Never Forever

Number. 9! Surfing

Living in California, it was easy to just step out your door and surf-for most. I did not live near the ocean-not exactly. I mean, I live in Oakland which is right by San Francisco, which is sorta by the water. I kept wracking my brain trying to think of a surfing spot that I liked, but the only one that I really wanted to go to at the moment was Blacks Beach, La Jolla. Which was a long ways away.  I do own a cabin on the beach in La Jolla that I rent out to tourists once in a while. But I do reserve a month or so out of the year where I go and stay in the cabin myself. That vacation was still a few months off though. I will have to see if there was anyone living in the cabin since I couldn't remember if there was a renter or not. Maybe my brain is starting to overflow...

"This one will do." I mused. At the moment, I was packing for the short visit to the beach in my room. I had gotten home quite late last night. Kyle had been persistent about getting everyone an ice cream cone after my 'Nick ordeal' even though I had told him I was fine. He either didn't believe me or just wanted something... I'm definitely paranoid. Maybe I need a therapist. NO. Way. The last thing I need is someone who's able to convince me to blurt out my life's story. That would really take a while.

I dropped my two piece surfing suit into the duffel bag. It was quite new; black with grass green edges. My thoughts snapped to Tracker's green eyes-stop it! I thought I was officially man free for the rest of my... um life.

I grabbed up my jean shorts from yesterday to fold them up (since I just left them on the floor) when something fluttered from one of the back pockets. I pick up the piece of paper and unfold it, scared but curious of what it might contain.

707 566 234

I stare at the numbers for a long time wondering what they meant. Where did it come from? Someone managed to slip this paper into my back pocket without my noticing. I shuddered at the thought of being so oblivious. The only person I could think of that came a little too close yesterday was... Tracker. Of course. His innocent eyes looking at me when I turned around from looking at Nick. He had done it! I had been so intent on Nick that I didn't notice.

It was his phone number. The first thought was to rip it up and toss in the trash, but on second thought... I just might need it. As ridiculous as that sounded. I ended up stuffing the paper in the my back pocket before looping the duffel over my shoulder and heading downstairs. I paused to look at the library door. I've been avoiding the room ever since I found the door open. Call me paranoid, but I'm 99.9% sure that someone might have been in there.

Steeling my nerves, I crept over and opened the door. A stuffy warm room met my eyes. I walked to the middle of the room and surveyed around myself. Hmm. Something was missing, but I couldn't for the life of me see what it was. I went over the the Journal bookshelf-the journals of my life. Ya, I literally had a whole bookshelf for journals. I had them all marked according to date.

1887-90, 1890-92, 1892-95, ect. ect. ect. All the way up to 2020. I run my fingers along the book's spines till I came to a little space in between two of them. I freeze and stare at it. One is missing. The one I had used to draw certain peoples' faces in. I whip around and search frantically for it, crawling on my hands and knees, looking under couches, scattering books on the coffee table, digging in drawers in hopes of seeing it. Nothing. It's gone.

Someone took it. The realization hit me full force and I sat down on the loveseat, stunned. Someone had managed to get through my security system and into my house. A security system that's better than the president's! I stressfully run my hands through my hair. Nick. It had to be. But why would he want a simple journal? With just hand drawn pictures?