Unconditionally

Chapter One

It's the middle of the night, and there is a person standing outside of my house singing a song.

I'm pretty sure the person, who I've deemed a guy, is serenading someone-who, I have no clue. But what I do know is that it is 2:57 in the morning, and I am currently listening to a boy singing - actually, screeching - an Elvis Presley song, strumming a guitar. Off-beat. Did I mention that it's the middle of the night?

I climb out of bed, unable to listen to the horrible sound any longer, and don a robe. When I get to my living room, the music has stopped, and I'm tempted to just go back upstairs, but then another song starts up, this time a Beatles song. In the dark, I walk across my living room to get to my front door. Again, the music has stopped, this time mid-song. But I'm not about to let this stranger go without a serious lecture. However, my inner I-Was-Raised-In-New-York-City-I'm-Not-Stupid-And-I'm-Not-Getting-Killed alarm goes off, so instead of opening my door this late, I swiftly move to the window behind the couch, which faces the front yard. I get on the couch on my knees and push back the curtains slightly, to see who's there. I'm not quite sure what I expected, but it's definitely not the scene that's currently on my street before my house.  

There's a guy outside with a guitar slung across his body, along with a girl. Both appear to be around my age, although the orangey lighting from the street lights don't exactly help me gather much else. This isn't what surprises me, since I obviously knew there was a guy with a guitar outside singing love songs. What does surprise me is that he's down on one knee, as if he were proposing.

I'm so confused I momentarily forget my anger. These people look to be my age. What kind of whack job seventeen year old proposes? He clearly must be insane. I lean closer, trying to hear what they're saying, but I bump into my window, my forehead making a resounding thunk as it hits the glass.

Smoothe, Adriana. Smoothe. I let out a huff of annoyance, but I'm still too curious to just leave. So I open the window, winching as it makes a whoosh sound. I don't want the strangers across the street to hear me and catch me snooping in on them. I'm not sure what's more embarrassing than being caught snooping.

There's music blaring from the house across the street, which makes it slightly harder to spy. The kids who live across the street are having a party, an end of summer bash, and it's been going on since seven. Most people who live on this street are either away for the summer of completely used to the music from the never-ending parties, so the party hasn't been shut down by the police, and it's still going strong. Which explains why the two lovebirds are on my street. They must be coming from the party.

"Matt...I don't know what to say."

The boy says something I don't catch, and then the girl replies. I lean out my window to hear them better. It helps, but I hope they don't notice me staring out at them like a creeper.

"You don't look as happy as I imagined you being when I went through this scene in my head. Am I really that bad of a singer?" The boy asks jokingly.

Yes. I almost say it out loud but catch myself. The girl fidgets, and she stares down at him. She crosses her arms tightly, as if cold, but it's really hot and humid out, it being summer.

"Get up, Matt. Please."

Uh-Oh. I recognize that tone; it's one I've used many times before, and the words that follow them are never good. I almost feel bad for the poor guy, who is now getting himself up, brushing his knees to get rid of the dust. But then I remember that he interrupted my sleep, and my pity for him evaporates as soon as it came.

"What's wrong, Sam?" He says, his tone even. The girl - Sam - lets her arm drop, and she lets out a huge sigh. "You're freaking me ou-"

"I think we should take a brake."