To my surprise, I see the one and only: Kaia Newton.
Can we talk about Kaia Newton, one second? She's one of those people I know from around school but don't really know. Rock-climber and world-traveller, she's hands-down a badass. She's also the person I've been avoiding for the past four years. Usually, I try my best to block out the last time we spoke, four years ago, but seeing her bring the memory to the surface. It was a time that Mason has labelled: Year 8- The Mural Incident.
I was 12 years old and naive. I signed up to paint the school mural in the main hall: a night sky with the caption, you're all stars. Cringe, right? All the wrong stars lined up that day, leading to Kaia and me being put on the same painting team. This isn't exactly a proud moment of my life, so I'm going to need you to promise not to judge me.
The story goes as such: I asked her for a paint brush and she gave me one, end of story. Except, it wasn't. What should've ended with me saying 'thank you' and walking me, ended in disaster. In my 12-year-old mind, she was definitely into me. The only thing left to do, I thought, was to really win her over with my 'sick dance moves,' by which I mean the old-school classic, the Funky Chicken. Little did I know, there was paint on the floor and also I sucked at the Funky Chicken (honestly though, doesn't everyone suck at the Funky Chicken?). Long story, short: I slipped on the paint and took a plummet. I accidentally jammed a paintbrush into her leg, she got sent to the Medical Room and we both ended up in tears. Truth be told, I probably cried more than she did but let's not dwell on the details
I hope she doesn't remember that.
Shaking my head, I bring myself back to the present.
A smirk is forming on Kaia's lips. She arches an eyebrow and I can't help but be caught off guard by her.
Long waves of hair frame her face, touching upon her cheekbones before continuing down in ripples to her waist. Her skin, the colour of mocha -or some other coffee drink that I've never had- glows against her off-shoulder yellow t-shirt. Wearing skinny jeans, her legs are long in her heeled boots.
I realise I'm staring and look back down at my burger.
"By all means, eat your burger. But I need a lift," she announces. Taking her on her word, I take a bite out of my burger, savouring it. Slightly intimidated by her standing and watching me dig into my Big Mac, I pat the spot next to me on the hood of my car, inviting her to sit. Smiling, she climbs up onto the Jeep. I feel my eyes lingering on hers for a second too long and I look away again.
Suddenly, I figure that we do have something in common. Like with me, puberty hit Kaia hard. I mean, she's always been cute, but now she looks downright beautiful.
"You want a lift? Is it my stunning smile or my undeniable charisma?" I run my hand through my curls and shoot her a charming smile.
"You've got a little..." She gestures to the side of my mouth and I wipe away, what looks like, barbecue sauce and tomato seed from my mouth, mortified. Well done, Eli, smooth as always.
"Before you get too flattered, there are a total of four people in our year who have a driving licence. Johnny Gentry-" she lifts up one finger up in the air, "-who I can't look at anymore without feeling awful. Then there's Katy Rook-" she lifts up a second finger, "-whose car smells like a cat urinated in it. My car is in the garage-" a third finger goes up "-which leaves..." Four fingers are now up in the air, wiggling about, waiting for an answer.
"Me?"
"Ding, ding ding, the funny-boy has a brain," she teases.
"Sadly, this funny-boy also has plans. Cat-Piss-Katy can't be that bad." I hop off the hood of my car and walk around to the driver's door. She slides off effortlessly after me, walking around to face me. She folds her arms, stubbornly.
"Her car seats are made of leopard fur," she states. I visibly cringe at the thought.
"That explains the smell," I grimace. Her eyes hold mine, pleading with me silently.
"I can't," I say regrettably, "My Nan's got her birthday dinner tonight." I'll admit, I'm tempted to ditch. I mean, a ride with Kaia Newton? Plus, I still feel the need to make up for my pre-pubescent awkwardness.
"Well, that's the beauty of birthdays. She'll have one next year." She makes a good point. But Nanna is expecting me.
"I mean, she's 95, there's no way of knowing".
"Come on, please," she pleads.
Attempting my best nasal voice, I try at my Mr Manning impression, which is notoriously accurate, "Step 1 of getting what you want: Never Beg. "
She laughs and steps closer to me.
"No, I guess not. You know an awful lot for someone who fell asleep in the lesson. How about Step Number 9?"
She steps closer still. My back against my car, I can't move, apart from arching my back slightly into the convertible. Raking my brain, I try to remember Number 9.
"Rule number 9:" she begins, matching my Manning impression, "adrenaline makes people reckless. If someone's heart is racing, they're more likely to agree with something you say."
"Ah, well forgive me if I don't do a lap around the car park for the sake of raising my heart-rate." I surprise myself with my voice, suddenly low and hushed. I guess there's no need to talk any louder, not with her standing so close.
"I bet I could get your heart racing some other way." She's dropped the Manning voice now, her face inches from mine.
"And I bet you cant."
"If I can, will you give me a lift?"
I can see the freckles on her nose, like someones taken my paintbrush and splattered a spray of darker pigment scattered across her nose. I hadn't noticed them before. Funny how being two inches from someone can really bring out some features.
"Sure," I breathe.
She's almost the same height as me in her boots and her eyes are level with mine. I don't see her move closer but she must have because her eyes are all I can see now. They're the colour of- well, I can't think of anything poetic at the moment, which is weird because I'm usually pretty good with colours. I guess they're brown, or some shade of it. Actually, they're gold- a colour that I've only seen in maple syrup. Bam. There's poetic for you.
I must be cross-eyed. Does my breath smell? I don't think I've blinked in the past 30 seconds and now my eyes are drying up. With any other girl, I would have closed the gap between us by now. What's happening? I run my fingers, nervously, through my hair, searching for something to say.
I feel her arm reach forward. I think she's going to put her hand on my back, but she reaches past it and keeps going. With the roof open, she's able to reach into the car, reaching for something just behind me. I have just enough time to be confused, when-
"HONK," the blaring sound of my car horn cuts through the air. She's pressed the horn.
"SHIT!" I jump an inch into the air. To say I'm scared would be an understatement. I would've jumped out of my skin if it were detachable. True to her word, my heart is pounding, no laps around the car park required.
"Get in the car," I say. Fair is fair. Kaia's laughing so hard that I don't think she actually hears me. Tears are forming in her eyes as she bursts into fits of laughs. I hurdle over the door and into the car, reaching over to open the passenger door. She staggers into the car, still bellowing -good-naturedly- in my face.
I put the key in the ignition, looking over at Kaia.
"Let's go."
YOU ARE READING
Elijah's Guide to Not Becoming a Criminal
Teen Fiction❝I'm Elijah. At 17, I became the world's most wanted criminal. And this is how you don't do the same. ❞ Elijah's week starts out like any other. He paints. He goes to school. He hangs out with his best friend, Mason. And repeat. But then Kaia Newt...
