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k n i g h t i n t r o u b l e

And it began two days later. On a Saturday.

Saturdays at Wavelength were generally busy. It wasn't just the usual crowd of tourists and beach-goers. Add on the weekend crowd as well as students on summer break, and the beach was practically full of people.

At times, there were so many people sun-tanning on the beach you could only see slight glimpses of the warm white sand. Keith and Greg, both of whom had taken on summer jobs here as lifeguards, had their hands full during the weekends.

Which, to me, was always a plus. At least Greg couldn't come over to harass me with idiotic pick-up lines anymore.

But while Saturdays were excruciatingly busy, they were also my favourite days. Weekends were when my Dad didn't need to work and could be down manning the shack with the rest of us.

So all four of us were at Wavelength that day, which was a lovely feeling, as always. It was a simple but blissful feeling to just watch my Dad whip up batches of coffee from the espresso machine, my brother tinkering with the cash register and my Mom serving the line with me.

I liked that sort of feeling best. It was as though the world came to a standstill and you wished you could feel this sated forever, only you knew (subconsciously) that you couldn't.

I was still thinking of this, smiling as my Mom reached across the counter to tickle a little toddler who was being carried by his Mom, when I noticed a familiar person standing at the edge of the queue.

It was the boy I'd met two days earlier. He was dressed normally this time; white shirt and knee-length khakis, along with a bag slung over one shoulder. He hovered at the end of the line uncertainly, his fingers tightening around the strap of his back.

He spotted me, and that hesitant, shy smile appeared briefly on his face before he held up a bag, and I immediately knew that the clothes I'd lent him were inside. Holding up a finger in the universal 'one sec' sign, I returned to serving the current customer.

"Hi, what can I get you?" I asked chirpily, belatedly realising how my voice sounded urgent and rushed. It was a good thing my parents couldn't hear me, because if they could, they were probably going to chide me for being unprofessional.

The lady in front of me took her time scanning the menu above us. While it was normal of customers to do that, and I generally had quite a fair amount of patience when it came to this, I couldn't help but glance over at the boy once more. I didn't want to keep him waiting.

"One espresso, please," the lady finally said, after what seemed like an eternity.

Immediately, I snapped into attention. "One more espresso!" I hollered at Dad, over my shoulder, even though he was right behind me.

Dad shot me a glare before shaking his head and pouring out the espresso. He always said I deafened him and if I was being completely honest, I had to agree. I just happened to be really enthusiastic about certain things.

Like coffee.

Or getting out of my shift to meet the boy who'd come to return me the clothes and money.

Which was why, when I signalled Ean over, his eyes narrowed with realisation since he knew what I was going to ask him to do. We'd done this more often than once, so much so that it almost became a habit sometimes.

He sauntered over to me slowly, checking the schedule on his phone for a few seconds before glancing at me. "You can take over from me on Wednesday. I'll be out with friends."

"Sounds good," I agreed, before leaving him with the people in my queue.

Giving both my Mum and then my Dad a loud, smacking kiss on their cheeks, I told them I was going to be on my break. Thanks to the noise from the never-ending line, neither of them had the opportunity to yell at me for bailing halfway - thank goodness.

So I hastily hopped over the side of the counter, before heading to the boy who had been patiently waiting for me.

"Hi!"

He smiled, right cheek dimpling briefly, before lifting up the paper bag he'd been carrying. "Sorry for bothering you. I came to return you the clothes. And to pay you back."

"There's no hurry, really, and don't worry about it, I'm on my break right now."

"I - "

But then he stopped abruptly and froze when I wrapped my hand around his arm to navigate him away from the crowd. Not only was the area around the shack getting far too crowded for my liking, but I knew, without having to turn back, that my parents were no doubt watching me closely.

They always were. Not out of overprotectiveness, of course, quite the opposite, really. My parents just liked getting to know my friends. They were the kind of parents who figured they'd be cool if Ean and I considered them our best friends.

