Overpass Chapter 1

Overpass by Purelyamuse
“Sometimes I think all the people I love will eventually leave me. Just disappear.” “Maybe . . . I don’t know . . . maybe we don’t need lots of people. Maybe we just need one. And that’s enough.” BPOV.

Excerpt from Chapter 1 (not beta'd) . . .

“Who’s making wrong moves?” a low voice says behind me. I’m not used to hearing low voices here in the middle of the day, not since all three of Alice’s brothers were lost in a car crash two years ago.

“No one. No one’s making any moves.” She’s using her I’m-pathetic-unless-I-have-a-man voice. It’s getting old, but I play along anyway. That’s what best friends do.

“That’s the problem,” I say, turning slightly to catch the stranger’s eyes. Who the heck is this boy in Alice’s house?

“That’s a blessing. She’s crazy. Imagine her with a boyfriend. Her neurotic self would implode.”

“I agree.”

“You, shut up,” Alice says, pointing between the two of us—me and mystery boy. Whoever he is, he’s cute. Eyes the color of grass and crazy messed up hair—a burnt red, the shade of leaves turned in the fall.

“I’m not shutting up,” he says. “Besides, looks like you’ve got a lesbian lover right here. You don’t need a man.”

“See, Alice, I’ve been telling you for years. Let’s just kiss and see if we’re gay. Then all of this boy nonsense could go away. You never know.”

“I like her,” he blurts with a grin. I like him, too. Whoever he is.

“No, you don’t. You used to yell at us all the time. Especially her. You can’t stand her.” Alice gives her best glare.

“I can’t?”

“No, you can’t.”

I’m so confused. I know this guy?

“Well, who is her?” he asks, staring at me, trying to place my face, I guess. I have no clue who this guy is, but he makes me laugh, and I like how he picks on Alice like her brothers used to. I miss them and their hyper boy energy.

“Who do you think it is?” Alice asks exasperated. Apparently, he should know. And I should know. But neither of us does. But I’m not stupid enough to give myself away.

“I don’t know,” he says, with a mocking tone. “I can’t keep track of all million of your friends.” He leaves my side in favor of the fridge and opens the orange juice, dumping it straight into his mouth. I should be disgusted. Alice is, but there’s something so inherently masculine about that behavior I find attractive.

“Gross, Edward,” she says.

“Edward? Edward Masen, Edward?” My voice is high in my shock. No way.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling around the lip of the orange juice jug and taking another swig.

“Your face cleared up. And you got taller. You look different. Less gangly. And your nose isn’t so big.”

“Aren’t you delightful? Don’t tell me you’re the new best friend and I’ll be spending all my time here in this crap hole with you pointing out my blackheads.”

“I practically live here,” I say. “Get used to it.”

“Well, I do live here. And your boobs shrunk. So there.”

Does he really know who I am?

“I only complimented you,” I say, looking down at my breasts. They grew. Honestly, they did. I just don’t feel comfortable putting them on display like many girls. I wear bigger shirts. Mens’ shirts. It’s the style anyway. Sort of. Some girls do it. A massive Billabong shirt is awesome. And he’s one to talk. He’s wearing one. Blue with a silver swirl around the logo. I want it. Maybe I’ll steal it. I know where he lives, after all. How long’s he staying? And why is he here?

“Backhanded compliments are not compliments,” he instructs.

“Fine. I meant to say you’re cuter than you were the last time I saw you.”

He sets down the jug on the counter, looking me square in the eye. “Which was when . . .”

“I saw you last. You ready, Alice? That movie starts soon.”

“Yeah, let me grab my bag.” Alice exits the kitchen, leaving us staring at each other.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” I ask.

“Not a clue. Should I?”

“Yes, Edward. You should.” We fought over the tire swing at their grandmother’s house by the lake every summer until I was twelve. I’m not sure how old he was then.