eighteen ➳ punk a.i.

Chapter Two

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping, horns honking, and someone knocking on my front door. I rub my eyes, trying to get them to adjust to the bright light coming from my window. I groan and lazily shove my covers off of me. I check my clock and it reads 8 a.m. wondering who could be waking me up this early. I haven't made any new friends, mainly because I moved here less than three weeks ago.

The knocking stopped, then started again with a little more force. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" 

My feet patter across the hardwood floor as I made my way to the door, opening it slightly. A boy, maybe in his late teens, stands in front of me. He's dressed in sweatpants that sit low on his hips, a t shirt, and a black beanie. His eyes are chocolate brown and his black hair's messily quiffed up and I spot a package in his hands. "Are you Jessica  Walker?" his voice-is deep and raspy, like he too, just woken up himself.

"Y-yes, that's me," I mentally curse myself for stuttering, a problem I've had ever since my early childhood.

"I, um, found this in my box this morning. I think they got our addresses mixed up," he flashes a smile and  hands me the small cardboard box. 

"Thanks," I give him a friendly smile and take the box. I

"I'm Calum, by the way," He flashes another smile towards me and my heart flutters. This boy is gorgeous. "I live right across the hall." He turns and points right behind him to his front door.

"Oh, cool. Do you want to come inside? I've got coffee and I could make make some breakfast."

"That'd be great, thank you," I step aside and let him in. I show him around the living room and kitchen while I cook for the two of us. When he isn't looking, I run to the bathroom and quickly put my hair into a messy bun and wash my face. I don't wear that much make-up, so that's not a problem.

The next two hours are spent talking, sharing stories about our lives. Music, books, childhood memories, everything. It's nice to finally talk to someone, especially someone like him. 

I found out he's nineteen, his name is Calum Hood, and moved here from Australia, which explains the thick accent. He has a passion for music and just got hired for Midnight Red. He's entering college to major in music and songwriting at the same college I'm entering in about two weeks. He wants to become a singer/songwriter and he's trying his best to get a record deal. His music taste is amazing and he's a little bit of a nerd, like myself.

"Now that I told you about myself, whats your story?" He takes another drink of water and looks at me.

"Well," I clear my throat and sit up straight, trying to look at confident as I can. "I'm 18 and I'm going to start college at NYU in two weeks to also study music and major in English. Music and writing has always expressed myself better than my own words ever could. My father died when I was 11 and my mother is crazy. My brother and I made a pact when we were younger to always stick to together and move out as soon as we were 18. My brother, whom is 16, is moving in with me next month until he's 18 and can find his own apartment near myself."

"So you and your brother are close?" His eyebrows raise at the question.

"Very."

"Funny thing is, that's how my sister and I are. We couldn't live without each other. She's like my other half," his deep chuckle fills the room, but abruptly gets cut off by the ringing of his cell phone.

"Shit," he curses as he hangs up.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, well, sort of. My sister just called and they lost her luggage and she's freaking out. Do you mind if I leave ti go calm her down?" 

"No, no I don't mind at all." I smile and show him to the door.

"Thanks for everything! I'll talk to you later?" He grins ear to ear and I nod in response. I was about to close the door when I hear his voice again.

"Oh, and Jessica?"

"Yeah?"

"Those eggs were amazing," He's still grinning as he walks off and I chuckle lightly to myself. I close the door and walk back inside to clean up the mess we made.

It's nice to half talked to someone face to face, and not just over the phone. Maybe we'll become good friends and that's all I need; one good friend. 

I find the box he handed me over and plop  on the couch. I scan the label for a return address but there is none. I tear open the tape and it's my signed copy of Looking For Alaska. I ordered this a month ago and it finally came. John Green is one of my favorite authors. I don't know exactly why, but his stories intrigue me to the point where I can't put it down.

I walk down the hall into my bedroom and put the copy on my nightstand next to my journal of unfinished songs. 

I'm sorry, this chapter's boring. I had a little bit of writers block but I managed to squeeze out this. Thanks for reading!! xx