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Owen sits down next to her.
“Oh!” I blurt, all kinds of open-mouth-say-stuff. “You’re. . .you’re staying? I mean, yes. You’re here. What would you like? On the house, of course. Because of the saving thing. You know. My life. And. . .all.”
I can do this. He’s just a guy, right? I’ll give him a coffee and the key to my heart. I’ll jump off the cliff to go find it.
No big deal.
I was a freshman in high school the first time Owen found me sitting on the dock at the pond that technically belonged to both of our families. The property line ran right through it, and the dock had become my thinking spot.
The academic side of school was easy for me, but the social side? Not so much. Mack made friends so easily, and every day I worried she might ditch me; but more than that, I wasn’t sure how to fit in. I spent a lot of time thinking about who I wanted to be. It felt like a big decision that needed to be made and not a series of events I could allow to play out.
So, I often made my way to the dock so I could just be alone with my thoughts. It was quiet there, and there were no people to impress (or not). Just me, the pond and my books.
Always romance novels.
I’d been coming to the pond for almost a year and had never seen another person there, and then one day, I came through the trees into the clearing and spotted Mack’s older brother sitting on the dock.
My dock. My spot.
He had a journal propped up on his knees, and he was leaning against one of the wooden posts.
Mack and I had been friends since we were little, so I’d been around Owen over the years, but I’d never said more than two words to him, because he was intimidating.
Also, because by now I’d noticed that he was really good looking. Beautiful in this mysterious, troubled sort of way.
And because Owen hardly spoke to anyone, even Mack.
He was moody and quiet and while he wasn’t the same kind of social pariah that I was, he definitely didn’t fit into the social constructs of high school. If anything, he bucked that system completely.
Owen had been suspended for fighting more than once, spent more time in detention than in class, and was rumored to spend Friday night football games under the bleachers with whatever alcohol he could score.
Owen was, by all accounts, trouble.
But seeing him sitting there, writing or drawing or whatever he was doing in that journal, he looked different somehow. Quieter. Less scary.
Approachable.
Still, I froze in place, not sure what to do.
I had thinking to do, and this was my spot.
I walked over to the dock, aware of him watching me, and I sat down on the edge, opposite where he sat. I slowly pulled my book out of the small bag I brought with me, along with a can of Coke and a Twix bar. I opened the candy, pulled out one of the bars and offered the rest to Owen.
He stared at it for a three-count, and then, reached out and took it.
We didn’t say a word to each other for the rest of the afternoon.
We just. . .sat.
We sat and let each other exist in the quiet of the summer evening, in a safe place with no judgment, no rules, and no one to impress.
But that was a long time ago.
A lifetime ago.
There’s no trace of that foolish girl in the person I am today.
There’s no dock. No pond. No Twix. And definitely no feelings.
