Elena

​We stop in Tennessee for a bite to eat at a waffle house. The atmosphere is like a cracker barrel, but with no gift shop and not nearly as large of an establishment. Ever since the drive out of Michigan, it seems that life is becoming simpler. The air is fresher, people are becoming more pleasant. I blame it on the weather; the sun fills the air and people's hearts with warmth. It is so nice here and we aren't even done traveling south. I love the southern accents I'm beginning to hear; it's melodious, makes my voice sound so whiny.

"I will never understand how or why you like your bacon burnt to a crisp like that." Dad teases as I pull my long blonde hair back with a hairband. I really need a haircut.

Taking a bite of the bacon from my plate, I crunch it in my mouth, "It's the only way, Dad." I tease back, rolling my eyes.

He just smiles and says, "Not only do you look like your mother with that hair and blue eyes, you act just like her too." He chuckles to himself. "Oh, I miss her."

"I do too," I mumble. Looking down at my plate to gather some eggs onto my English muffin, I find myself wishing that I had more traits from him. The only similarities between us are that we both like action movies and really greasy pizza. Other than that, there isn't much we have in common.

I look over at my pinky nail that I violently removed in the drive down here; I have never seen my Mom or Dad pick at their nails. Where do I get that from? Perhaps a distant relative?

****************

As soon as we hit Georgia we see red dirt, confederate flags flying high, people shooting pistols and rifles at outdoor gun ranges - aimed away from traffic of course. There are a lot of muddy pickup trucks, people sitting on front porches -just sitting there. Rundown homes with so much trash everywhere, and abandoned property from poverty, no doubt.

Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea. Some areas remind me of Detroit only in a small-town way. We keep driving east and the scenery gets a little better, I'm thankful. The further east we travel, the more I see a lot of farmlands or at least houses with a lot of acreage. I see horses, cows, and many other farm animals multiple times. It's refreshing compared to the hustle and bustle of inner-city life.

​"We're about 20 minutes out." I hear my dad say, pulling me out of my observations. Tiny little butterflies start swimming in my stomach. I have never transferred schools before, let alone in the middle of the first half of the school year. It's my senior year this year and I will have no friends.

I take a breath when I see it. There is a wooden sign that reads "Welcome to Ludowici. Population 1,400." What? 1,400 people here? That is a tiny town. I wonder if it's true what they say, that small towns have people that know everybody, and everything is everybody's business. Gosh, I hope not.

​Before I know it, we pull up to a small two-bedroom home. It is charming. The house is white with blue shutters and a red front door. No garage, but that's ok; it's not like it will snow here much. There are some bushes in front of the house and a flower bed in front of them with tulips, daisies, and lilies -so colorful and elegant. Whoever had this home before us took good care of it. We crawl out of the van and walk up to the door, my Dad smiles at me as he puts the key in to turn the knob.

​"This is it, home sweet home," he says in anticipation. As soon as we walk inside, instantly, the faint smell of lemon intermixed with dusty emptiness greets us. The little entryway just inside the door, leads to the family room to the left of the door. There are wood floors throughout, except for the kitchen to the right of the doorway with white tile floors and a small breakfast bar and updated steal appliances. A spot in front of the door is just big enough for a small table and chairs. It's not much, but it's just big enough for two people to live comfortably.

Walking further down the hall, the wood floors creek beneath our weight; we see two bedrooms across from each other. One of the bedrooms is next to a bathroom in the hall. We walk into the master room which is pretty spacious for the size of the house. My dad has a full bathroom to himself and two windows. We walk over to my room and see that my room is smaller, but I don't mind. I have one window that faces a light blue house, wooden floors, and a walk-in closet – that's nice.

​We eventually unpack the essentials and rebuild our beds after devouring a pepperoni pizza from 'Sam's' pizza parlor. It has a lot of flavor and the perfect amount of grease to satisfy our hunger.

Even though I am exhausted from the ride down here I can't sleep. My first day of school is tomorrow and I am so nervous, not only because it's a new school, but also because I'm transferring in the middle of the school year and on a Tuesday.

What if I can't find any friends? I hope I like my teachers. What if I get lost? No, I wouldn't be able to get lost, this small town is tiny, the school can't be that big. All the questions and scenarios that are filling my head is starting to escalate my breathing.

The room is constricting; I need to open a window. Purposefully, I built my bed by the window; looking out into the world as I fall asleep is a necessity. Unlocking the locks, I slide it up. The cool night air swarms into my room and fills my lungs instantly relieving me of my anxiety. I fall back on my pillow with my hands clutching the sheets up to my neck. Much needed sleep is just a drift away.

​Deep in my unconscious, I can hear a sound of an engine getting closer.

Clash.

"Oh shit." I hear a deep voice close by.

​Shooting up from bed, I immediately look around, trying to figure out where I am, forgetting that I'm not in my old room. Looking over at my clock – 3am?! Ugh – I slam into my pillow face first.

