Why I wasn't meant for you

CHAPTER 4

Chapter 4

I scan the place to look for mom or dad. I’ve been sitting on this bench for quite a moment now. Mom called earlier, exactly after I got off the plane. She asked me what I was wearing so I could be easily identified from the crowd of people in the airport.

One minute, two minutes, until five more minutes passed. No sign of my parents. Way to welcome me! I really don’t want to get my hopes up for this summer.

"You must be Alex.” A guy who’s standing next to me asks. He seems to be just about my age. I was too busy looking around that I didn’t even notice him there.

“Uh . . . I guess. Do I know you?” I ask, confused. How could he know my name?

“You don’t.” He smiles. “But you’re Alex, right?”

“Um . . . yeah, I’m Alex.” I tell him. “Who are you though? And why do you know my name?”

"You ask too many questions.” He starts to lift my bags. “Just follow me.”

“Hey, where are you taking my things?” I stand up and try to stop him from carrying them. He definitely is a tall guy. He’s quite lean, and his hair is colored after a dark chocolate, a little darker than my hair. I must admit though, he’s one good-looking guy.

“Your parents sent me to fetch you up. If you don’t believe me, call them.” Every time he talks, the dimples on his chin shows. God, I’m starting to get jealous of this guy. I’ve always wanted dimples on my chin.  

I don’t know why but he seems convincing. He doesn’t seem like a bad person. He looks too harmless for someone to own a gun or any weapon.

I didn’t answer back. He is walking and I just follow.

We stop in front of a red car after minutes of following him around. The car must be his. He’s putting all my things inside the trunk and suddenly, my cell starts to ring.        

“Hey, mom. I’m already here.”

“Yes, yes. And are you with Kent already? I sent him to pick you up.”

His name must be Kent.

“Um . . . yeah.” I look at Kent who just finished loading my bags into his car. “I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

Kent is quiet during the whole ride. I’m seating at the back seat of his car, but I seat opposite to his side. For the past minutes, I’ve been enjoying every view we pass by and constantly checking on him as well. Not that I’m into him or something. I just want to figure him out. He’s never said a word since we took off from the airport.

“You do know that I could see what you’ve been doing there from the rear-view mirror right?”

I think I become stiff. I am shocked and I couldn’t find the right words to say. I try to sit properly and think of a good response. What does he mean by that? Did he catch me peering at him a couple of times?

He peeks through the rear-view mirror and our eyes meet. They’re the perfect light brown. His hair is nearly blocking his eyes. I think he’s waiting for me to answer but I couldn’t compose the right sentence.   

"No. I . . . I,” I stutter. “I mean, yeah, I know that. It’s just that –“

“It’s just that I’m too good-looking and you can’t stop glancing at me?” He laughs teasingly after cutting me off. He peers through the mirror again to look at me. Is he serious? I can’t believe this guy.