Suburbia, why? Why did we have to move out of Seattle to some suburban place in Illinois? I thought the whole long drive here. I swear my mother is way over protective, there was just one school shooting threat at my old high school and then BAM! We’re moving! I mean it was just one threat, my gosh, not all school shootings take place in city schools, Columbine was in Colorado! Colorado! Seattle is just as safe as any suburban neighborhood. Seattle was perfect; I mean nearly everything is there. Here there’s nothing, it’s dead, boring; I don’t see desperate housewives here.

“Justin stop sulking and help us unpack the truck!” My mom called

I looked at our new home sweet home, a two-story Victorian house that I’m probably guessing needs renovation since it’s old and I just can’t wait to see how great the plumbing’s going to be. Ten bucks says were going to be checking into a hotel. And just great, a lawn, I wonder who’s going to be responsible for mowing that—Oh me.

“Hey Justin we have a pool!” My little brother Alex exclaimed

And who’s going to have to clean that—me. I feel like we stepped into the land of Leave it To Beaver. I already hate it here, I just know it, but the one change that’s going to be the worst is the small population. Everybody’s going to know everything and be in our business constantly.

“Justin! Get off the recliner and move it inside!” My mom yelled again, “Now!”

“Fine,” I grumbled as I got up and lifted the recliner and walked inside through the front door. Okay so maybe it doesn’t need renovation, I though as I saw that it was clearly well fixed up by the previous owner. I set the chair down and looked around some more. So maybe it is a tad better than our old apartment, and a bit roomy but I still hate it. I pick up one of my boxes and walk up the stairs for I’m going to get first dibs on choosing my room. So the rooms are spacious with big bay windows, I’m still going to hate it here. I walk into all the rooms and then go into the last door at the far left end of the hall and look out the yet another big bay window. So one of the rooms has a view of some girl’s bedroom I’m sure--I then drop my box at the stunning sight of the most gorgeous girl I had ever set my eyes on, dancing, living her might not be so bad after all, I declared breathless and immobile. How to describe her, what words can do justice to her beauty? Her hair was liquid gold and fell in lose curls and her eyes I assumed were either blue or green, I can’t tell from this distance, her check bones were high and…wait, what the hell is she wearing? She appeared to be wearing cut off jeans rolled up to her knees and an oversized button-down shirt and had saddle shoes on. We must REALLY have entered Pleasantville…

“You’re choosing this room? Why? It’s the smallest.” Alex walks in and is answered by the view. “Oh, I see. Everything’s always about girls with you,” he mutters before doing the unthinkable, “Hey, girl!” he shouts to her.

“What are you doing?!” I freak, covering his mouth.

She stops dancing and turns her music off and looks at us, I kind of wave and smile to her not knowing what else to do in this awkward moment and wanting to kill my brother for causing this. Then she walked to her window and opened it. She’s going to speak to me!

“You must be the new neighbors,” she said, her voice having a funny New York City like accent.

I didn’t know what to say to her, so I just opened my mouth and let words come out, “Yeah, we um moved here and I was unpacking and I um, we, saw you.”

She smirks, “Well I saw you too and I was wondering when you’d stop starring and say something.”

“But you were still dancing as if you didn’t see me.”

“I’ve grown accustomed to not care what other people think enough to stop doing what I love. Maybe you should grow accustomed as to not care what other people are doing enough to gawk like you just did.” She shuts her window and pulls down the blinds.

Alex laughs hysterically, “Man, you were dissed.”

“Shut up, Alex,” I said embarrassed.

“You’re stuck with this room, I already clamed the last one.”

“Whatever.”

