clock above the whiteboard to move just a little faster, I feel something poke me in the ribs.
I turn around and see my best friend Mandy sitting holding a ruler with a grin on her face. When she sees that she's got my attention, she leans towards me, her dark curly hair falling in my face, and whispers, "Let's play Name Game!"
I think you should know that Mandy and I played the Name Game every single Maths class in eighth grade, until halfway through the term when our teacher finally caught on that we weren't learning about inter-quartile ranges and algabraic equations, but were matching every girl and boy in the year and putting them together by their personalities and looks, and moved us to opposite ends of the classroom for the rest of the year.
But this year, we managed to land the new maths teacher, Mr Burton, who couldn't control a class to save his life, and we could choose our own seats and play as much as we wanted.
But right now I don't care about setting up guys who play soccer and try to act cool by getting drunk at parties. I seem to have developed a taste in incredibly dreamy guys who break into your house and take your money. I can feel Mandy's eyes on me, and I know what she's thinking.
At lunch she got mad after I point blank refused go with her to flirt with Dylan Kramer.
"God, Al, you're so BORING now!"
I could've told her, I desperately WANTED to tell her everything. But for some reason, something stopped me from blurting it all out to her.
I wanted to keep his secret, because of that look I'd seen in his eyes. Not an I'm-gonna-kill-you-and-take-your-money-because-I-want-to look. No, it was a sort of desperate and scared. Like a fox when it's being chased by a hound.
Like HE was running away from something.