Well, they were hardly our best friends. That was pretty much overstepping personal boundaries and space. But Ean and I got along just fine with our parents, that was for sure.

"Hold that thought," I told the boy, and he nodded, albeit a little stiffly, his eyes trained on where my hand came into contact with his arm. It was as though he wasn't used to having people touch him, or something.

Still, he didn't make any complaints when I led him away to a less populated part of the beach. Past the shack and the palm trees shading the area behind it, to where the jet skis were.

There was a line as people waited to rent jet skis for about a half hour or two hours (tops), and I sat down on the sand some distance away from the queue, patting the space beside me.

Hesitantly, the boy sat. He kept a safe distance away from me, like I was a stranger who scared him. Which was honestly a very ridiculous thought, since at five foot three I hardly scared anybody, really.

"So, Dots, did your frat give you any more trouble - " I began, but stopped when his eyes widened in surprise.

"What did you just call me?"

With a blush, I smiled sheepishly. I'd only meant to call him that in my head, since I didn't get his name and he was only wearing polka-dotted trunks that first day we met. My nickname for him must've slipped out since I was speaking rather quickly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to call you that."

"It's fine, you can call me that if you want," he murmured, but I could see the faint blush on his cheeks. Obviously, he was just as embarrassed about the nickname as I was. "I'm Miles, by the way."

"Darcy," I returned, tipping the edge of my cap with a broad smile. But the smile on my face faded as I remembered the more serious topic I was to talk to him about, so I pressed again, "And did they?"

He seemed alarm by my persistence. But this was important. I needed to know, because for some reason, I couldn't get him out of my head for the past few days. He was unusually naïve and innocent.

And even though he was already in college, and older than me by a year or two, I could easily picture him as a kid, being kicked around and bullied by the other tougher boys.

And Riverton frats - well, they weren't anything to joke about.

"Not yet," Miles replied, recovering from his initial surprise. He ran a quick hand through his hair and smiled lightly. "Although, they were surprised that I managed to get back so quickly. I was the first one to get back to campus."

"Really?"

"Yeah. All thanks to you."

I practically beamed. It was lovely to know that my efforts were being appreciated. "That's good to know. How many initiation rounds are there altogether?"

"Eleven. There were eleven of us selected in the first place. That day was round three - although it was more of a hazing than an initiation, but both hazings and initiations are rather - "

" - tough," I finished for him. "Yes, I've heard about it."

He gazed at me in surprise and I shrugged.

"Riverton hazings and initiations are kind of - well, notorious around here. I've got a couple of friends who used to be from Denver High, but they'll be attending Riverton soon, no doubt about it. And they'll be in the fraternities quicker than anyone else too - Denver High kids have that privilege. And which high school were you from?"

"Easton."

"Easton, right so - " I blinked as I belatedly realised the name of his school and the reputation it upheld. "Easton? That private school for the gifted?"

"Uh," he stammered shyly, before giving a quick nod. "Yeah."

"That's pretty amazing. They've got accelerated programmes and all. You must be crazy smart. Only really intelligent kids can attend that school."

Doubt flickered in his eyes, and he began slowly, "Not exactly, when you're in college it hardly matters - "

"Hey!" I cut him off, a frown etched between my eyebrows. "Being intelligent is a good thing. No matter what people say, your brains aren't something you, or anyone else, for that matter, should ever undermine."

A smile glossed his lips briefly, but I noticed the magnetic pull of his eyes. He seemed to drink my words in, as if no one had ever said those words to him before.

Which was a pity, because people like him, people who were amazing but didn't have the confidence to realise that they were, deserved to be told that these things again and again and again.

"Anyway," I began lightly, before pausing. My mind was suddenly blank, and no matter how hard I wracked my brains, I could hardly remember my original thought process.

This happened a lot. I was a chatterbox through and through, but I often deviated from the original topic of conversation and got lost in my labyrinth of articulated thoughts.

"Wait. What was I saying before this?"

