Half Clear | ✓

Chapter 28

Sitting in the backseat of the car with an asleep Declan was not exactly how I imagined my 'adventure' to go.

Charlotte and Gabriel on the other hand, seemed to have incredible skills of discussion. From fashion to work, they could talk about anything for hours together, leaving me bored in the backseat with a snoring old man (28 is pretty old, okay?).

So finally, decided that I might as well put my boredom to good use. Looking at the backpack, it suddenly struck me that it had my source of entertainment.

The journal.

I immediately took out the leather book and started my reading. I noticed Sebastian's small, decent looking handwriting that I had gotten so accustomed to over the past year, through borrowed notebooks and tiny pieces of paper.

I turned to the first page and was immediately immersed in his thoughts.

He initially spoke about his not-so-interesting days at school. They followed the same monotonous routine. He'd get up, get ready, drive, get to school, pop in his earphones and open a familiar detective novel to of course, read for the rest of the day.

I immediately noticed how anti-social he was.

Sure, he was an introvert by nature, but it was kind of odd that he didn't bother having a particular group of friends.

He never minded that, though.

As I continued to read the awfully repetitive pages of Seb's journal, I grew frustrated by how uninteresting it was.

Unlike him I was never a real reader. Yeah, sure, I'd read some books here and there on demand, but reading as a hobby? Sign me out.

In utter boredom of it's contents, I ran my fingers through the pages of the Journal, hoping to finally get to the part where he finds the box with the note and key.

But in my vague attempt, something catches my attention.

M.

The letter 'm'.

He used it so many times, alone.

Meaning, it must be code to something.

I guessed right.

Because when I opened the first time he had used the alphabet, I was met with a rather familiar scene.

11. 2. 2007

Dear Journal. It started.

Here I am. The ever monotonous Sebastian Adams, following his daily routine of reading nineteenth century mystery novels, coming home exhausted from reading and then, reading some more.

Pathetic, I know.

Well, not today.

Today was an interesting day, to say the least.

Today I met a girl.

A GIRL!?
WHAT?!
SEBASTIAN?!

I was hit with jealousy of some sort. For unknown reasons, of course.

I continued to read, now highly curious of who this girl was.

I know, rather surprising for a guy like me, right?

Right.

Anyway, I was standing near my locker (earphones and book in check) when suddenly, I hear the ear-piercing scream of a strangely familiar voice.

"WHERE ARE MY POTATOES?!" It yells.

I turn my head to see a beautiful girl looking rather agitated at her loss of potatoes.

Suddenly, I'm scared for any potato-stealer's life.

She then proceeds to whack her head in my direction, her eyes widening at the knowledge of my existence.

"YOU." She states, walking towards me with brisk movement.

At her arrival, an accusatory finger pushes firmly against my chest.
*in which my heart is beating wildly for some reason due to the lack of distance between us.

"YOU STOLE THEM." Me? A potato thief?

Now I fear for my life.

"DIDN'T YOU?" She glares further pressurizing the finger.

But for some reason, looking at her enraged pretty face and irritated demeanor, I decide to play along.

"Yes." I stand confidently, removing the finger puncturing my rib cage.

"I did."

Her eyes widen, her glare subsides and her face goes blank, absolutely void of emotion.

Suddenly, she bursts into fits of laughter.

I look at her, admiring her laugh as she clutches her stomach.

Slowly, she recovers and stands upright with a ravishing smile.

"Okay, thief. From now on, I declare you, Potato-Stealer as my BEST potato friend in the entire potato world." She brushes her dark hair from over her shoulder.

"Now come on, we don't want to be late to class." Saying this, she starts walking towards our next class.

I stare at her retreating figure in absolute awe. She was beautiful. So beautiful.

This amazing, potato-obsessed girl wanted to be my friend?

She turns around and meets my stare.

"What are you waiting for?" She asks.

"French fries?"

And that, kind journal, is how a certain girl named M (I fear the day someone reads this.) Stole an alleged  potato stealer's heart.

-Seb.

....

...

..

.

Damn.

***

"Okay?" He asked,
"Okay." She answered.