Categories > Original > Romance > Older Than Me, Younger Than You

New Kid On The Block

by sesshyfanchick 2 reviews

9 yr. old Rey discovers love for the first time.When a boy with black nailpolish and an emo haircut moves in next door, trouble ensues. He's arrogant and distant and 4 years older! How could you fa...

Category: Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Romance - Published: 2007-03-17 - Updated: 2007-03-18 - 2042 words

Older Than Me, Younger Than You

Chapter 1: New Kid On The Block

Hey! Hope you enjoy the story, please read and review, but most importantly...Enjoy!

It all started on the summer towards my promotion of the fourth grade. I was grudgingly playing house on my front lawn with my fellow "girl friends" of the neighborhood; I was always sentenced as the prominent character of the father when we played that game. Lindsay, Stephanie and Amy were busy inside the plastic playhouse, preparing dinner for when father came home. I was outside, waiting for them to give me the signal for my entering when a low rumbling sound came from behind me. I turned around, my eyes resting upon the form of a sleek, black car that curiously pulled up into the driveway of the house next to mine. I stared at the sign reading "For Sale" lodged blatantly in the ground.

The Parkinson's moved out about two months ago. I had watched them steadily pack up their belongings, as they went back and forth towards the moving van then back to their house again. And then they left all together. They were a respectable couple, just an old lady alongside her aging husband. The house had remained empty for those two months, since June. Now it was in the beginnings of August, the last full month until I had to go back to school and start fourth grade. My eyes rested back upon the black car parked in the driveway. No one had got out yet. I suppose I was too lost in anticipation because I knew I could hear Lindsay calling me from within the plastic house, but I just shook off her voice as an annoying mumble. Then finally, I heard a clicking sound come from within the car, and the back door facing towards me opened.

The form of a boy at least four years older than I stepped out. I thought his hair was quite odd because I had never seen anyone around my age have that color hair before. Alas, the eyes of an eight year old; too young to follow within the range of the older kid fashions. His raven black hair was tied back in a little ponytail. I guess if he had let it down it would probably come down to his shoulders. He had bangs; they were died blonde, which were cast off towards one side of his face. Overall, there were a lot of jagged stubs of hair poking out from all different directions, but I guess that was the sort of look he was going for. He was suprisingly tall and very slender, donning a black and red long sleeved shirt and a pair of freakishly tight jeans. Why would someone wear pants that tight? I suppose fashion for an eight-year-old was rather different from a pre-teen. For a kid such as myself, you'd probably have your mother throw a play shirt on you along with some shorts and tennis shoes and you were free to go. I sighed. Would I ever understand how the older kids worked?

I heard the car door slam with a resounding click and jerked my head up from its down position and stared at the boy again. I gulped. He was staring back. His charcoal colored eyes were gazing down at me from across the narrow strip of grass that separated my house from the former Parkinson's house. He looked almost like a girl; he had black make-up around his eyes. Why would a boy wear make-up? I always used to watch my mother put on the black pencil like eyeliner, I guess he did the same? My mine was reeling with questions yearning to be asked, but I decided it was best not to say anything. He was pretty intimidating, what with that piercing glare he was giving me. A slender hand painted with black nail polish came up to his face and brushed the edge of his blonde fridge towards the side. Why not just cut it if it bothered you?

I stared at my own medium length brown hair. Such a strange kid. The sound of shoes scuffling along the gravel brought me back to the real world and my eyes caught the retreating form of the boy walking up the gravel driveway path towards the verandah of the Parkinson's house. Was he moving in? I shuddered with a brief feeling of fear. I didn't really want him to move in next door. Sure, he was pretty to look at but I didn't really want to always be checking if he were out there are not when I was. I had this feeling that if he caught me playing another round of house with my friends, that he would be disgusted with such a childish act of fun and furthermore hate me for it. I guess it's human instinct to try to make yourself look good around someone knew.

"Rachel!" Lindsay's voice snapped me back into reality. I always hated the name Rachel. I don't know why exactly, but I always shuddered everytime someone said it. People knew me as Rey, but Lindsay always said out the full pronunciation of my name just to annoy me. I turned around to meet the curly blonde storming her way over towards me.

