Tidal Waves and Hurricanes

Chapter One

tidal waves and hurricanes

chapter one

                 I decide to ignore the phone when I see the caller ID flash those familiar seven digits: Charlie.

Its a warm, picturesque type of August night, the type of night where sitting alone in your bedroom watching reruns of Doctor Who without cracking a window open seems like the only option. I’m in a cocoon made of  blankets and quilts, eating Lays potato chips—like the majority of teenagers do—at nearly midnight.

His name is written in dark bold letters, in the default font that comes with all iPhones. I hadn’t given him a contact photo on my phone, considering that I’d never bothered to text or call him, so my wallpaper appears behind the letters and numbers. I just stare, paralyzed, almost, at the screen, wondering if I should just end the call.

So I do. I mean, Charlie and I hate each other. And when I say hate, I mean mortal enemies, because honestly, whenever we see each other, we yell curses and throw things. It’s not like we simply ignore each other; its actually verbal—and sometimes physical—fighting. That’s all I’ve ever remembered with Charlie; I can’t recall one moment in my life that I’ve had the slightest liking towards him.

I place my phone down on the bed next to me, shaking my head in disgust. Why would he even try calling me? I would never answer, not in a million years.

I pull another potato chip out of the yellow bag, tucking a few stands of my hair behind my ear.  

A commercial makes it’s way to my laptop screen as my fifth Doctor Who episode for the night comes to an end. I take this as an opportunity to scan my room, which appears messy in only my nightlight. The walls are a light blue color, covered in canvases and papers of every sort. Murals are plastered on each corner, along with unique photo frames and band posters.

For some reason, one photo stands out today, and I’m not quite sure why.

It’s a picture of Dakota Evans—my ex-best friend—and I when we were younger. The two of us have a cheeky grin on our faces; dressed up in exquisite princess gowns and our faces caked with my mother’s expensive makeup. Oblivious to the consequences that were to come, it looks like we're having the time of our lives.

It isn’t until my eyes land on my double-hung window that I realize I’m not alone. There’s someone sitting on top of my apartment building, their feet hovering in midair.

One minute, I’m in my room, having what feels like a great day with a few of my favorite things. Then another, I’m on my balcony, listening to the silent cries of a boy that I wouldn’t mind hurting in a heartbeat, especially since he’s interrupting my precious Doctor Who time.

When my eyes come across those familiar pair of gray ones, I take a step forward. Charlie.

“Wait,” I shout, holding my hands up in amazement. His ears perk at the sound of my voice. “Can you commit suicide like ten minutes later? I’m going to rush to my room and grab my last pack of Lays.” I give a devilish grin, but he doesn’t return one like he usually does. I can see the tears in his eyes, his lips parted, a look I’ve never seen in him before.

“What do you want, Quinn?” he seethes, his dust colored eyes piercing into my own. His feet are dangling off our six-story apartment building. “I want to die. At least let me do that in peace.” He’s dressed in navy blue jeans and white shirt, along with a pair of worn out black shoes that seem to blend right in with the darkness.

His words hit me like a bullet. Suicide? In the nine years I've known him, I'd never thought of Charlie as a suicidal person. Nevertheless, I don’t let my guard down.