The Neighbor.

Chapter 1

Chapter One

I stared out at the painfully gray August day. It was raining hard, and that didn't-whatsoever-contribute to my negative attitude.

Kaylee had moved, out of that house beside mine, all the way across the world. There went us laughing as we talked on the phone, too lazy to actually meet in person. Our bedroom windows faced each other. Everything was perfect.

And if I can say, nothing gold ever stays. Kaylee had to move back to China. Far away from here.

Someone was moving into that house, and it wasn't Kaylee. It pained me. I already had my hopes up for another female, but it wouldn't be Kaylee. Probably some snobby brat, whose profession is being able to paint her nails perfectly. Kaylee was exceptional in finding Star Wars merch for dirt cheap. I'm going to miss that.

The doorbell rang. In my jeans and Star Wars sweater, raced down the stairs and I opened the door. I pushed my glasses onto my face, expecting Mrs. Robin. She's a nice old lady, and we talk often.

To my surprise, it was a guy. I panicked inside. I have zilch experience with guys. No dates. Not even friendly conversation, unless they were into Harry Potter, and that's not really friendly. It usually ends in "Ron should've died!" And me, replying angrily, "Go die!"

"Hey," he snapped me out of my I-can't-talk-with-guys-without-Harry-Potter worries.

"Hi," I seriously thought about slamming the door in his face, but I refrained from doing so.

"I'm Chase," he smiles, holds his hand out to shake. He looks down at my sweater and smiles. "Star Wars, huh?"

I shake his hand, and smiles. "Yeah. I like it," his hand is warm, and it sends goosebumps up my arms. I pull my hand away.

"Wow, there's an actual girl who likes Star Wars," he's impressed. I'm fully proud.

"Yeah," I smile. "Are you the neighbor who moved in?"

He nods, grins and I catch a flash of his white teeth. "I don't think you told me your name," his voice is low, and smooth. He's definitely done with puberty.

I laugh a little too loudly. "Um, I'm Lynne," I reply. He looks at my eyes. He smiles.

"That's a nice nam-" he says, but he's interrupted by a female voice.

"Chase!" she yells from the distance. She sounds fairly young, but I guess his mother was young when she had him. I really don't know. Or care.

"I gotta go," he looks over his shoulder at his place then back a me. "Maybe we can talk about Star Wars, sometime."

"Yeah," I smile. I am totally different. I actually talked to a guy. And it didn't turn out into an argument, or the guy getting slapped.

Upstairs, I lay down on my bed, smiling to myself. He was cute. Unforgettable chocolate hair, with lighter tones of brown. The way it's masterfully messy. His eyes are a stormy gray, like the world outside my house.

I glance over at my window, seeing him. I bolt upright when he starts to take off his shirt, revealing a toned body.

Enter her. She strokes his tan body as he kisses her collarbone insistently. She's in her laced fancy bra. I think about my bra. Mine's a cherry bra and the girl wears that laced thing as if its normal. And here I sit, feeling self-conscious and wondering whether my bra shows. Then I shudder. He catches my gaze, he goes on, then passionately attaching himself to her mouth.

I close my curtains then.

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A few weeks later, I'm walking into my classroom for fiction writing. I'm wearing my special Keep Calm and Write On t-shirt. I wear it as proudly as my body allows me to (it's not much). I sit down, and start organizing my stuff.

My mind wanders back to him. I haven't really talked to him at all. We've had a few door chats, based around the weather, and I even asked where his mother lived. Oh God, was I ever fooled. His mother lives in England. How could I believe he was eighteen and living with his mother? I mean, I'm living alone. My mother had no doubts about her young adult girl bracing herself for the reality. Sometimes, I wish I didn't have to pay rent.

Then I'm tapped on the shoulder. I look behind me, and there is Chase, grinning. "Have you been avoiding me?"

"No," I act casual, and begin to shuffle my already neat books for the second time, hiding my disgust for this guy.

"What happened to that Star Wars chat?" His mouth says one thing, but his eyes say another. They may as well say that he wants to get in my pants or something.

"Nothing, I was just busy," I say, smiling.

"Really?" He's staring me down, his eyes flicker to my shirt, reading it. "I like it." He points to my shirt.

"T-thanks," I say, my shoulders moving forward, crinkling my shirt.

"You're welcome," He says. The tension is so thick I could cut it with a butter knife (probably the best way to arm yourself would be with the dullest knife of all knifes. But hey, I'd read about a guy who had stabbed someone in the eye with one, and it seemed so easy, too). "Maybe this Saturday?"

I'm not being polite, and I say, "what?"

"That Star Wars chat. This Saturday," he doesn't allow his words to form a question. Only a statement. This is the most likely way to get a girl over because of a statement. Well, if anyone did that to me, I wouldn't be able to turn them down in fear of hurting them.

"Um, sure," I say. And here comes into play of my fear of hurting them.

Stupid me.

｡ ｡ ｡ ｡

This weekend, I have tons of homework, and of course, Chase is there.

I'm looking at him from the corner of my eye as he writes. He's so close to me, and I can feel the tension arising.

"So," he says. I hear some stupid pop song come on the radio. "How many Star Wars movies have you watched?"

I look at him, giving him my full undivided attention. "How many?" I pause, thinking it over. I had seen the first movie, I knew that, but I never watched any others. "The first one, but I saw it when I was twelve or something."

"You need to watch the rest." He demands his tone determined.

"What? I actually don't want to-"

"Shhhhh!" He exclaims. I try to talk but he keeps interrupting me. He gets up off of his bed, and pulls out two disc cases.

I'm already standing up, collecting my stuff. I rush towards the door, and Chase has his hand on the door, towering over me. I regret not noticing that the door opens inwards, into the room.

Chase has his forearm against the door, smiling. "C'mon, sit down." He nods towards his bed. The bed he started making out with the laced bra girl.

I scramble backwards, dropping my books, papers flying down onto the floor. I stoop down, picking my books up in a panic.

"Don't worry about those, Lynne," the way he says my name sends shivers down my back. I straighten up, and he gestures towards his bed. Reluctantly, I sit down.

I find Chase sitting beside me as Han Solo is sitting in the bar. I am sweating like crazy, and my focus is more on laced bras than The Force. Even if The Force was somehow able to try to change my mind, it wouldn't work.

Chase put his arm around me-and not very subtly, let me tell you. He was quick about it, and there was no time for me to protest. I mean, being under his arm made me feel safe, warm. . . Not something I should be thinking about!

Later on, once I left, my phone had a message. I listened to it, not suspecting anything at all.

"Hey, Lynne, it's your manager," she said, in that cheery tone that everyone leaving a message uses. "I'm sorry, but Lynne, this is your ninth time you've missed your shift, and it's time to say, you're fired."

The beep follows afterwards, and I am certain of one thing.

I won't be able to pay rent.