Stupid rock. Stupid crumpled up piece of paper. Stupid can. Stupid can. Stupid can.
Yes, I'm kicking things. But, it's not my fault. You see, the day started out normal enough. I was hanging out in my room. It's my new thing. Everyone else is off creating new niches for themselves while I'm tucked away in my tiny enclave, the only place familiar to me in my foreign surroundings. I was perfectly fine with this until my dad butted in.
"Get out," he said, opening my door without warning.
"You heard me. Get out." His voice has a bit of an edge to it.
"I didn't do anything," I mumble, slightly panicking. I mean, am I in trouble?
"Exactly. You need to get out of this room. Go experience things, meet new people. There's more to life than these four walls you know," he says, his expression softening. He could never do the tough love thing. He's too much of a push-over.
But he was relentless, which is why I am here, kicking a can. Kicking a can onto a well-manicured lawn. Kicking a can onto a well-manicured lawn that belongs to a gigantic house. Kicking a can onto a well-manicured lawn that belongs to a gigantic house that has a nice car in the driveway. Kicking a can…well, you get the idea.
I stare for a minute at the house, wondering how and why on earth it's in this neighborhood. Not that this is a crappy neighborhood, it's just, the place could very well be a mansion, but it's surrounded by single family homes. That's a little unusual to say the least. Breaking out of my trance, I decide to retrieve the garbage I was kicking when I'm attacked.
Okay, maybe not attacked so much as accosted. By a Pomeranian.
He's kind of surrounding me, barking, well yipping and I know what you're thinking. The dog couldn't be more than a foot long, just get the can and leave. Yeah, sounds simple enough but not so much when you're deathly afraid of dogs.
Then I hear it. A sharp laugh coming from my left and I see her. Welcome Spencer Carlin to the first day of the rest of your life.
If I wasn't so caught up in the dog, I might have noticed more about her right then. Like how she stared at me in a not so friendly manner. But like I said, I was preoccupied.
"Lady, can you get your dog, please?" I shriek, lifting one foot and then the other as he seems to get closer. Not really though, my mind's playing tricks on me.
"Why?" she asks, "I'm having more fun watching you jump around."
I turn to glare in her direction and she's smirking at me. Ugh, what an ass.
"Lady, I swear if you don't get your dog I'm gonna…"
Run down the street screaming like a little girl.
Who am I kidding? I'm way too terrified of the thing to go anywhere near it to cause it bodily harm. Any threats would be empty.
"Please," I take to begging, mustering the most miserable look I can and she softens instantly. Oh yeah, I still got it.
Sparky? How appropriate. The dog comes to her.
"Sparky sit," she commands, and he does. "Stay." One word command, and now she's walking to me. Dog still sitting in the spot she'd just left.
I'm impressed. Now, if only the owner was that obedient.
"Thank you," I say as she approaches me.
"Don't thank me yet. What are you doing on my property?" she asks, a grin on her face.
"I was trying to get this," I say, bending down to retrieve the errant can at the edge of her lawn. I feel a stare on me and it's either her or the dog, maybe both.
"Ah, I see," she says, turning to her dog. "Littering. Get her Sparky."
"No," I hurriedly say, seeing the tiny devil lurch forward. "This isn't even mine."
"And you're touching it?" her faces scrunches in disgust. "It's probably loaded in germs and stuff."
"It's called antibacterial soap."
"It's called tetanus."
"Anyway," I say, rolling my eyes. "That's what I was doing before you sent your dog after me."
She looks at me for an undetermined amount of time, before she smiles widely. "Okay, I believe you. What's your name?"
"Name? You do have one right? Or are you one of those L.A. people with initials for a name? Should I be asking for a moniker instead?"
"Spencer. Spencer Carlin,"
"Spencer," she tries it out. "That's unique", she says and not in the way most people say that to me. Like they're making fun of it. Her intrigue seems to be genuine. My stomach flops for some reason.
"Well, Spencer, Spencer Carlin, I'm Ashley Davies," she says extending her hand, and I take it. It happens in an instant maybe longer, but there's a spark. The circumstances have been set in action.
And so it started that day, my series of fortunate events, or unfortunate, depending on whom you ask.
Don't ask me, I'm still undecided.