(Jamie Bell Fanfic) Jumper: Black Balloons || WATTYS2019

The Lucky Ones [ I ]

The Lucky Ones  [ I ]

Oahu, Honolulu, Hawaii

She saw the jump scar. A simple blur in the air. She didn't want to believe it at first but it was right in front of her now, as big as her palm. But how? Why in the middle of this crowded beach under the scorching sun? Or has it been here before my 7:00 AM shift?

Her eyes darted around searching for anyone who looked out of place as she made her way to the shack with the tray of empty glasses. How could she tell amidst the browns and whites of foreign faces and the constant display of eccentric habits around the world? A full body coverage swim wear matched with a swim hood was definitely normal. "Here, miss." A customer handed a glass to her interrupting her thoughts. Standing behind the counter, she saw the jump scar reduced to the size of a coin then shrunk to nothing. 

"Kai, I'll get something in the back," she said. The back meant the dark part of this small shack far from the blenders, the fresh fruit bar, and other equipments to make smoothies.

With shaking knees, she stood at the corner, gawking at the other side. Focus, she urged herself. Focus!— She jumped to the other end. The candy wrapper previously on the floor now floated down. She stared at the blur so closely. I may not have used this for years but there's no mistaking it. 

For the rest of the morning, her eyes endlessly returned to that departed scar by the row of beach chairs. Who was it? 

"Hey!"

She started from Raf's immature holler.

"Stop spacing out today!" He jiggled the cocktail shaker above his head to heighten his self-importance in this job specifically.

"Okay, okay," she replied, when she meant, your stomach's still round. It bulges no matter how many Xs your shirt has.

"I know. A struggle for you to keep your head in the game with all those bodies. The navy just had to jog pass us hours ago." Then, looking up from the counter, she saw him at a distance. The odd one out up the stairs by the street. It wasn't cause he was a pale foreigner amidst all the other sunburned whites, but cause he was the only one who wore a hoodie and jeans when everyone near the beach, or this city really, strut half-naked. 

Maybe being allergic to the sun is a real thing...

She scrutinized him while serving and retrieving empty glasses here and there, then eventually laughed to herself at how all prior assumptions were honestly a mere joke. Hmp. That black hoodie. Just looking at him in it made her feel hot. 

Back at the shack, fixated on peeling the mangoes, "one of that colorful shake, please," a man pointed at the giant poster behind her. British, she guessed from the accent and simply nodded without looking up. She knew what it was. How? Months ago, she made that special drink mix and designed that poster.

Upon meeting the speaker's eyes, she flinched. It was him. She caught the money he slapped on the bar that almost flew away and acted all busy preparing his drink. Stop it, she told herself as she snuck another look behind him to see if there was a jump scar. 

None. He must've just treaded down the stairs fast. 

For two hours, he sat on the bar seat sipping his drink in his wrinkly grey t-shirt while his hoodie rested on the counter.

"At last, he's arrived," he announced. She followed his eyes pass the crowd to the Japanese family she always served— among the many other local Japanese families in Oahu. "They're here often, right? I never knew. Surprise, surprise." He sounded annoyed then shrugged. "Surprises are good in life now and then."