I open my eyes and yawn. There is an unusual amount of light in my room, and I realize after a moment that I'm in fact not even in my room.I'm in a soft white bed, that's pretty obvious.
I look around and spot a desk with a laptop on it. In the corner of the room is a football jersey wadded up. On one wall is a flatscreen tv.
Yeah. This definitely isn't my room.
Then whose is it? And what happened last night that made me end up here?
My heartbeat grows quick as I try to remember.
I remember Anson- he went to the party with me after the football game. I remember dancing with some guy...
Who was he? Why was I dancing with him?
I feel confusion washing over me. Suddenly, an image of Anson and the blonde girl comes back to me, and I conclude I must've danced with the random boy because of that.
Where am I now, though?
I slide out from under the covers and tiptoe across the room. My bare toes are greeted by the feeling of plush, frosting-colored carpet. For some reason, they still ache. My mind comes to the conclusion that last night's mystery dance is the cause.
I make it to the closed bedroom door and I gently open it. The spacious hallway is completely empty.
Weird.
I take a few steps down the hall, and I hear a noise that sounds like movement, coming from one of the rooms adjacent to this corridor.
Maybe I could peek into one of them and see where I am.
When I crack the door, my heart lodges somewhere in my throat.
I immediately register where I am, when I spot a sandy-blonde head of hair on a boy sitting criss-cross on his bed, flipping through the pages of a magazine.
"Anson!" I exclaim not-so-quietly and he jumps in surprise.
What the hell is he doing here? Wait, am I in his house?
"Indie!" He whispers, putting a hand to his heart. "Do you always sneak up on people like that?"
I shrug. "Depends, do you always bring girls home after parties?"
His eyes spark instantly and he stands up and walks over to me. " We need to talk about last night." He says seriously. He closes the space in between us, making me push to the door to keep from touching him.
I want trust him, for reasons I can't explain, but his tone worries me.
"Then let's talk." I say unsurely.
He leads me out into the hall again, and back to the room in which I had awoken, his room, and tells me to take a seat on the bed.
It's killing me that he's not said a word since he informed me that we needed to talk, thirty seconds ago.
"Anson what's going on?" I ask impatiently. I think about my family.
Bryn and Mom are probably worried about me...
"What do you remember about last night?" His eyes pierce mine and I swallow involuntarily.
"Not much. You walked off, and I danced with a guy, and-" I stop talking.
YOU ARE READING
His Blue ✓
Teen FictionIndie Jasper is a shy, unknown writer. Anson Fischart is the school's pretty boy. Indie is not popular by any means, but Anson's status of quarterback, paired with his sandy blond hair and blue-eyed gaze have him at the top of the school's hierarch...