Unravel

Chapter One

It's hot, too hot for August, and beads of sweat are sprouting on my temples that I had to wipe off with the back of my hand. I didn't exactly bring any hanky with me because I thought I wouldn't be needing one—now the back of my tube top is sticking to my skin and I'm already regretting my wrong indecision.

The only good decision I made—so far—is I didn't make an effort to put any foundation on and just glided on some sheer lipgloss, earlier this morning. I wasn't really, keen on applying a great deal of make-up when it comes to my appearance. At the very least, I won't have any feeling of guilt when my hand gets a trip back to my temples, wiping a trickle of sweat down to my jawline. I didn't even bother spreading sun-block all over my body—which, for once, makes it better since it'll only feel sticky and icky on my skin.

Drinking frappucino under the scorching sun while strolling on the pavement by every store in Santa Monica Boulevard, didn't do any help at all. The beverage has melted into an odd similar color of dirt mixed with water. What it did, consequentially, made my throat drier and had me thirsting to gulp down a gallon of water through my throat just so I can alleviate the heat, the sun is grandiosely giving. I sipped the last bit of liquid it has left and thrown its empty body on the trash bin close to us.

Now, I do have the choice to bathe myself on the beach and feel refreshed than ever—if one, I made the effort of wearing a bathing suit under my cream top and denim shorts, and two, if my skin didn't react negatively when it comes in contact with seawater. Yes. As stupid and dumb as it may sound, I'm allergic to it.

God forbid to give me flawless skin like my mother and inherit it from my father's side of the family instead. Hallelujah. Oh, my younger brother has it also, at least I'm not alone on that one. Let's not get into deeper details other than my skin develops scale-like rashes after I pull a part of my body out of the water—which is excruciatingly painful and freakishly disgusting. Imagine what happens when my whole body gets in contact with it—not good. I might end up in the hospital, lying helplessly in a cot. It happened once—not being sent to the hospital but I was six when I accidentally fell or was so stubborn to find out what it'll do to my skin—that I ended up fainting from the pain. They say curiosity kills and I almost did. I won't ever want to find out again.

Standing here deliberately bathed in the blazing heat and greatly drenched in sweat—got me thinking this isn't how we're supposed to spend the last day of summer before classes start tomorrow. We should've just stayed inside our houses and relish ourselves with our cool air conditioning instead. I'm adding it to the long list of wrong decisions made today—none other than, by yours truly.

Looking at my best friend, Cammie beside me, whose amber eyes are fixed on the Santa Monica Beach, a couple of blocks from here—made me think that she's actually, considering the same thought I did. I felt a small sense of panic within, that I scoured my surroundings for any good stores to hide from the traitorous heat of the sun. My gaze landed on a*****e across the street, with a name engraved on the top, BookMonster. Perfect. Anything just to get away from this dreading heat that I might pass out any minute.

"It's really hot today, don't you think?" I say lightly as I tied my tousled hair into a nice ponytail.

"Tell me about it." Cammie said, fanning her hands over her face while expelling air from her mouth.

"What do you say, we take a break there?" I said, nodding my head over to indicate the bookstore across the street.

"What?" her brow creases, perplexed at my suggestion. "We haven't even found that mini dress yet."

"Ugh, Cammie, we've searched every boutique and clothing store for that dress—we can't find it anywhere!" I let out an exasperated sigh. It didn't even occur to me that I was already getting tired from all the walking under the heat of the sun, looking for a dress she saw, a supermodel wore in a fashion blog spot. She's eager on wearing it tomorrow. "Look, can we at least, take a break? Then we can proceed to look for it after a much-needed rest. Please?"

"Fine," she said indignantly. "I guess we can."

"Thank goodness!" I looped my arm over hers as we head across the street.

"Wait," she said, stopping us from our tracks, right by the bookstore's doorstep. "You head first, I'll buy us some new refreshments."

I gave her a skeptical look. She has been eyeing a certain clothing store—that we haven't checked yet, the whole time we were standing earlier. Knowing her so well, I know she'll take longer than usual—she'll stop at nothing until she gets her hands on that dress. I have no other choice than to let her because as far as I'm concerned, she always, always, gets what she wants. There's no circumvent to when Cammie makes up her mind. She's stubborn that way.

"Promise." she gave me a reassuring smile.

"Suit yourself." I say finally as I press my lips together.

"I won't be long." she says promptly before turning her back to me, her chestnut hair bouncing as she jog-walks—creating distance between us with each passing second. And there she goes. Who knows when she'll be back.

I pushed my sunglasses up onto my forehead. As I move closer to the door, I get a blast of air-conditioning, blowing a few locks of my hair. There's this somewhat distinct flavoring scent that emanates from printed books, probably the chemical from the ink, that sets you in a tranquil state. It's as if a huge weight has been lifted from my body and dissipated the weariness I've been feeling. Books, both old and new, reek of a sweet, musky smell that wafts into my nose and lingers. The scent does trigger an intense emotion of familiarity that at the same time, I haven't the faintest idea what.

