13 Surf's Up
"Somehow our devils are never quite what we expect when we meet them face to face."
He couldn't find it. He couldn't find even a glimpse of Dior's journal anywhere. He had interrogated every one of Sam's crones, all of them telling him that they had no idea what he was talking about. He was frustrated, and angry. He wanted to ease Dior's worries, seeing the blonde with dark circle under her eyes was unsettling. He didn't her to lose anymore sleep than she already has.
Another thing that's been adding to his ire was the new kid in school. It was already halfway through November, already a few weeks till exams and then winter break. It was rare for someone to transfer this late, but nevertheless, they did get one.
The guy was only slightly taller than Dior, an inch or two. He had brown hair, and tanned skin, but that wasn't really unusual in California. What were unusual were the startlingly clear gray eyes he possessed. Not unlike a certain blonde's eyes that he knew.
The skinny brunette followed Dior everywhere, walking her to classes whenever he wasn't there, and lurking around the girls when they were eating their lunch in the cafeteria. Mitchell hasn't been hanging out with them as much since his suspension, he was always talking to his teachers after classes to see what extra work he could do to make up for his absence in class. So busy, that he didn't even notice the development.
He was talking to some guys in the lacrosse team, talking about their strategies for practice later that afternoon and for the game on Friday when he sees a hint of argyle in his periphery.
He looks over, Ethan talking about some of the drills he's been trying out, and sees Daniel King (Emily had told him last night what the guy's name was) standing next to Dior's locker with the blonde and Natalia. Dior's smiling, and his chest tightens when he sees that he wasn't the cause.
He sees them talk a bit more but was taken out from his mussing by Wesley asking him what time they should meet up for extra practice. He glances again to the direction of his friend and swears that he sees the brunette smirk at him darkly.
Mitchell stands near his open locker, after the guys had left him alone, and taking out his books for his next classes. He was getting all that he can since he had two periods back to back with no chance to get back to his locker. He had papers to give back to some of his classmates, his notebooks for his classes and the two books he'd need for the next two periods. It was unfortunate that he only brought his messenger bag with him, forgetting that Emily wasn't going to be in school. (He relied on Emily to bring her Chemistry book every meeting, being much too lazy to lug around his own when he carries his astronomy book.)
He heads to Dior's locker, noticing the complete lack of a brown head anywhere near her vicinity. He struggles with the books and papers in his arm, the uncomfortable feeling of having sweat between the cover of the book and his arms starting to disgust him, when something crashes against him.
It was Daniel King. The brown haired geek in the argyle sweater had successfully dislodged everything that Mitchell owned. Papers were scattered on the floor, his two books thrown whichever way and his notebooks sprawled across the hallway. He himself was knocked down, the collision successfully leaving him breathless and gasping on the floor.
"I am so sorry, dude! I didn't see you! Sorry! Sorry!" Daniel had rapidly fired a series of apologies, all the while gathering Mitchell's things while he stands up. Dior had reached them now, helping the black haired boy in standing up. "I didn't mean to crash into you! It was just that some of the guys were chasing me down the hallway." It was true; he could hear the guffaws of his teammates just down the hall.
He stands, dusting himself off and straightening his clothes. He shakes his head. "It's fine dude. No harm no foul." He reaches for his things in the brunette's arms, anticipating the weight of them. "Just look where you're going next time, and I'll tell the guys to knock it off with you." The guy smiles at him, with teeth and his lips pulled nearly to his ears.
He brushes himself off as well and turns around to head where he was going in the first place. Mitchell turns to Dior next to him, answering her question of 'are you okay?' but not before he sees that smirk again.
The blonde leans in to kiss his cheek, after she makes sure he was fine. ("Are you really okay?" "I told you, I am.") He feels the flush of his face, feeling the warmth spread across his neck. He was sure his ears were red. He hears someone gagging near them and sees Sam fake-gagging, her crones giggling all the while. He doesn't pay her any mind.
When he felt her lips touch his skin, it sent liquid fire in his veins. He imagines what it would feel like when it wasn't his cheek that her lips touch, and he dies a little inside.
It's seven o'clock on a Saturday morning and he has nothing to do. Coach Burton had cancelled practice earlier that morning, and despite his plans to help his mom in the office, he still has seven hours of free time that he doesn't know how to spend.
He spent half an hour reading a book for English class, reading the same sentence over and over before he gives up. He hears his phone beep just as he was putting the book back in his shelf. He slides his finger to unlock it before he reads it.
Dior [7:37 am]: Morning! Hey Mitchell, you awake?
[7:37 am]: Yeah, finishing homework for English. What's up?
Dior [7:39 am]: Can you teach me how to surf today? Connor told me your practice was cancelled and I'm bored.
[7:40 am]: No plans with Nat and Ems today?
Dior [7:40 am]: Nooooo. Emily's with family, visiting her cousin who just gave birth and Nat isn't answering her phone.
