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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
hi! I haven't written in a while so I'm just giving it a shot - no summary yet, just check it out if you're interested and let me know what you think, thanks!
~Di

Submitted: May 28, 2013

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Submitted: May 28, 2013

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As the familiar view flashed through my open window, I couldn’t deny the thrill working its way into my chest. I was home; the fresh sea air came rushing through my window, where the ocean lay peacefully, its beaches bare. Only a few lone kids ran about flying a kite, and another two dotted the coast, towels slung around their wet bodies.

after an entire summer of hiding out  - okay, so I hadn’t exactly hidden, everyone knew where I was, I had passed on the goodbye party but still; it hadn’t been the romantic spur of the moment type of thing; I had dreamt of whisking my bags off to who knows where, leaving everyone to wonder (or not to care) over where I was. In truth I got caught up with the logistics of the perfect getaway. Where to go, where to stay, what to do.

But now all that was past. The city was barely awaking from a long summer night, the sun only peaking above the smooth rolling hills, casting light shadows in the pinkish light. When the cab rolled to a stop in-front of my house, it took me a moment to grasp that I was home.

Coming home was something I had thought of a lot during the past two weeks, in fleeting moments while resting by the lake or during long nights with oldies discs playing from the record player in the summer house. In France, everything seemed so far away – and it was. But now I was back, and by the looks of things, so was everyone.

The uneven stairs leading up to the entrance were wider than I remembered. I lugged my bags to the door and eased my way in, knowing full well that no one would be around to greet me.

The sunlight spilled like honey on the wooded floors of the house, the large glass doors leading to the pool only slightly ajar so that the breeze ruffled the yellow curtain. I tip-toed upstairs, my shoulders sagging from fatigue under the straps of my duffel.

The moment I reached my room, I brushed past the door and went straight for the shower. My private bathroom, which I had always taken the guilty pleasure of enjoying was an ensemble of warm colors – cherry red, warm honey yellows and bronze handles on the cabinets and door. A fuzzy cream-colored rug lay before the shower where I promptly turned the water on full blast and peeled off my traveling clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor.

Despite the weariness tugging at the edge of my consciousness, and the full awareness that I was beyond over-tired, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the window, where a windy road led to my favorite spot on the beach. Unlike the other girls in LA, I had generally opted for surfing instead of sunbathing, and riding on the coast or hills as opposed to the fancy rings they had set up at Greenwich’s.

I changed quickly out of my shorts and tank, pulling on my black bikini and cutoffs. I simply had to take a try on the waves today, and that would be unlikely if I waited for later, when my family would be home. As unorthodox as my family was, my mother couldn’t bear the thought of me flaking on a welcome dinner with Rick and Jake.

My mother had left a note about being out with friends taped to the fridge, noting that there was saran-wrapped leftover parmesan from last night. I hungrily dug it out and ate it propped up on the counter in the kitchen, then hopped off and dumped it into the sink, noting to clean it later. Then, without thinking twice, I ran out the door, grabbing my surfboard and suit from the closet. Heaving the board through the window of my green truck, I slung around the front and hopped into the driver’s seat. The truck came to life with a satisfying roar, jittering a little when I pushed on the gas pedal and backed out of the driveway. The ride to the beach was peaceful, and I bobbed my head absent-mindedly to Frank Sinatra’s “The way you look tonight.”

College would be starting in just about two weeks, and I had plenty of time to go buy supplies and catch up with friends. Letting my mind wander, I reflected back on the graduation party only a few months ago, re-living the heart-ache laced with relief all over again. Yes, I made up my mind, going to live with my sister in France for the summer had definitely been the correct decision. As I made a sharp turn on the curvy road my cellphone jilted in its case, ringing suddenly. Reaching out I pressed the accept button, only to find myself in a pothole.

“Shit,” I hissed, throwing the phone on the floor and ignoring the incessant ringing as I pushed the stick-shift to reverse. Pushing my hair out of my face, I began to back out when I heard a thud. My heard dropped, and began thumping in my ears. In no time, a guy was emerging from his sedan and looping around the front to check the damage on his car.

“Crap,” his face was drawn tightly as he gave me a frustrated glance. My head was below the dashboard as I fished around for my phone- still ringing loudly to Pink’s ‘learn to love again’.  As I raised my eyes to meet his, I flushed and hopped out of my truck.

“Sorry,” I called over to the guy distractedly, still busy tapping on my phone in an effort to hang up on my caller. That’s when I noticed my surfboard splayed on the cement, missing a fin.

“Man, you’re kidding!” I grumbled as I picked it up, studying the damage.

“You kidding me? Look at my car,” the guy demanded, throwing his hand at its direction. I shrugged as I shook my head.

“No luck all around, huh?” this didn’t registrate well. “Why don’t you just apologize?” he persisted. “You banged into me and now look at my car.”

“Don’t be such a girl,” I said defensively, “I already said I was sorry.” I eyed the dent in his blue sedan, which wasn’t too dramatic.

“A girl? You serious? This all happened because you’re a little girl who’s clearly driving a truck that’s too big for her!” the guy’s blue eyes flashed, and I let out a snort.

“Wow,” I commented. “That’s really mature of you. Look, how much is it gonna cost me?” I reached into the car for my wallet, willing to shell out whatever it was to keep this kid from whining.

To my surprise, he held up his palm to stop me. “I don’t want your money. Why don’t you just apologize?” the tone in his voice was guarded and only got on my nerve even more. I shrugged.

“Whatever dude, I’m sure it’s not a big deal.” Still holding my surfboard under one arm, I noted him giving me the once-over. “Just admit it’s your fault,” he noted hotly, taking a step in my direction.

“What are we, twelve?” I shot back. “I didn’t even see you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem,” he pursed his lips in distaste.  His attitude, which only seemed to be escalating, got on my nerve. I had been home for all of about two hours and already I had a run-in with some newbie visitor – for I certainly didn’t recognize him – and he made no effort to disclose his identity.

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath, patting his car and shooting me the death-stare, “you have quite a mouth and I’m not in the mood for a showdown.”

I let out a snort, “yeah, whatever douch-bag!” I hollered over my shoulder as I hopped back into the truck. He didn’t say another word as he started his car with a loud va-room as he sped down the hill, heading for the beach.

What an idiot.


© Copyright 2020 Dianna Greene. All rights reserved.

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