I stride further inside, a long line of bookshelves greets me that stretched the breadth of the bookstore. I ran my fingers on every spine of a book, stacked side by side—sauntering my way through, searching for something that might pique my interest. The last book I've read and maybe even learned it by heart now is the famous work of literature by Homer—Illiad, and Odysseus. I've always been fond of Greek literature but not because I am Greek—one-fourth since my Mom is half-french and half-greek. What really sparked my interest in it was due to my late Father.

He loved all things Greek, from myths to archaeological artifacts. He loved it too much that he pursued a career as an archaeologist, retrieving lost artifacts. He loved it too much that it took his life, literally. I didn't want to think about it but it's like my mind is replaying buried memories on its own accord: I was six; mom breaking the depressing news to us—me and my brother—that our father has gone to heaven. A small funeral with blurred faces. Mom throwing Dad's ash into the sea. Left Greece and moved here, in Malibu.

It pains me that I only knew so little about him and only have vague memories of him. Partly, because he was away all the time. He'd go on days and even weeks without returning home due to his excavations—at least that's what I can recall or how I understood it from my six-year-old mind. It was enough to cherish those little memories of him, even though some are painful than the others. It was enough to say that I did have a father.

I break away from that pained memory and rest my palms on the shelf. I heaved a deep sigh, giving myself a minute to get my bearings. My gaze landed on a book, The Lost Empire of Atlantis: History's Greatest Mystery Revealed by Gavin Menzies. It has an interesting book title that's hard to pass by, so, I pulled it out and read its description—which looked promising. Before I can even flip the book open, a person snorted beside me.

I must have been so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice someone standing beside me or the fact that I didn't hear footsteps nearing me. But maybe it was the music being played a little loud and the shrill babble of voices from people inside the bookstore that I got distracted and didn't notice how this person is standing beside me. I would know. It's hard not to notice. I was the only one in this particular column of bookshelves—at least that's how it was earlier.

I don't know if it was reflex that my abrupt reaction was to shift my gaze to that person with my face scowling—because who snorts on people? Of course, it would flare up the person being snorted at—me. And the moment I did, my scowl melted into wide eyes. He was grinning at me while I scowled at him. I was taken aback. I only hope my tanned complexion is hiding the fact that my face is burning. Not to mention I was also lost for words and my throat suddenly dry.

"I think it's funny." he said still grinning and pointing to the book that I forgot I was still holding.

When I still can't find any words to say, his crystal blue eyes side-glanced on the book and said, "May I?" while holding out his hand.

Finally, I found my voice and almost stammering out the word, "Sure." and passed him the book. When our fingers lightly touched, it sent a stirring jolt down to my spine.

In a span of seconds, an image flashed before my eyes; I was walking towards a table carrying something when I bump into someone and I fall. Then the image disappeared and made me a little light-headed, staggering to keep my balance. At the same time, the guy was swift enough to support me, his grip insanely hot on my arms with an odd familiarity.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of worry and inexplicably comforting.

The second he asked that question, my queasiness is gone but the image is heavily imprinted on my mind. Suddenly aware of what just happened, I ease away from him and peer up. He's over a foot taller than me.

"Uh—yes, sorry." I stammered, suddenly remembering that I wasn't wearing any contacts that hide the color of my eyes—I break away from his piercing gaze and looked down at the floor.

If my Mom sees that I've disobeyed her rule to wear contacts when I'm outside—I won't live to know what'll happen to me. Good thing she's at work, far away to even know. Still, the one time I don't wear it, somebody is up close and sees it—for instance the guy that I did a game of staring contest with, seconds ago.

"Are you sure?"

"Mhmm." My gaze, still planted on the floor, noticed the book that must have fallen when he aided me. Then I went to pick it up and unpurposely shoved it to his chest. "Here."

Oh, God. My eyes widen again at what I just did that I instantly turn my back to him out of embarrassment and shut my eyes, gathering enough courage before I open my eyes and spun around to face him again.

"Sorry." My face feels hot and tight as a sunburn. I manage a wooden smile.

The guy didn't say anything other than his brows knitting and smirking. He's probably weirded out by me. I need to get out of this place. This is so embarrassing.

"I—uh, need to go." I mumbled, making an awkward gesture of pointing to my back with my thumb, slowly backing away from him, and almost tripping over the carpet. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I caught sight of his confused expression and his hand running through his blonde hair before I turned my back for the last time and scampered through the open doors—back to the blazing heat.

I start jogging away from the bookstore until it blends in like the other buildings before me.

