The Best Memories Come From Bad Ideas.

 THE BEST MEMORIES COME FROM BAD IDEAS

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CHAPTER1

Daniel is leaving.

It is finally the start of summer and the one person I want to spend it with is leaving town.

I still can't believe it as he stands in front of me now, beside his new truck - that he hasn't shut up about since he bought it - and holding his packed up bag, ready to go.

I look at his brown, messy-but-only-because-he-styled-it-that-way hair, the fringe hanging down just enough to shadow his grey eyes, and that calm and serious look that never seems to leave his face, and I wonder how I'm going to survive a whole summer without him: without the way he constantly corrects me when I say something dumb; the way he's always there to raise his eyebrow and tell me to 'Calm it and stop embarassing yourself.' when I get to hyper-active in public; the way he listens to my problems and comes up with a perfectly simple solution every time, no matter what...

"Remember; don't go all rockstar on me, kay?" I say to him or the fifth time, raising my hand to my head to pull my dark hair out of my face and block out the sun that blares down.

"You kidding?" He says, throwing his bag into the passenger seat and then turning back to me.

He's right.

Out of all the people you would think to be in a rock band, Daniel is the one you would least expect. He's smart, cool and collected. He always knows what to do and he will sure as hell have a smart ass comeback to anything you say.

But rocking out, strumming a guitar and belting out lyrics in front of a screaming crowd? Not so much a Daniel thing. Yeah, he loves music, but he has his own smart and collected style of things.

None the less, that's where you'll find him - all summer. On stage with his band 'The Incident', miles away from our little town of Whitebay. And miles away from me.

"You never know," I shrug. "You might come back with ten tattoos, a whole range of bodily peircings and jet black hair, with a whole flock of porn-star girlfirends..."

"Emmerson," He cuts off my babbling voice and raises his eyebrow in his oh-so-mature way. "Since when did porn-stars come in flocks?"

I grin. "Didn't you know? A flock of porn-stars, a herd of gimps, a gaggle of cross-dressing pole dancers!"

"Stop talking," Daniel says, shaking his head and surpressing a smile. "You're not making sense."

"Do I ever make sense?" I say, and he reaches forward to tuck a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. Daniel isn't one for public displays of affection, so even this simple gesture gives me a fuzzy feeling inside.

"No, not really." He says. Then, for a second, its quiet and it finally starts to sink into my head. He's leaving. He really is leaving town.

When he first told me he would be leaving for the summer, all those weeks ago, we had been sitting in my room listening to music while I helped him write some new lyrics for The Incident. (That's his favourtie part of being in a band; writing his lyrics). And lets just say, when he broke the news to me, I had *ahem* lost my cool.. slightly.

In fact, if I remember correctly it had gone something like this: Me throwing pillows wildly across the room and screaming. "You're not leaving...LIER!" A pillow just dodges his face. "YOU LIER." A pillow hits him in the gut. "WHY DO YOU LIEEEE, DANIEL?" Full on pillow-head-shot. Then he had sighed, turned the music off and turned to me, explaining fully what would be happening. My heart had sunk but even then, I had refused to believe it. Pushed it away and pretended nothing would be happening.