Reasons

Chapter 1

Rylie's POV

A moving truck pulled me, as if it was actually tugging on my wrist, out of my sweet, sweet slumber. All right, so that wasn't what actually woke me up, but it finally made me get up. I had actually been up for a good thirty minutes, playing on my phone. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. It was 9 o'clock on a Saturday; it was way too early for this matter. However, I dressed into a blue shirt and threw on a cream cardigan over it. I tugged some skinny jeans on along with some knee high boots and walked to the warm living room. My mom had her hair up on the top of her head fixing breakfast. The smell of pancakes tickled my nose, beckoning me to stay put and wait for the warm, filling meal. Shooting me a positive smile, she followed with a perky question of offering for me to help, which she knew was one of my favorite activities with her. She was always an earlier riser. My father, on the other leg, enjoyed the comfort of sleep as much as I. I declined with a shake of my head and nodded toward the door, which she only returned with a simple nod. She knew me well. She probably knew my curiosity was bubbling inside of me, ready to burst with excitement.

I was dumbfounded that someone actually wanted to move here. I, myself, am not too keen on this icy city. Instead, I preferred large, metropolitan areas with people everywhere I looked. Washington was the alter ego of my ideal lifestyle. I once lived in the warm city of LA. But it only took a few years before we, more like my family, finally decided to reside in a small town in Washington. My mom had insisted that is was a smart approach and that LA was full of violence and drugs. But I knew the truth, she wanted to be sure my father never found me. My real father that is.

I gripped a warm blanket from the dining room chair, which was carelessly throw onto the plush seat. I tugged open the door and plopped down in the swing on our porch, cuddling under the warm throw I had in my hands. It was warmer than average, but it was still freezing due to the despicable weather change. It was a drastic change from California warmth. Oh, how I longed to recline in the golden light from the son. Oh, how I missed the sand squishing between my toes and the ocean water's tides splashing at my feet.

Outside, I noticed a boy about my age, maybe a year or two older, with tattoos all the way up his arm. Some seemed to hold meaning, while others looked just disgusting. Some didn't even make logical sense to me. He was wearing a short sleeve, black shirt. I would understand it if it were fifty degrees outside (it doesn't get very hot here in Washington, but when it does it is more humid than sunny). But it was at most thirty degrees, maybe hotter since I am biased, out here today. His jeans were tight and dark as well, to match his long shirt. He just seemed so out of place in this little suburban town. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

I didn't even notice I was staring until he turned to give me the evil eye. Timidly, I waved, hoping to weaken the anger he possibly felt towards me. Instead, he flipped me the bird. Surprisingly, even his fingers has little figurines on them. I wished to ask him why he coated his body with such obscenities, but I would hate to see the figurine again. I get up and disappear into the comfort of my house, where he couldn't judge me. I felt devastated by his acknowledgement, or lack of. It wasn't friendly, nor warm. It was so cold, almost as chilly as it was outside. My mom was waiting for me. The pancakes lied in a row on the counter. Her hair now cascaded down her back, free of it's bun. A disapproving look was plastered on her normally smooth face. "Rylie, I know he seems cute and all, but I just don't think it is a good idea to get involved. Now come on, eat your breakfast," she says.

I don't say anything as I fill my plate with pancakes. My father joins us after a while; he was still half asleep, as if he could pass out at any given moment. When I finished with the filling meal, I disappeared into my room and grabbed my guitar. Its cool body sent chills up my arm. Normally, I would go outside to play my guitar. But I just didn't feel comfortable with our new company nearby, and honestly, it would be too cold to risk.

I opened up my window to let a little fresh air in and began to play the melody I knew all too well. It was a song I wrote when I was merely fourteen. My mom always told me I have a gift for composing. I don't believe her.

The thoughts of the new boy continued to roll around in my head like a spiral staircase that continued on forever; before I knew it, I was putting my guitar away and heading for the front door. Neither my mom, nor my dad, were in the kitchen. I took my chances immediately that they presented themselves.

What spurred this sudden rebellion was beyond even my comprehension. Either way, I wanted to meet this new family and welcome them. I had seen them once. Yet, something was speaking to me inside my head, like a hidden secret.

Reasons. There were so many reasons why I shouldn't be doing this. Actually there were over a hundred. My mom could go on for days telling me to stay at home and read a book. Or in my case strumming my guitar. But I was curious. Too curious. There rarely were new people around here. When there was, well it spread throughout our small town like a wildfire.

I stopped at the small little cottage only right across my street. I raised my hand to knock but instead a green eyed boy opened the door before I could, looking straight at me.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice rough and deep. Yet, I could hear a touch of a beautiful accent. I know I shouldn't be so surprised that he was just as rude as he appeared, but it still shocked me how offhandedly inconsiderate he actually was. When I didn't answer, he prompted,"Well...?"

I take a step back and mutter,"I was just going to...welcome you to the neighborhood but...I guess not." I was trying to sound angry, but that wasn't me. I wasn't an angry person. Instead, I sounded almost bored.

I could tell the boy was about to make another smart remark, but a girl, maybe a little older than me, pushed her way past him. "Harry, don't be rude," she muttered. She then rested her gaze on me and whispered,"Hi I'm Gemma. Nice to meet you...."

"Rylie," I answer, finishing her sentence. "Nice to meet you too."

Gemma only smiled and invited me inside for warm coffee. I was partially accepting to spite Harry, but I did want to welcome the rest of his family. Also, the bitter cold was nipping my nimble fingers, and I needed relief. Maybe all of them weren't as rude as he was.

Harry made it out of his way to avoid me the entire visit. I didn't even know where he was or where he had disappeared to. That only added fuel to the fire. He was the rudest human being I have ever met. I already hated him, and it hadn't even been a day. He was on a roll.

His mom, or mum because of their accent, invited my family and me over for the following afternoon. I would have accepted for them, but my mom would skin me alive.

I ended up leaving at six.

I was nearly out of the door, but Anne, his mom, forced Harry to walk me across the street since it was "dark" and "dangerous", and it was "the least they could do."

The walk was the most awkward few minutes of my entire life. Harry stayed as far away from me as physically possible, but close enough that I could see him; it was just close enough for him to be considered as walking me across the street.

As soon as I hit my lawn, Harry began to turn away.

I was becoming irritated with his attitude. "You could at least say goodbye."

Harry smirked and seemed to almost make a rude comment once again. Instead, his expression changed a little; it almost softened a hair. "Bye," he muttered, waving before walking away.

That was closer than this morning, which satisfied me enough. Way closer than I had expected from a guy who looked like he could model and ride a motorcycle all at the same time.

I slipped inside and silently prayed that my parents were asleep or at least in their room tucked away for the night.

They weren't.