Though he's feeling all sorts of flighty, Stephen makes his way down the front steps and across the lawn. He's in the girl's shoes now. It's an off feeling. Next door. He peeks down the neighboring driveway. It's vacant. Quiet. Too quiet? He sighs and flicks his wristband.
Go.
...Okay.
Other way!
Stephen takes one step. One turns into two. A third. Three steps turn to four. Five. He can see a blurred glimpse of a back patio.
...Okay! She's not out! I tried!
Stephen stops and turns. He tried, but the dirty-blonde girl next door wasn't out after all. Yeah. He'll go back in and say—
"Hi, Stephen."
A door bangs shut.
The voice that says his name the correct way sends his nerves ablaze. Hyperactive senses work triple-overtime, sending his heart pounding out of his chest and clamming his hands up. He swallows a skittish chill. The missing girl. She was only inside. Her hello comes as a shock, the counselor above telling him to just breathe.
Stephen? ...Stephen, turn around and say hello. There's nothing to be worried about. She's not going to kill you.
Stephen glances over his shoulder. The girl. She's a dreamy blur from how off he's feeling. There's a smile on that face. A round, orange blur in one hand (orange soda?) and something else (a stick?) in the other.
Talk!
"Um, hi?" Stephen throws a half-wave up. "You're..."
How does she...oh.
Parentals? You remembered a minute ago. Stay with us.
"Mackenzie," the girl says, tapping what sounds like a soda can and breaking into a short smirk.
The answer to his summer curiosity. It's stuck on replay in his head. The dirty-blonde girl next door is...Mackenzie?
The blurs lighten up. That's an orange soda in the one hand, a pencil flailing in the other. Something about Mackenzie looks off, though. She's grown her hair out a couple inches. Highlights are still obvious, but she's ditched her glasses he remembers. The yellow tee? The same. Shorts. Fidgety feet nervously slip in and out of a pair of slides.
The most noticeable part about her that he failed to notice during all those anxious primers? She's got an overbite, pushed out more than it should be. The cause of the biting smirk he remembers very well.
"Stephen. I'm...Stephen," he says. "With a ph."
She knows that. Breathe. Get your brain coordinated.
You get—
Mackenzie laughs. "You got owl eyes."
Owl eyes? ...What?!
Lighten up. You're too tense. Here. Try this...
"You...like orange soda, too?" a garbled Stephen asks.
Stupid. That came out stupidly. Who talks about soda? Soda's a bad topic. It's worse than the weather.
"Uh, yeah!" Mackenzie replies. "It's cool. ...Literally! ...Want it?"
"Hm?"
"You said you liked it, too. You want this one? I got lots."
"Uh..."
YOU ARE READING
Earhart & Noonan: An "Us Club" Novel (#1)(NaNoWriMo15)
Teen FictionFor the first twelve years of Stephen Vaughn's life, just trying to get others around him to pronounce his first name the right way ("Stee-vehn Vawn") has felt like the hardest task he's had to try and cope with. That is, until his perfect life with...
