The Watermelon Project

Chapter One

"It's got a freaking marble shower," I whisper to Ryan as we peer into the massive master bathroom.

"Since when did you get excited about marble showers?"

"Since when did you decide that a fun way to spend a Saturday is going to some rich guy's open house and pretending we're interested in buying his mcmansion?"

"I told you, I need photographs of a fancy house for my portfolio."

"No you don't."

"You're right. But would you, September Brennan, have agreed to come if I said 'hey, let's crash some rich guy's open house and pine over a mansion we will never be able to afford'?"

"Honestly at this point, I'd do anything to get away from Hodgins."

Except I can't. And that's not really true. Hodgins University is my entire life. The high school I graduated from is two streets away. My freaking house is two streets away. My mother basically runs Hodgins' health center. And my dad? Well, he was able to escape. Move from upstate back to the city. My parent's divorce, getting to go visit him in the city...that's the only time I can get away.

And, like I said, my wanting to get away from Hodgins isn't really true. I love Hodgins. I mean, would I have decided to come here if it wasn't free for me as the child of an employee? Honestly...yes. Because I knew I wanted to live at home with my mom. Dorm life has absolutely no appeal to me. Communal showers? Getting locked out of your room while your roommate bangs some guy from two doors down? No thank you. Am I antisocial? Maybe. Or maybe I'm just practical. Maybe I just know my limits. Maybe I just know that people are annoying as f—

"September, are you seeing this?"

"What? The freaking marble sink?"

Ryan rolls her eyes and grabs my shoulders, turning me back towards the master bedroom. "Look at the night stand."

"Who leaves personal photographs out during an open house?"

"Better question," Ryan pushes me towards the nightstand, "is that a photograph of Charlie Parker?"

I bend down so that I'm eye level with the picture frame, not wanting to pick it up because I'm 100% expecting it will somehow set off an alarm and I'll get arrested for attempting theft or some shit like that.

"Oh my god. That is so Charlie Parker."

"Since when is Charlie Parker related to someone who owns this?" Ryan gestures to the expensively decorated room that our unrefined presence is tarnishing.

I look more closely at the photograph. The man whose face had popped up when we Googled who owned this house and what he does for a living is standing next to Charlie Parker with his arm around him, next to Charlie Parker's mom.

"No freaking way."

"Would it kill you to actually swear for once, Sept?"

"I swear! And besides, you swear enough for the both of us." Ryan shrugs, a smirk on her face. "Well don't you want to know why I just said 'no freaking way'?"

"Oh, do please elaborate, Sherlock."

"This," I say pointing at the woman in the photograph, "is Charlie Parker's mom. She used to run bake sales and stuff back when we were in elementary school."

Ryan's eyes go wide. "So that means?"

"The James Parker, lawyer extraordinaire who owns this absolute mastodon of a house is in fact, father to Charlie Parker, the absolute love of my life."

"Wow, so if you actually get him to notice you, you'll be set for life." She winks at me. I roll my eyes.

Charlie Parker is a blonde, six foot tall, absolute masterpiece. His hair always falls the exact right way. His eyes are a piercing bright green. His teeth? Immaculate. And get this — he's also intelligent, and the nicest guy I've ever met. He's got it all. It's really impossible. I mean, how could anyone be that perfect?

Which is why I tell myself over and over that I cannot like him. I cannot possibly love him. And, well, yes...it is highly possible that I have been in love with him since the third grade. But I mean that I can't love him because there is no way in hell that he would ever love me back. It's not like I'm painful to look at or anything...I'd like to think I'm a pretty adorable person. But he's so...Charlie Parker. And now he's rich too? I couldn't possibly handle it. I cannot fit into his world. Him being popular in high school made it impossible. Him being rich (i.e. popular in the real world)? It's not happening. I have to get over him.

"We have to leave right now." I'm suddenly standing bolt upright.

"But I still need a photograph of the —" My icy stare cuts her off. "Okay, geez. It's not like he's going to show up. It's the middle of the semester. He's in Boston."

"I cannot be in Charlie Parker's house. I'm not even supposed to think about him."

"My god, you are obsessive. He's just a guy. There are plenty of hot guys at Hodgins. Or at least, some of the studs that use my checkout lane at the grocery store are nice eye candy." She pops the piece of pink gum that she's been chewing.

"Which is exactly why I'm not supposed to think about him," I whisper-shout, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the door.

Ryan Braidy, best friend since kindergarten. Braidy and Brennan, seated next to each other alphabetically. Inseparable ever since. I chose to stay in town to attend Hodgins. She chose to stay in town and attend to customers at the local Acme. She's impulsive, slightly insane, and despite her extreme feminism, has no problem diminishing men to the role of moving objects who exist solely for her viewing pleasure.

"And, you know, Sept, if you ever actually left your bedroom, maybe one of the studs I see at the store would ask you out."

"I leave my bedroom!" I cross my arms. "And we're leaving this one, right now."

That night as I stare at the ceiling, my eyes refuse to close, and my mind refuses to shut up. When the name "James Parker" popped up on Google, I did not even once consider that this millionaire could be Charlie's father. Sure, I never assumed Charlie was poor...but he never came across as being the kid of a millionaire. Though, I guess I'm being stereotypical.

But how did Charlie go through all of grade school without anyone knowing? I know the kids he was friends with...they totally would have bragged about having a rich friend. His mom always dropped him off at school on the way to work in her green Subaru. His parents aren't divorced...and I know his mom is an environmental educator at the nearby state park...maybe she's just not into all the rich people stuff. I mean...that makes sense for an environmentalist.

And, come to think of it, Charlie never had a birthday party at his house. They were always at bowling alleys and roller rinks and places like that. Did he just never invite any of his close friends over to his house? Did he always go to theirs for play dates?

"Stop it, September," I say to the ceiling. "You cannot keep obsessing over this guy. Yes he's perfect, but even if he somehow miraculously liked you back, you could never be happy with him. You could never make him happy."

Ryan's words, "if you ever actually left your bedroom," chase each other around my mind, repeating on loop. It's not my fault that I'm so introverted. It's not my fault that I get so claustrophobic around other people. It's not my fault that I'd rather spend an afternoon reading alone in my room, or hanging out one on one with Ryan. Or maybe it is. Maybe it's all my fault. Maybe I'm just as freaking annoying as every other human being.