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Bus Stop
Not a single cent. Not ONE single cent.
I turned my pockets inside-out for what seemed the fifth time. And yet, the money required for the bus ticket did not materialize.
It had been my first day at Redhill High and my mom had dropped me off in the morning with instructions to get home by the bus. And I had inconveniently forgotten to bring any money.
What seventeen-year old forgot to carry cash around? Oh wait, I did.
With a resigned snort, I, Chelsea Hampton, sat myself on a bench in the curb and began on this necessary process called thinking.
Option 1: Stay here until midnight and wait for mom to call the police or send a rescue party.
Option 2: Hitchhike.
Option 3: Borrow some money from someone, anyone, and repay them the next day.
The first one was definitely ruled out; I was not a great fan of dramatics and my mother was likely to give me a lengthy lecture on "With age comes Responsibility", once I got home with the hypothetical rescue party.
The second one was no good either. Who knew what kind of person the person behind the wheel could be? A robber (not that I had anything worth stealing), a murder, a rapist, a terrorist, a kidnapper… the possibilities were endless and equally scary.
The last one didn’t appeal to me either, but it definitely seemed the most feasible one in the current situation. But the question was, who?
Almost all the kids had either a car or a ride and the few unfortunate souls (they would number around twelve in total) who had to ride in the public bus had already left in the previous one.
I was STUCK. Someone, help me, now!
Honk, honk! Honk, honk!
God must be in a good mood.
Someone was sounding their horn to my left and I turned my head. A sleek black SUV had driven up while I had been busy formulating my plan of action. The driver rolled down the window and a face poked out.
A face crowned with tousled dark hair. A face with a pair of dark green eyes embedded in them. A face decorated with a nice, straight nose. All in all, a very handsome -if not perfect- face.
And no, I wasn't ogling; because it was a guy and I did not ogle guys, period. Not that I ogled girls either, for that matter. Hehe. He had a dimple when he smiled though, and I could feel myself going red. It had to be the heat, I was sure.
"Want a ride?" he asked, jolting me out of my reverie. Now, who wouldn't want a ride with such a fine male specimen as that? Huh, wait, I swear I didn't just say THAT.
"Huh, no thanks, but some money would be fine…"
"Money? For what?"
Sigh. No wonder the Y-Chromosome is considered dumb.
"For the bus," I said, dryly. "I mean, for what else?"
"Most people would just accept a ride, you know. But you seem to prefer a stinky, congested bus to a nice, clean car…" he said, patting the dashboard lovingly.
Jeez, what's with men and their cars? The SUV wasn't too bad though… it looked pretty cool, in fact.
"I'm not riding in your car," I stated, firmly.
He blinked. "Why not?" he asked, putting his chin in his hand.
"How do I know that you're not a murder, robber or a rapist? I'm not going around accepting rides from stranger," I declared. As soon as I realised what I'd said, my face turned purple and I began stuttering. "I mean, what I meant is…"
He burst out laughing. A nice, deep laugh with a rough edge to it. There was something I liked instinctively about his laugh; it made me feel at ease around him and had a comforting, realfeel to it. I began to warm up to this guy.
"Not very trusting, are you? Sweetheart, I'm not a murder, you'll have to take my word on that. And considering you don't even have any cash, I don't think you'd have anything else worth stealing. And as for the last accusation, as much as I think you're very pretty-" I turned back to red from purple at this, "I haven't really got past second base yet with anyone."
He was grinning openly at the end of this speech. The speech that ended with him openly stating that he was a virgin
At the end of a minute, where I kept opening and closing my mouth and his eyes kept twinkling, I found myself saying, "I'll take up on your offer, thanks."
"Miracle of miracles, the fair damsel agrees," he exclaimed, punching his arm up in the air with mock-ecstasy.
I couldn't help laughing, even as I rolled my eyes.
"Address?" he questioned, as I got in.
Fortunately, I'd had the sense to remember my address, so I gave it to him. "17, Third Street."
"To Third Street then," he said, starting up the car, "and by the way, I'm Tristan Woods."
"I'm Chelsea Hampton," I replied, half-sheepishly.
"I know," he said, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes.
At my enquiring look, he said briefly, "You're in my English class."
The rest of the ride passed in a blur. Tristan was easy to talk to. In the space of fifteen minutes, I'd told him that I loved lemon pies, coffee, L.M. Montgomery, reading romance novels, Johnny Depp and cooking, and that I hated exercise, cleaning up my room, scrambled eggs, Math. and gardening. Tristan in turn told me how he preferred metal to rock, meat to desserts, chocolate to coffee, soccer to basketball and comedy to horror. And that he hated pop, cheats, cigarettes (he'd smoked them a few times though) and photography. Oh, he also said that he thought Angelina Jolie was hot. Not that I was jealous, of course.
When he braked at my house, I got out with reluctance.
"Thanks for the ride, once again," I said. "I'll see you around, I guess?"
"Yeah," he said, smiling. "See you around, Chels."
I'm positive that I'd made at least one friend today.
But somewhere, along the way, I fell in love.
And that's when I started acting weird. I felt annoyed when a girl other than me talked to him. I started stuttering when he smiled at me. I thought about him constantly. And at classes, I kept counting the hours till when I could see him.
Above all, I wanted our relationship to be something more than just friends.
He got out with me at my house, giving me a strange look (actually, one of the many he'd given me the whole evening). "I'm fine, really," I said, laying emphasis on the "really".
"Really?" he asked, with a silly grin on his face.
"Really," I assured, an equally silly grin making its way onto my face.
"So, you won't even feel even more "out of it" after this?" he questioned, suddenly very serious.
"Umm… after WHAT?" I demanded, not getting his drift.
"After this," he said.
The next thing I knew was that he'd bent down and pressed his lips to mine, giving me a short, sweet kiss.
My heart almost burst.
He drew away, just as I began responding.
He bit his lip for a moment and began, "Listen, I'm not rushing you or anything, but I really like you, okay? I mean I know you haven't been yourself lately, but I can't take it any longer. Of course, I'm fine, if you want to wait it out or just stay like this, but -"
"Tristan?"
He stopped mid-ramble and looked at me (although I would have been content just to watch him go on with that cute, hopeful look in his eyes).
I reached up for another kiss. I smiled in response as I felt him smiling against my lips.
And no more words were needed.