Thoughts started flooding through my head like water just broke free from a dam. What was all of that? I don't know what just happened and why was I being so awkward about it. Or the fact that I can't fathom what I just saw—the image that flashed before my eyes. What was that? The good thing is, at least I won't have to see that guy, who's a complete total stranger—ever again. Still, it gives me goosebumps of the thought that his grip left a familiar burning sensation on my arms and lingers.

I didn't notice the time pass by so quickly that I'm now walking mindlessly, passing countless stores and still lost in my thoughts when I jump from my phone's boisterous ringing. Cammie.

"Where are you?" she asks, her voice loud through the phone but not loud-mad more like loud because of the wind blowing through her phone and cars honking.

"Uh..." I scan my surroundings and turn to face the store I'm standing at. "DK's Donuts & Bakery. Where are you?"

She's silent for a second before speaking. "Targeeet." Her voice falters, a familiar tone of guilt.

"Wow," I say, not even surprised. "Getting us some refreshments, was it?"

"Okay, I know, I'm sorry—buut I bought some for yours too!" she chimes.

I roll my eyes, smiling. "Whatever. I'll meet you there in..." I peered at my watch. "In maybe ten or fifteen minutes."

That's odd. One of my shoulders felt lighter than usual—I glanced over it in utter dismay. Crap, Crap, Crap. I left my slinged-purse at the bookstore, it must have slipped from my shoulder, unnoticed when I felt that queasiness and got preoccupied with that guy's distracting, livid, and glorious face.

I groan.

"What?" I almost forgot that I'm still in line with Cammie on my phone. "Hellooo, Eirene?"

"On second thought—long story. Meet me at the BookMonster, I'm on my way there." I say as I hang up the phone. Then I run.

But when we arrived there asking the woman in charge of the cashier, she said she hasn't seen my purse nor did she see any person carrying one—that or she wasn't really paying attention to the people, going in and out of their store. Unless... No. It's wrong to pinpoint someone. Cammie and I searched every nook and cranny of the store and still weren't able to find it. The woman offered to have us watch the CCTV footage but it's a long process that she needs to ask her manager's consent, blah-blah-blah. Great. Not only did I lose my purse but also its valuable contents; my credit card, my mini wallet containing three hundred bucks, some make-up kit—and for the love of God, my car keys and driver's license! My Mom's going to kill me. I'm dead meat when she finds out. My only hope is whoever found my purse—fingers crossed—has a good heart to return it and call me before the day ends.

The only relief I did get was that earlier this morning, we decided to use one car—Cammie's—instead of two when we went to Santa Monica Boulevard and left mine in her parent's house since our houses are only a few miles from each other in Winding Way. The only problem now, as Cammie dropped me off, several feet from our driveway—is how I'm going to tell my Mom that for the first time in my life, I lost both my car keys and driver's license at the same time. Or the fact that my Civic is missing from our three-car spaced garage. How am I ever gonna go to school tomorrow when I'm also the one to drive my younger brother there? What, hitch a ride with Cammie again? Ridiculous. It keeps getting worse each passing minute, the more I think about it.

I shrug and ran my hands over my face in disbelief of my clumsiness. I've been looking over my phone—every now and then—for any unknown number that I'm hoping will pop up and ring any minute. But it's already sunset and no such luck.

As I sluggishly walk towards our inner driveway, I stared at the huge marbled stone glasshouse, I've lived my entire life since we moved here when I was six. It's fairly posh compared to Cammie's French mansion kind of posh. Ours has a touch of modern into it with a flat top roof, large windows with a long balcony that look out on a long stretch of the beach over the horizon, and a long glass-railed patio, connecting to the pool on the side.

On any other day, I would burst right through the front door and run straight to my room. Now, so many emotions bouncing around inside of me that I didn't know which ones to concentrate on. Fear, worry, anger, confusion, but mostly fear—of my Mom that I might burst out crying. I imagine Mom home, already cooked dinner, smiling—then her face turns sour of my news. This is probably, one of the times that I'd much rather run away than face my mother's wrath. My heart's pounding so hard I hear it like a war drum. I've never felt more fear in my entire life.

I didn't even bother checking our garage if her Prius is already parked there and just went straight through the front door. I stop short by the door, my phone vibrated from a text. For a second, I thought it was from the person who found my purse, but it wasn't. A huge wave of relief encompassed me as I read it—Mom won't be home until eleven in the evening. Phew. I feel like celebrating. I'll have at least tomorrow to collect the strength to tell her.