It’s nice to know that my dream girl and I headed off to a great start in our non-existent relationship. There goes my chances with her, she now thinks I’m a Peeping Tom.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The next couple of days consisted of packing and sulking. Luckily my mom and Alex were going on a few errands leaving me time alone with our new, I mean ancient, house. I decided to test out our pool, since it was a hot day and the adjustment to stifling humidity was killing me. You know, and it has nothing to do with the fact that my gorgeous new neighbor was tanning on the roof with a clear view of me, I swear. But if she does see me she shouldn’t grow accustomed to care enough as to gawk—What? I not holding a grudge, I just want to swim. I wonder if she is looking, though, again not that I want her attention, or care for it—I think she is looking though, what girl wouldn’t? (Okay that was a little stuck up of me to say, I know) Maybe if I make loud splashes, because she might be asleep—hey, it’s bad to fall asleep while tanning and I wouldn’t want her to burn herself, I don’t want her attention, okay. I swim loudly bound to be making noise. Nothing. I got it! Music, I’ll put loud music on, music she’s bound to hate, again, to wake her up. I get out and walk in the house, dripping all over as I go to my room and rummage through my boxes for a radio. I find one, thank god, and run and nearly slip back to the backyard. I turn it on to some station playing great heavy metal classics and turn it up and hop back into to pool. She doesn’t move, not even a flinch, not that I care, I’m just worried about her. I’m not acting desperate here; I really don’t care if she doesn’t notice me. But I’ll just pretend to drown and play dead, just incase. Or maybe just yelling out to her might be better.

“Hey Blondie!” I yell over my music.

She sits up and takes off her sunglasses, her hair was up in a scarf, “I have a name,” she coolly says.

“You never told me, what is it? I’m Justin.”

“Ginger. Tell me, is all this just to annoy me or prove me wrong?”

“No! I always…loud,” I chuckle nervously.

“Sure,” she sighs skeptically, “for a moment I thought you’d get desperate enough to go skinny dipping.”

Why didn’t I think of that? “Desperate, why would I be desperate?”

“I don’t know, why would you?”

“Okay, this is awkward, why don’t we start over and forget all about this, I’m Justin.”

She smiles, “I’m leaving,” she gets up and goes in the house through the window.

I stood there agape. What a---

“You want to come? You look like you need to get out,” she popped her head out.

“Yeah!” I said sounding a little too excited, now giving her more reason to believe me desperate.

“Meet me out front in ten minutes, dressed please.”

I was thrilled beyond belief, the girl of my dreams asks me to go out with her, though just out as friends I’m guessing. Anyways, this is so great! She doesn’t despise me!

I rush in the house and take a quick shower and get dressed after in casual blue jeans and a t-shirt, but then I think to myself, hey she’s a vintage chick and I should probably dress in something she’d like, a I’m guessing American Outfitters and Hollister aren’t in her favor. I take the shirt off and go through my box of clothes to find something, anything, remotely vintage-ish like. I got it! I found my blue striped button down color shirt my mom got me for Christmas that I never wear because it looks to preppy—it’s perfect! I put it on, even it’s now a little small (then again I’m used to wearing baggy clothes that don’t fit, a bad habit picked up from the 90’s), along with my shoes, and run my hands through my wet hair before leaving out to meet her.

She was waiting for me out in the front yard, “I though you’d stood me up,” she turned to me. She was wearing a flimsy navy blue sundress with white house shoes. Come to think of it, we kind of matched and both of us were dressed for a date.

“Why would I do that?” Maybe I shouldn’t have flirted like that. She sounds like she’s flirting with me, but what if she’s not? She’s my neighbor and unless I talk my mom into moving back to Seattle, we’re stuck together. “I mean, why would I want to be rude to my new neighbor,” I poorly fix.

“Because whether we like it or not, we have to see each other everyday, so we might as well try to be friends,” she half smiles reading my mind, “and just friends,” she suddenly adds.

“So where is it you’re taking me?” I change the subject, seeing she thinks I’m interested in her, which I’m not. Not really, she’s gorgeous, but weird, besides from her style I can tell we’re going to have nothing in common. Who am I kidding? If she said let’s make out, I’d beat her too it.

“Where do you want to go?”

“What is there to do here?”

“Well nothing…that is if you’re into the typical going to the movies, the mall, arcade, skating rinks, and anything else that’s trendy—“

“Well let’s see, I hate shopping, there hasn’t been any good movies to see since remakes took over, I already have an Xbox with tons of games, and skating isn’t my thing.”

“Well if you’re a jock, football’s big around here and that keeps all the boys here busy other than the slutty cheerleaders--”

“Well I’m not a jock and cheerleaders aren’t my type. What do you do around here? You don’t quite look like a cheerleader or jock.”

She smiles pleasingly, “Follow me.”

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