[7:41 am]: Maybe she's still sleeping. And sure, I'll teach you how to surf today babe.
[7:53 am]: Be there in five.
He had dumped a pair of shirts and a shirt in the nearest bag he could find, surely crumpling the articles of clothing he was manhandling. But he didn't take notice, already slinging it over his should and running towards the front door, locking it behind him. He passes his car in lieu of walking to her house, glad that it wasn't very far from his.
He walks briskly, excited to see her again. But he deflates the moment he sees the person standing on her front porch.
It was Daniel King. Dressed in a plain white v-neck shirt and some blue board shorts. His mood darkens instantly, and glowers at the direction of the skinny brunette. He doesn't greet the guy, only stands a few feet away, determined to not make eye contact. He see Dior come out of the front door, dressed in a light white summer dress and green flipflops. She's carrying a big should bag and he immediately rushes to get it from her. But Daniel beats him, already next to her and taking her bag from her shoulders. But he doesn't give and instead gives his arm to her.
"Shall we?" he asks, as obnoxiously British as possible; offering his arm to her. He hears her giggle, soft and feminine and feels her small hand tuck into the crook of his arm. They walk ahead of the small brunette, leaving him struggling with her bag. He gains a large amount of satisfaction in besting his enemy.
He's embarrassed himself for life. He couldn't remember how many times he wiped out, falling off his surfboard and falling to the waves below. He splutters sea water, blowing it from his mouth and gasps as he crashes to the surface. He glares and stalks toward the shore, his disdain clear as he glowers in the direction of Daniel and Dior.
"What the hell's got you panties in a twist, bitch?" It was Jeremy; he had plopped down beside him. He had texted the blonde before they reached the beach, needing the presence of his best friend before the black haired boy murders the skinny boy who was currently teaching Dior how to properly stand up on the surf board.
Mitchell grumbles something noncommittal and Jeremy only roars in amusement. He glares at his best friend, and it only causes the blonde to laugh louder even more.
"Oh this is just priceless. Wittle Daniel King stealing your girl?" He laughs, clutching his stomach when Mitchell reaches out a fist to punch him.
"Shut up. She isn't my girlfriend."
"You so wish she was." He doesn't respond to his friend's statement, choosing to stare at the families who were at the beach as well. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining but not glaringly hot that you'd toast. It was the perfect weather to go outside, but all Mitchell wishes is that he's back home.
"Well?" He hears Jeremy say.
"The hell, you weren't even listening to me! I was telling you that you had to take your girl back, not sulk here like some pussy."
He punches Jeremy in the side, but stands nonetheless, leaving the blonde surfer groaning behind him. "And don't call me a pussy!" He yells as he walks away.
He successfully surfs when he goes back in the water, and he couldn't help but feel smug satisfaction when Dior leaves the skinny brunette and goes to his side, but he congratulation the boy when he rides a wave as well.
He invited both of them back to his house for dinner, having left the beach at nearly 6 in the evening. The two boys managed to get Dior to stand up on her surf board, but still couldn't get the hang of riding a wave. Daniel says that he needs to go home, or his father would have an aneurysm so it was only him and Dior that goes back.
He heats up some of the leftover lasagne that was left over from last night. His mother had called, saying that she'd be home late, so they already ate their dinner once it was heated.
"Wanna watch a movie?" He asks as he wipes the counters clean. She's standing beside him, looking over his shoulder.
"Sure, what do you have in mind?" He puts the leftovers and keeps some of the lasagne for when his mother comes home.
"You pick. You go on up to my room while I finish here." He's still putting the dishes in the washer when he hears the door of his room close.
He steadies himself on the counter, breathes even and deep. This is the first time they'll ever be alone since that day they took a nap. He wasn't nervous then because he didn't realize the feelings he harbours for her now. He admits to himself that he does like her, likes her beyond the bounds of friendship.
He feels butterflies in his stomach whenever she smiles at him, when her eyes crinkle on the sides and he dimples show. His skin feels on fire every time her hand brushes against his, a decidedly pleasurable burn that spreads to every part of his body. His thoughts only consisted of her and her alone. He's easily distracted by her, a touch would send his thoughts halting, and his senses tuned into her. He doesn't know when he starts to recognize what he was feeling, but he guesses it was always there. He was always just too oblivious to see it.
He bounds the stairs two at a time when realizes he's been in the kitchen for long enough. When he opens the door to his room, the only light was from the TV, leaving the room in semi darkness. But even through the dim lighting, he could see the tense expression on Dior's face; the set of her shoulder as she sits on his bed and holds something in her hands. He couldn't see though, far too covered in shadows for him to correctly identify what it was.
But she shifts when he nears, and he sees for the first what she holds in her hands. Even though he has never seen it before, he knows for sure what it was.
"Why do you have this?"