Naughts and Crosses

Chapter one

The waves sounded peaceful, crashing against the rough rocks. People were swimming in them, surfing them, and it was hard not to imagine that someone may be drowning beneath them.

The pier was rickety and old, twenty feet above the yellow sand. People were stood in groups on the pier, laughing and smiling. They were all trust fund kids, in their expensive summer wear and designer sunglasses.

Colourful beach houses stood not far from of the hill made of sand. They all looked the same. Each with planked walls and wooden porches with a swing chair, a small window on the roof.

George Davidson stood on the pier, leaning on the wooden fence that seemed to be in the same condition as the wood he stood on. He had a beer in his hand, sipping it slowly as he watched the world in action.

The sore thumb in that small piece of the world was George Davidson. Everyone around him was happy, enjoying the early months of summer, anticipating the joys to come. They all seemed to be the epitome of new money, old tradition. They looked as though they lived the American dream, white picket fence life that everyone yearned for.

Florida was different, George had decided that as soon as he stepped out of the airport and had gotten into the wrong side of his uncle's truck. It was far too hot, too big. The small sector of land where he would live for the next three months felt like a different world altogether.

A hard force shoved his shoulder, some of his beer splashing from the bottle.

"Shit— Sorry," A male voice said, a light chuckle to his voice. "Are you okay?" The voice then asked.

George turned to face the man. The man was taller than George, with dirty blonde hair and green eyes. He looked like a golden retriever, almost, George thought. He was one of those people who were wearing designer sunglasses, but his were on top of his head. His white, graphic t-shirt looked worn, but in the way that it was designed to be like that.

"I'm fine," George mumbled. His London accent stood out in comparison to the blonde's American one. George hadn't realised how different they were until he had heard it himself. "Thank you," He then added on.

The blonde man seemed taken aback, for whatever reason. "You're British," He stated. "Are you here on vacation?"

George shrugged. "Sort of."

The blonde man smiled, and his eyes smiled too, glistening beneath the setting sun as George brought the beer bottle to his mouth once more.

"Clay! Come on, man! We're choosing teams!" A voice loudly shouted from beneath the pier.

The blonde man reached a hand to the back of his head, scratching it nervously. "That's my friend," He said. "I should go."

"You should," George agreed. "God forbid you miss choosing teams," He scoffed out, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

The blonde man nodded with another small smile. "We're just playing a few games of volleyball, if you wanted to...join us?" He offered. "You look lonely up here."

"I'm alright," George declined.

"Alright," The blonde smiled. "I'll see you around...?" He trailed off, an unspoken question.

"George."

"I'll see you around, George." The blonde man smiled, and then he was off, a slight jog to his step as he made his way down the pier.

When George looked beneath him, the blonde man had joined a larger group, a shorter, light brunette haired man pushing his chest jokingly.

He sipped his beer once more, and let the world live around him.