"And if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know?"
-
Maya Beaulieu, born and raised in Montreal, has heard the stories about Lance Stroll, the boy who grew up down the street of where she lived. All the reason to stay...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
August 10th, Montreal, Canada
"You're here quite early," Lance's head peaks above the wooden floor of the treehouse. "Did you sleep here?"
I take my head from the pillow and nod, "I did."
"Why?" He pulls himself inside and walks over to sit opposite of me.
"My mom is here, and I had an argument with her and my dad," I sigh and sit straight up. "So, I left and slept here."
"Isn't that a bit too dramatic?"
"No, it is not," I give him a stern look. "What makes you come here so early?"
"My dad's still asleep, so I had the chance to disappear before he notices," He leans against the trunk of the tree. "Before he forces me to do another round of sim-training."
I rub the sleep from my eyes, letting a comfortable silence fall between us.
"You know," Lance chuckles a bit, "For someone who called me insufferable on multiple occasions, you haven't tried to send me away once."
I roll my eyes, "Shut up, Lance. I really can not have your attitude today."
"My attitude?" He scoffs playfully.
"You know, I thought you lived in London. You said that in an interview once."
"And I thought you weren't a fan, yet you know where I live and that I said it in an interview," He smirks. "I am renovating it and currently it is unlivable so I am here living with my dad."
I roll my eyes again and let myself fall back on the pillows, wishing for him to leave me alone in my head. And as I am immediately heard; his phone pings, he sighs and walks to the ladder.
"Do I see you tonight?"
"Maybe," I reply, sitting up again. "Depends if my parents will let me go."
"I'll pick you up." He says before jumping down and disappearing before I can respond.
｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡
My mom had left to her hotel room, even though my dad had offered her our guest room multiple times, my mom insisted on getting an hotel room, so she wouldn't be too much of a bother to us. Or mostly, not too much of a bother to me.
So, when there is a knock on the kitchen door, only me and my dad are in the kitchen.
"Are you expecting someone?" My dad asks, before the door opens and Lance appears in the door opening.
"Good evening, Mr. Beaulieu," Lance smiles at him and offers him a hand. "Lance Stroll."
"I know who you are," My dad responds short, and looks at me with his eyebrows raised, ignoring Lance's hand for a few seconds.
