Afire Love

one

Chapter one : Maybe At The Party I'll Teach Marcie Some Manners

 ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

"Because it takes two to whisper quietly,

The silence isn't so bad,

'Til I look at my hands and feel sad,

'Cause the spaces between my fingers,

Are right where yours fit perfectly. "

~ Vanilla Twilight, Owl City.

   

 ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

WHEN YOU'RE SEVENTEEN and you tell people that you don't believe in love, your friends look at you like you've just spoken in Chinese, and I don't blame them. When I see couples making out intensely, I can all but comprehend what makes them feel that way toward one another.

When there are seven billion people existing in this very world, what were the odds that you'd find the one? And even if you think you did, how can you be sure that you'd live happily for the rest of your life with them? Do you really get butterflies in your stomach, do you really feel your heart pounding in your chest when you meet the one? If you said yes, I have two theories: One, you're lying. Or two, your body is undergoing a bunch of metabolic reactions, and adrenaline is surging through your blood.

What was love really? It's not obviously a mere feeling. If it was, then people wouldn't be so crazy about it, Shah Jahan wouldn't have built Taj Mahal, or couples wouldn't be making out on the top of Eiffel Tower, or the world wouldn't be drowned in such an emotion. Then what was it, actually? I didn't know, and I'm done trying to figure that out.

I'm America Stryder, seventeen years young, daughter of Jared Stryder, and I don't believe in love or the happily ever afters. After all, life isn't a fairy tale.

If you're one of those people who doesn't like someone that doesn't like love, you shouldn't probably read this. But if you're one of those people who doesn't care about what I think, then read on. Later though, don't complain that I didn't warn you.

                                                                                            

 ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

"BUTTONS, I NEED your help. Immediately", says Abin, walking beside me to the locker room.

Abin Morgenstow is my classmate, and apparently the only guy best friend I can be myself with. When we'd first met, all he could notice were my big, round eyes, and ever since then, he's decided to call me Buttons. I don't quite get the reference, but I let him call me that anyway. Besides, I think it's cute. He's probably already forgotten my actual name, considering he doesn't use it at all. No kidding.

"Shoot ", I say.

"My girlfriend's birthday is just a week away, and I'm so confused. What do I give her? Help me, buttons. Help me help me help meee."