Paper Boy

[1] Knives Guns Swords And Spears? Hell No My Weapon Of Choice Is A Lava Lamp

Now edited and rewritten

[1] Knives, Guns, Swords And Spears? Hell No, My Weapon Of Choice Is A Lava Lamp

Sunlight streams in through spring green curtains, casting a gentle glow across my sky blue walls. A soft tinkling fills the air, coming from the several wind chimes I have strung up around the balcony outside my window. Every few moments I hear the hushed swoosh of a car going by outside on the road.

I yawn, burying myself deeper in the soft, purple duvet, enjoying the warmth of my bed radiating onto me. The best part of sleeping is always the sleeping in. After staying up for hours on end last night writing my novel and getting only about four hours of sleep I am, as Apple says, knackered.

I sluggishly roll over onto my other side with a groan, away from the windows so that I can save my eyes being burnt through my eyelids. I tiredly blink my eyes open, feel my jaw drop open and inhale a scream.

A boy.

In my bed.

There is a boy sleeping. In. My. Bed. My trembling hand reaches out to my bedside table, fingers curling around the first thing that I can grab - my pink and purple, glitter filled lava lamp that Apple gave me as my (belated) sixteenth birthday gift. She got it for $5.99 at the thrift shop less than an hour before coming to my house and presenting it to me, almost two weeks after my actual birthday. Even though I showed up at her house with all three Hangover movies, a massive cake and a new pair of shoes. Actually on her birthday.

Obviously, this lava lamp is one of my most prized possessions.

I quietly slide off my bed and stand up, feet sinking into my plush carpet, holding the lamp out like a baseball bat. If Apple saw me, she'd probably laugh at the sight of me using the lamp as a weapon, before dramatically yelling that I obviously didn't care for her if I was using her present to potentially injure someone.

When I realise he isn't about to spring up and throw ninja stars at me before backflipping out of my window, I take a moment to look at him.

He appears about my age and has messy brown curls that cover his forehead, sloping at an angle so they hide one of his closed eyes. His skin is smooth and tan, with a few freckles across his cheeks, so small you'd have to be staring at him like I am to notice them.

For one strange moment, I have the urge to drop the lamp and reach out and hold him; to run my fingers through his curls and brush my thumbs over his smooth cheeks and press my lips to his -

What the hell? I recoil away from the horrid feeling. What was that? Under that strange urge, there's a feeling in the back of my mind that's telling me that I know him, that I've seen him before, but I push that though away. No way have I met or seen this boy.

Holding the lamp out in front of me, I take in a shaky breath them poke him on the cheek."Oi. Who are you?"

He gives a long drawn out yawn, showing perfect white teeth. I jab him on the forehead this time, hard enough to irritate but not so much that it would hurt."I swear to everything that is holy, if you don't wake up right now, I will spear you with the lamp!"I warn, feeling a lot less brave than my words.

Slowly, his eyelids lift. The boy sits up almost in slow-motion. There is surprise in his still half-asleep eyes as he looks me over. Keeping himself up on one elbow, he asks, slightly confused."Who are you?"

"Who am I? Who am I? You're the one in my room! Who the hell are you?!"I cry.

"I am?"He frowns, looking around my room, eyes widening as he takes everything in. From my laptop discarded on my desk, to the TV, to my bookshelves that run along the length of the walls, all of them packed with books."Oh. I am. Where am I?"

As if he doesn't already know!"Yes, you are. Now, you'd better tell me who you are or I'll call the cops."I threaten, pointing the lava lamp at the cell phone on my dressing table before jabbing it back at him.

The boy slowly looks me over, taking in my big corkscrew blonde curls, weird gold eyes, long-sleeved flannel shirt, small polka-dot shorts up to mid-thigh and the fluffy rabbit socks on my feet. I stand straighter and discretely tug down the hem of my shorts, ignoring the heat rising in my face.

"Why are you holding that lava lamp?"

What is this, Twenty Questions?"If you woke up to find a stranger in your bed, don't you think you would need a weapon?"

"Oookay. So, hey, mind telling me why I'm in a chick's room?"The boy leans forwards, resting his chin in the palm of his hand curiously.

"You tell me! I woke up and BAM! There you were. Don't make me ask again, freak. Who. Are. You."With every word I stab the lava lamp in his direction.

He finally meets my eyes, a mix between curiosity, amusement and confusion in his gaze."I'm Jensen Parrish."

Thud!

That's the sound of my (not-so) expensive, pink and purple lava lamp hitting the carpeted floor.

Suddenly, it makes a little more sense - but only a smidge. Like, the size of an atom. Why he looks so familiar. Why, out of every teenage girls' room in the whole of Australia, he's in my room. Why I dropped my lava lamp. Because Jensen Parrish, the curly haired, brown eyed, tan skinned boy, is a character from my novel.

Oh, shit.