​"Fuck." There's that voice again. What is going on? Who is that? I sit up and look out my window to where the cussing is coming from. There's a man next door in the driveway trying to pick up trash next to a motorbike. He has long pants and a sleeveless cut off shirt on. There are some designs on his arms. I can tell from the outside lights and the moon that is glistening on him that he has some serious muscles. He's stumbling around trying to pick up trash, cursing as he goes.

​Clash

"Motherfucker." He mumbles as he trips over an aluminum trashcan top. I can't help but let out a giggle. This poor guy is having a heck of a time, but he needs to stop making such noise at this hour. I decide to be brave and go over there to ask him to be quiet. The last thing I need is for my dad to hear any of this, then threaten to arrest him for domestic disturbance -especially on our first night here.

Bringing my legs over the bed, I put on my favorite slippers with little panda heads that cover my toes then grab my bathrobe to cover up my night shorts and tank top. The robe covers me well enough: it hits me just above my knees.

I push my hair around to make it look somewhat tame. It's dark out so, I'm not too worried about what my face looks like. I don't wear that much makeup anyways on any day. I open my door to tiptoe my way down the creaky hall to the front door. Gently pulling it closed behind me, I take a deep breath and make my way over through the dry crunchy grass to the man cussing like a sailor under his breath, mumbling something about... a Jace?

As I get closer, I realize, this is probably a mistake. His body language is telling me that he is a little pissed off and he can easily tower over me. My heart stops when he turns around. My mouth drops. He is gorgeous. Maybe it's because there's lack of light, but he is striking.

I can't tell what his eye color is, but he has a cut jawline that is slightly covered by very short dark stubble, he has thick brown hair that is short, but long enough to see that it has some curl to it. His nose is a little bent? It's hard to tell, still looks good on him though. He has a thick neck, broad shoulders, arms are defined and thick.

There are tattoos on both arms, but I can't make out the designs. It takes everything in me not to reach out and trace them with my fingertips and ask him about them. Before I can trail my eyes any further, he says something that breaks me from my trance. I then realize that I'm standing here with my mouth wide open, my eyes are straining from popping out of my sockets. I feel like a buffoon as I try to compose myself.

​"W-what?" I manage to wheeze out.

​He just smiles, "You got some drool there." He says pointing to my mouth. His voice is a little raspy and deep, but there's a rich southern drawl that instantly makes my skin quiver in delight.

​What? No!

"Huh? No, I don't!" It surprises even myself at how defensive I've become as I paw at the corners of my mouth to wipe anything away – there's nothing there. He chuckles at me. I'm so glad that it's mostly dark out, otherwise he would be able to see the crimson red cheeks on my face right now. I want the earth to swallow me whole. The embarrassment growing inside me is torture while standing here ogling at this beautiful creature while making a complete fool of myself. The need to run away and hide under a rock before further disaster strikes is strong. Unfortunately, my mind is not registering my flight response to the rest of my anchored body.

​"Do you always go for a walk at night wearing a robe? Or is this just for me?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow. His words come out a little slurred – is he drunk? He begins to scan the length of my body with an adorable smirk on his face.

​"Huh?" Looking down at myself, I notice that yes, I am in a robe. I forgot about that. Here come the red cheeks again. Pull yourself together Elena! That's when it hits me, I was coming out here to yell at him for waking me up during the devil's hour.

I am not sure where it comes from, but irritation takes over, "Look! Mister," I start by pointing a finger at him as to stress the purpose of this encounter. His eyes widen only a little from surprise "you woke me up in the middle of the night with all your cursing and terrible attempts at being a trash can drummer! I came out here to ask you if you could be a little quieter because some of us need to get some sleep!"

​He places his hands up in mock surrender, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake anyone up. That house," he points to my new house, "has been vacant for a while - the only other neighbor I have is across the street." Pausing, he narrows his eyes, then continues, "are you from across the street?"

​"No, I live here." I dramatically point at my house that is next to his, nearly raising my voice.

​"Oh! Oh Shit, I'm sorry – I-I didn't know. I'll try to keep it down. Sorry to wake you up." Just when I am about to thank him for understanding, he says while rubbing his chin with his hand, looking me up and down, "Actually, kitten, I can't be that sorry."

​Did he just call me kitten? I am not sure how I feel about that. "What do you mean?" My voice is barely a whisper. Where is he going with this? I suddenly feel so exposed.

​"I like what I see in front of me, I can't be that sorry." He shrugs.

​"Ugh." He is so uncouth. I turn on my heels and stomp back to the house. "Just be quiet!" I whisper scream at him. The rude stranger just keeps laughing at me. I yank open the door out of frustration, then I gently close it behind me - remembering that I need to be quiet, and make my way back to my bed. I need to get some sleep.

Looking at the clock I see it's 3:30am. I have to wake up in two and a half hours. I groan to myself. Tomorrow will not be a good first day, I can feel it.