Troublemakers

Chapter three

Dedicated to ShiiVa_PaTiiBeRii for the lovely comments in the last two chapters :)

On Wednesday Dad and I went shopping for paint. Immediately, he assumed I would want a different shade pink. It annoyed me to no end. But with the grin that was resting on his face I instantly knew he was kidding. I hope. I was lucky enough to have gotten the pale aqua blue I had wanted. I didn't want dark coloured paint because it makes the room seem smaller, it's the opposite for light colours.

Now, it's a Saturday afternoon and mum and dad had gone to the beach for the day (surprisingly it was sunny and warm). They said the boy who was going to help me would be around here at 12. It was 1:15. He certainly isn't fashionably late.

Running a frustrated hand through my messed up curls, I sighed. All my furniture was pushed away from the walls and into the middle of the room, a white sheet shrouding them. We'd be painting all the walls except the brick one, I like how it's unique compared to the other walls.

Snapping me out of my thoughts, there was a knock at the door. We don't have a doorbell because it's too "mainstream". I don't even know how my dad knew that word - it was quite concerning. Skipping down the stairs, I reached the bottom and pulled open the front door.

"Hey, sorry I'm late! I was caught up in some business and I forgot which house I was going to and- wait, this is the right house, right? Do you need help painting your room? If not then I'm going to be even more late! Shit. Excuse my french."

Slowly, my jaw dropped, "It's you!"

The brunette haired boy who stood before me looked behind him, his brown eyes wide, "What? Who?"

"You were glaring at me for no reason on my first day of school," Placing my hands on my hips, I raised an eyebrow waiting for him to explain himself.

"Oh, that..." He smiled sheepishly while running a hand through his hair, "I was just in a pissy mood that morning, sorry."

Eyeing his rigid figure, my eyebrows furrowed slightly. His short hair was spiked in different directions from where he'd been running his fingers through it. A white, creased button up covered his torso and was hanging messily over a dark wash pair of jeans.

"Come in." I pulled the door open further and stepped to the side. Shooting me a smile and muttering a 'thank you', he took a step into the house and looked around. Quietly, he pulled off the dark black jacket that was originally sitting on his shoulders.

As he turned to me, I closed the door, "I'm Nathan,"

"You're Mr. Zaunder's son?"

Sighing, he nodded, "Yeah and you must be Julia, one the latest arrivals in town,"

I returned the gesture and offered him a drink. He declined but changed his mind when I offered him a milkshake - an oreo milkshake to be specific. Moving ourselves into the kitchen, I pulled to tall glasses out of the mahogany cupboard along with two small packets of oreos. We were surrounded by silence as I began to put a spoonful of ice cream into the blender along with some milk (Shakeaway style, if you haven't had one, get one. You certainly won't regret it). I wasn't too sure whether the silence was smothering me or just floated about the room.

"With the amount of packets of oreos I saw in your cupboard, should I assume you're a chocoholic?" Nathan broke the silence with a grin.

"With the way you're saying anyone would think I'm an addict," I smiled, "But yes, my dad and I love oreos. My mum not so much though, she'd rather have some fruit. And I quote 'It's too many calories'."

Nathan bobbed his head in agreement, "It's all she wants to eat at the care home - either fruit or salad."

"She's a complete healthy diet freak," Nathan chuckled at my comment, "I'm being serious, I can't even remember the last time I saw a Maccy D's or a KFC."