He stared at me in amusement. "You were talking about Denver kids having privilege to join fraternities."

"Oh, right. As I was saying, Denver High kids have that privilege. And to be honest - it's going to be really difficult for you to get into the fraternity."

The flash of hurt that glimpsed his eyes fleetingly was unmistakable. And even though he nodded, his face emotionless like it didn't matter to him, I knew it did. For a second there, I felt terrible for breaking the news to him.

"Yeah," he replied softly, at last, "I know."

The mask of disappointment on his face was still there, and the words were past my lips before I could even stop myself. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. It's not your fault."

He was right. It wasn't my fault to begin with, and I knew that very well. But I hated seeing him - or anyone else, for that matter - upset and disappointed. And if an apology from a third-party could make things better, then I was all for it. I'd apologise a million times over if it could make everything right.

But that thought was a little difficult to explain. So I nudged him instead and smiled. "You're better off without joining any of the frats at Riverton, trust me. None of the fraternities or sororities at Riverton have good reputations to begin with."

He frowned slightly at my words, as if my vast knowledge of the topic confused him. "Do you go to Riverton too?"

"Me? Nope." I stifled a yawn and stretched my legs out in front of me, tracing patterns in the sand with the tips of my flip-flops. "I go to Macrae."

A flicker of realisation dawned on his face at the name. "As in the - "

" - the one for children and teenagers with special needs? Yeah."

He seemed a little befuddled by my cavalier attitude towards it. I couldn't blame him. My education used to bother me a lot in the past, because I knew I was never going to be as intelligent or well-educated as other people were.

I'd gotten lots of questioning looks and odd glances over the years whenever I mentioned the school I was attending. And eventually, I numbed myself to them, because what was one additional questioning look or odd glance among so many?

These days, I hardly cared anymore.

Miles seemed to have difficulty picking his next words, and he began a little hesitantly, "But you seem - "

" - perfectly normal? I know, right? Blame my parents for sending me there," I made a face, before grinning at his worried face. "I'm kidding. I attend Macrae because I have problems concentrating for long periods of time. When I was in elementary school, my teachers couldn't stand having me in their classes because I made way too much noise and was hyperactive all the time. And exams almost killed me, because I couldn't ever sit still."

His eyebrows were still knitted in worry, but I noticed the intrigue reflected in his eyes the more I talked.

This wasn't anything new. From past experience, I realised that when I was in the company of smart kids, they treated me in two ways: either they looked down on me for not being as clever as they were, or they actually wanted to teach me something, just to see if they could.

Miles obviously fell into the latter group. Which honestly didn't bother me. I liked learning new things; it was just difficult for me to.

"You're thinking of new ways to teach me things, aren't you?" I teased, nudging him playfully when he didn't say anything for awhile.

His eyes widened in alarm, and under the sunlight, I noticed that the blue in his irises were the same colour as the sky and, just like the sky, seemed depthless, stretching for miles and miles beyond.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. It's not your fault," I repeated playfully, echoing the words he'd said earlier. "Besides, it's actually pretty awesome. I don't have to sit for proper exams and the teachers cut me a lot of slack."

The crevice between his eyebrows still stuck, and he gazed down at me apologetically. "I still didn't mean to, though. I'm a psych student, so I'm naturally interested about the way the mind works, and - "

But I'd already tuned the rest of his words out. "You're a psych student?" I echoed, eyes brimming with curiosity.

He certainly didn't look like it, given that he was from Easton, I figured he would've taken something more science or maths-related, like Physics or Biomedical Sciences.

He nodded and my eyes brightened. "Can you diagnose me?"

"Diagnose you?"

"Yes. I want to know if the medication helps. I'm retaking my SATs soon, you see, and my Mum thinks I won't be able to concentrate. But I can. I can sit quietly for a long time and not get, like, hyperactive or anything. I've had lots of practice. Watch."