When I was about to open the door, one of my sandals stepped on something hard and made a crumpled noise of paper. I looked down and there it was my light-pink purse and a paper bag underneath it, flat on the floor. What the—how did it even find its way here? Obviously, someone had to place it here—but who? How didn't I notice it? Am I visually impaired or something? Whatever. Whoever it was, I should be grateful that 'that' person had the conscience to return it. But why not just call or even text me to meet up and give it to me? Weird. I realized with a shock, that that person has rummaged through my purse to know my address. But. Of. Course. I scoured my surroundings for anyone suspicious to be standing near my house premises—no one. I instantly rummaged through my purse if anything is missing; Cream mini wallet. Check. Wow—three-hundred bucks still intact. I guess—Check. Credit card. Check. Driver's license. Oh-my-sweet-goodness Check. Makeup kit. Check. And my oh-so-precious car keys. A big check. I exhaled a big sigh of relief. I'll sleep just fine tonight without any problems at hand.

I then pick up the paper bag lying on the floor; it has words printed all over it like the ones you see in a newspaper. I took a peek inside and saw it has a book. I pulled it out and appalled to see it was the same book I was holding earlier at the bookstore. I already knew who it came from. The guy at the bookstore. I feel my cheeks getting hot again. Should I feel surprised? I should. But a part of me did thought it was him who got ahold of my purse and it's wrong to even think about it. A square note was sticking on the front; his penmanship is neat and legible for a guy—not that I'm saying every guy's handwriting is ugly, what I meant was most of the guys I knew were. I read the note:

Thought you like this, so I bought it for you, for compensation. I don't know? For scaring you? Anyway, I guess see you around? — A.

He thought I was scared of him? More like I thought I weirded him out. 'A'? His initial? I flipped the note. Blank. What am I expecting? His number? I shake my head. I put the book back inside the paper bag and went straight to my room. I plopped both my purse and the book on my bed and called Cammie to pick me up so I can get my car from her house. I explained everything to her on the way to her house and left out the part about the guy I met at the bookstore, including the book he gave me. Even if she's my best friend, the last thing I want is her pestering me about it. I know she'll found out sooner or later, but at least, I'll be at peace for quite some time; I'll just deal with it when that time comes.

When I got back, I change clothes and went straight to the hall. I checked my brother's room, he didn't even notice me open his door; he was so focused on a game he's playing with his friends on his flat-screen tv mounted on the wall. He looks so much like Mom—like a male version of her—except for his skin complexion and eyes which are deep-set while Mom's are almond-shaped and gun-metal gray. The inkling features we both have in common are the color of our eyes and the same natural tanned complexion that we both got from our father. He's even quite tall for his age of thirteen, no doubt he'll reach over six feet when he grows up; and also the reason why he's part of the swimming team. We're not allergic to normal water or even with chlorine in it. Only seawater which is so totally weird.

"Evan, have you eaten dinner yet?" I knock on his door to get his attention. No luck.

I removed his headphones from him; his disheveled coppery-brown hair flopped over the top of his ears. His lavender eyes scowled at me.

"What do you want?" he sneered.

"Sorry, " I grimaced. "Have you eaten dinner yet?"

"Yes."

He probably ate dinner at one of his friends from the neighborhood. He did ask for permission to go out and spend the day at one of his friend's houses. Probably the one named Michael, whose house is almost a mile from ours and the only one who also lives in Winding Way.

"Oh ok, just checking."

He then put his headphones back over the top of his head and continued on with his game.

"Wait," He calls as I was heading towards the stairs. "Are you cooking or ordering?" his voice echoing in the halls.

"Ordering, why?" I head back to his door.

"What are you ordering?"

"Meat Lovers' Pizza from D'Amores Pizza—again, why?" I say, starting to get befuddled by his questions.

"Call me if it has arrived." He's grinning now; giving me his usual puppy dog violet eyes and his snow-white teeth in a full wide grin. "Pleeease."

I rolled my eyes. "But I thought you already ate?"

"Can't say no for round two." Then he went back to his game.

I just shake my head, smiling. My brother and his gluttony. I swear it all goes to his growth spurt.

After dinner, we both went straight to bed. I told him that it's a school day tomorrow and he should sleep. For once, he didn't bicker with me. That's a relief. But then if he did, he knew I'd telltale him to Mom—a remnant of what we used to do when we were kids.

As I lie in bed, staring at my ceiling, I thought of how my summer went. It went like a blur, it passed without any worthwhile incident. I spent the whole summer in our house either sulking, reading books, or sunbathing by our pool. In short, it was plain boring—same as every year, nothing happened that's ought to be magical like how you see it in movies.

Then my mind wanders off to the guy I coincidentally met at the bookstore and the vision that came with him. It felt ominous and sent shivers all over my body. I shake it off of my mind, to no avail, his gaze still lingers. 'A'. I was consumed by the mystery he presented. A small part in me—the stupid part in me—wanted to see him again, but the huge part in me—the sensible part—says it's stupid. Which it is. It's probably our first and last meeting. So why do I feel a little sad? I just met the guy. It's not like he's someone I know. Right? But it felt like I did.

I wasn't even aware that I was already drifting to sleep; like the thought of his crystal blue eyes—lulled me to sleep, inexplicably solacing yet familiar.