Here Comes The Sun [wattys 2016]

MARCH 2007

MARCH 2007

The first time Alex saw Jem, he was in a pickle.

Having acquired a used skateboard from his friend as a going away gift, a dreary, cloudy morning had seemed best to practice it. It was a well-worn skateboard- with graffiti and scribbles, for a lot of which he had to be thanked. It had been his skateboard for roughly two weeks but before that, he and Ronan hadn't hesitated to cover it with paint and markers. It was the product of a four year long friendship and two creative, frustrated boys with nimble hands and whole galaxies in their minds. The skateboard suffered greatly having being painted on over and over so that it was covered with layers and layers of spray on paint and Sharpie. It was a shame, really, that Alex never learned to ride it because Ronan had been pretty good at it. Alex would usually sit at a side, laugh at his friend, play obnoxiously loud music and watch Ronan attempt stunts and impress passers-by. It had resulted in a lot of injures, most of which Alex had to tend to.

The skateboard was a precious thing; the sort swimming in nostalgia and four years' worth of memories. It was a dusty old thing.

Anyway, he had decided to learn to ride it, thinking that he owed it to Ronan to at least attempt. The wind was sharp and icy and every gust seared his face but Alex pulled his hoodie over his head (to you know, get into character) and clutched the skateboard under his armpit. He thought he looked cool but he probably looked like a juvenile delinquent, on his way to bash someone's head in with his skateboard. But that couldn't be helped.

There was a small parking lot a few blocks over with a sort of concrete bowl in the ground. The parking lot was always empty so Alex figured that there wouldn't at least be an audience to watch him fall on his butt and get slammed in the face with the skateboard.

He had been attempting to skate down into the bowl and back up when he slipped and fell. The board landed a few feet away and Alex fell flat on his back. His head jerked back and hit something hard.

Alex felt tears threatening to escape and he tightly closed his eyes as he colourfully cursed out loud with great volume and expression. The back of his head was throbbing but he didn't attempt to sit up; frustration taking over him and weighing him down.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a boy watching him.

He is standing a little further away, with both his hands stuffed into his hoodie. He's pale and a little tired-looking as if he didn't go out much. Short brown hair graces his head and falls floppily into his eyes and he keeps pushing it back. His nose is sort of hooked, like a parrot's and faintly red as if he has a cold. He regards Alex with soft set, wide eyes, twinkling with amusement.

It isn't the most attractive face but it was hard hitting like a piece of art- the sort of art that one could stare at for hours, catching different colours every time they looked at it and watching them change every hour as the light faded. Then the boy smiles at him, one side of his mouth rising farther than the other. It was a trouble-maker's smile but a trouble maker who would always apologize after pranking you and take you for a treat afterwards if you felt too bad.

"You're doing it wrong." The boy tells him. His voice, not unlike his expression was that of one who was amused beyond doubt. His 'n's sound sort of weird so Alex concludes that he does have a cold. There was nothing arrogant about him but Alex flared up at once. "Oh, am I?"

"Yeah, well," the boy shrugs and shoved his hand into the pocket of his black hoodie. It advertises a band Alex does  not recognize. "For starters, you're not bending. Like, at all."

Alex sits up quickly and brushes off his jeans even though they are clean. He glares at the boy. "You've been watching me, huh? Are you a stalker or something?"