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips and I knew he was thoroughly amused by what I'd said. And we sat for awhile longer in comfortable silence. Every now and then, I'd catch him glance at me, the expression in his eyes unsure and hesitant. Clearly, he was watching me like I told him to.

And maybe he didn't know it, but I was watching him too. I hadn't had a chance to look at him properly that first day we met, because the yellow polka-dotted trunks he had on literally overshadowed everything else.

But in my peripheral vision, I now noticed the things I had glossed over that first day. Like the strong slope of his nose or the smatter of freckles on his forehead or the strength of his cheekbones or the dip of his jawline. He wasn't model-esque, characteristically good looking, but he did have nice features.

It made me wonder if he had a girlfriend, because guys who looked like him often managed to get girls in college. Then I realised he probably hadn't, since he hadn't shown any indication that he had - like frequent texting or exude the confidence some attached guys had.

And he practically shied away from any form of physical contact and certainly didn't seem used to talking to me. And I suspected he was the same in front of other girls, in front of all girls, in general.

I let my eyes travel lower, past his mildly sinewy forearms that he was resting on his knees, and down to his hands. He hadn't any jewellery on him, as some other guys did, save for a flat silver band around one of his second finger.

My eyes trained themselves on that immediately. Occasionally, his thumb would slide across the silver band and rotate it around his finger. It didn't seem like it was for decorative purposes at all.

"Are you - " I began, my curiosity getting the better of me, before belatedly realising that I was supposed to be quiet. My eyes widened to the size of sauces and I clapped a hand over my mouth. "Oh, damn it!"

He stared at me in amusement, the corners of his lips tugging up in a tiny, chewed-off smile.

Embarrassed, I pressed the pads of my fingers to my heated cheeks for a brief moment, before drawing my hands away and gesturing to the ring on his finger. "Your ring. Is it anything special?"

The smile faded from his face momentarily. He seemed to withdraw into himself, and he immediately curled his other hand over the one with the ring, as if to shield it from my gaze.

"I-It's nothing special," he muttered, before getting to his feet. His eyes suddenly seemed distant, his once open, frank expression now closed-off. "Don't you have to get back to the shack?"

My eyebrows knitted in a frown. I wasn't an intuitive person by any means, but it sure seemed like he was evading. But this nagging suspicion was shoved firmly away from my mind when I realised that he was right.

I needed to get back to shack. No doubt my parents were wondering where I'd disappeared to, and Ean was dying to go on his break.

"Yeah, I guess so," I murmured reluctantly, setting my hands on the sand beneath me so I could push myself up.

But Miles reached down before I could, one hand reaching out for me to take. It was an incredibly sweet gesture, and I interlocked my fingers with his and pulled myself up, before brushing the sand off my shorts.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, really," I told him, with a smile, hoping that I didn't sound too reluctant. Honestly, Miles was nice, and he was probably one of the few people who seemed genuinely interested in what I thought or had to say.

"You too," he returned, before pushing the bag of clothes into my arms. "Here. And there's the money I owe you in the envelope inside. Thanks again - for everything."

He turned to leave, and I watched him as he headed down the pavement. And it suddenly reminded me of that first day we met, when he'd just been through his frat hazing. No doubt he had a tough time then.

I remembered the look of disappointment on his face when I told him he wasn't going to make it. How I'd seen the look of disappointment reflected in the mirror every single day in the past because I just wasn't as clever or quick-witted or highly educated as other kids were, ever.

And, suddenly, I found myself jogging after him. "Hey, Dots?" I blurted, calling him by the nickname I'd given him. "Sorry - Miles."

Miles turned, his eyebrows raised and lips twitching slightly as he noticed my mistake once again. "Yeah?"

"I can help you," I said, simply, "I can help you get into the fraternity. It's going to be tough, but at least you won't be fighting a lonely battle. How's that sound?"

Surprise flickered in his eyes, but just when I thought he was about to say no, he nodded and smiled. And for the first time, it was a genuine, honest-to-God smile, and I felt my stomach pull and my heart flutter at how happy he looked.