Torn away from her few friends and family, Jenna Cullen and her father move from Texas to London, UK. While Jenna's father is looking into a job, she tries fitting in at school. High school. Her first day didn't even get off to a good start, having...
My dad didn't show the next day. Or the day after that. Or even two days after that.
After the fifth day of not seeing my dad, being stuck in the hotel room to rot in boredom, I turned off the television that showed the beautiful face of Dean, grabbed my Converse and Slytherin hoodie, and marched out of the hotel to get fresh air.
It was not fresh air.
The city oxygen I had grown used to did not smell like it's normal self. It was thick, as if I could choke on it, and it left a metallic taste in my mouth. I blinked rapidly, something was floating in the air...."Ashes," I whispered. I paused, grabbing at the black specks to prove myself wrong- but I was right. "I'm pretty sure someone didn't just throw their cremated grandma in the air....Fire? No....I would have surely heard about it on the daily news..." I looked away to cough.
Suddenly, I noticed a live television with the news showing in a restaurant window. There were crowds around the box, but I could hear and see bits and pieces:
"The death of the thirty....year old...isolated house burned to ashes...may have been foul play in the mix...the man's daughter left alone on the streets of London...Miss Cullen...call local police if you have additional information...We advise you to stay inside for the time being..."
The T.V. showed pictures of the victim-
"No," I whispered. My knees buckled and I fell over myself. "NO! No no no no, it's NOT HIM!"
**********
Out of nowhere, a man's firm hand grasped my wrist.
Yelping, I backed away and tore from his light grip. "What was that for, sir?"
(Yeah, even when a man rudely grabs hold of me I use manners. Take notes)
The blonde man just...stood there, looking me up and down.
"What are you doing?" I managed to squeak, tears still rolling down my cheeks.
He sighed. This man had to be at least forty five, his blonde beard was professionally trimmed, and he wore a very expensive tailored suit. The guy was obviously rich.
This man...blonde hair...the bridge of the nose...intense, furious, sad eyes...
"I know you," he grimanced. "At least, my son does. He talks about you all the time."
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I fake beamed, sniffling, finally putting the pieces together. "Oh! No wonder you look familiar; you're Harper's father."
********
Mr. Lockwood explained that the man on T.V. was my father, but he was not the man who died in the fire. He was claimed, not a victim, but a suspect of starting the fire.
My head was spinning and my stomach fluttered violently. I was a mess and unsure how to handle the situation. Mr. Lockwood seemed to pity me because he offered me shelter.
I know, Stranger Danger! But I knew his son well, he wouldn't do anything.
As we rode in the also expensive car, I wept, but abruptly stopped when we finally arrived at the Lockwood's house.
"You should have come sooner," Mr. Lockwood offered. "It seems you and my son are close. I wouldn't mind his girlfriend staying over."
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"I'm...," I faltered to tell him I wasn't dating his son, but his son's least favorite person. "...Yeah, I should have."
The Lockwood house was huge, but it was like an apartment compared to Zach or Kammi's house. Noticing on the tour inside, the way Mrs. Lockwood had decorated the house seemed like she had OCD, like me, and I admired it. The house was homey, it wasn't modern like the Malfoy's. Neat.
Mr. Lockwood handed me tea in a delicate China cup with sky blue swirls, like mist, with cranes decorating the outside. A koi was painted on the inside. I gratefully accepted it, smiling.
Why I was excited to see Harper's dad, I have no idea. The son and father looked extremely similar, but Harper's eyes were a dull hazel green, and his father's were a misty gray.
I don't know why, but most of my friends' parents assumed I liked their son. (Okay, Eric, yes for that moment. Zach, hella yeah...)
Sighing, I murmured, "Uh, sir...I have to tell you something."
His eyes twinkled. "Of course."
"It's about Harper and I-"
Mr. Lockwood stirred his tea with a fancy spoon. "Are you and Harper-"
"No."
He seemed to be surprised, taken back, and bewildered. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Do you perhaps like him and he doesn't know?"
Hesitating, I added a few sugar cubes to my tea. "As a friend."
Mr. Lockwood bit his lip, bouncing his leg up and down as if it would help him think. His mouth twitched to say something, but a female voice broke through the air, "Honey, your son won second place in his school's art contest. Second place!"
My heart leaped...That voice...that singing voice...
"You know, I'm your son, too," Harper's voice growled. "Sadly."
Mr. Lockwood and I exchanged glances as the sound of Mrs. Lockwood's high heels bounded closer to the living room. The blonde, thin woman entered the room like she owned the whole block, with about ten shopping bags in each arm.
In a matter of seconds, her cinnamon eyes found mine, widening as if she was seeing another her from the past.
My delicate, beautiful China cup of tea clashed onto the waxed wooden floor.