"You were supposed to come in now, we had dinner waiting for you!" she huffed, pointing towards the plastic playhouse where Stephanie and Amy were poking their little heads out of the tiny pink windows. Lindsay was a bit bossy and had always demanded my presence to perform the fatherly routine in her little game. I really didn't like to play games such as those. I was the type to look forward in finding buried treasure and exploring the forest-like park that was around the corner of Studebaker Drive. I sighed and wearily followed after her.


Mom always let me stay out to play until the sun set. Now it was 7:00 p.m. and the sound of Mom's rambunctious voice echoed out into the streets. I said goodbye to my friends, reveling in the disturbed expression Lindsay gave me for interrupting the third round of house that we were in the middle of playing. I silently thanked Mom for calling me. I stepped up the porch stairs and opened the screen door, letting it close behind me with a tiny click.

"When's Lindsay gonna' move that house off our lawn?" was the first thing I asked when I was greeted by Mom's cheery smile. She came over to me and ruffled my hair.

"Now, now little monkey," she said with a slight laugh hidden in her voice. "Her daddy called and said he was gonna' be over in 10 minutes to pick them up and the house." I smiled at the thought of Lindsay leaving and headed towards the stairs leading up to my room.

"Rey, I'm gonna' bring dinner up for you in 30 minutes, kay?" Mom called after my retreating form.

"Okay," I replied and went my way up the stairs. I walked down the hall and turned right at the second door. I turned the knob and opened the door, kicked off my red chucks and flipped on the light. My room was my haven. Whenever I felt down or lonely, my room had always comforted me in a way that no other person could. In here, I could be myself. In here, I could do whatever I wanted to do without people telling me it was unlady like or tomboyish. I shuffled my way across the navy-blue carpet and hopped onto my bed. I smiled when I settled my gaze on a picture of Robin from the Teen Titans. Yes, I had Teen Titans bed sheets. I really liked the cartoon and Robin was my favorite character because he really knew how to fight and never gave up when he was in a tough situation.

My mind began to settle back onto the day's events, eventually my whole line of thought muddled in to a great big blob of emotions and unanswered questions. I thought of how much I detested Lindsay and her girly antics. Why couldn't she find somewhere else to dump her plastic playhouse on? Why was I even playing with her anyway? A simple answer to a simple question. One, my mother practically said yes to anything and two, the boys thought having a girl in their gang would lead to a mass infection of cooties.

A lone picture of the new boy floated its way across my closed eyelids. I opened them again. I had almost forgotten about him. I ran to my window and opened the windowpane, poking my head out and looking down towards the Parkinson's driveway. The black car was still parked where it was, so that could only mean that the boy was still in the house. I hadn't seen any moving vans when he came, so there was a slight chance that he wasn't going to stay there for good. Hopefully, the house was haunted and by tomorrow they'd be running and screaming and hopping back into their black car to drive away for good. I smiled at that.

I placed my elbows on the windowsill and rested upon them, my hands fixing in place underneath my chin. I stared out in front of me, where a window sat parallel to mine. That used to be the old lady's room, Judith. I would always watch her go about and put on her old make-up whenever her guests would come over.

A spark of light erupted from the black window, sending my eyes to widen magnificently. There stood the boy from earlier, his hair still as wild as ever. He didn't seem to notice me, for he was going about his room taking in the view of it. I continued to stare within the window, watching his slender body move gracefully about. I guess you could say I was sort of fascinated by him. I have never seen anyone in my neighborhood that dressed or looked like him, not even close. It was like he was an alien invading the space of an ordinary suburban neighborhood, with its only freak of nature that of a smart tomboy.

My heart started to pound in its place when I saw his figure heading towards the window that would obviously lead him to catch me. He hadn't looked up yet, which was good, for if he saw me staring at him like I was...I bet I would be very, very embarrassed. I urged my feet to move from where I stood, to look away and get out before he would land his gaze upon me but it was as if all my sense of command failed. I was stuck.

He opened the window with a swift pulling of the windowpane and he too rested his elbows on the windowsill. And then...he saw me. I was amazed that my appearance had not phased him in the least. He didn't even move. His dark stare locked onto mine and we just stared at each other. Neither of us doing anything. I could feel my face getting hot, an awkward feeling to me because I had never felt it before. I watched as he tapped his black painted fingernails along the ridge of his mouth, and a tiny smirk formed itself upon his face. That smile, even though it was not a complete smile, beckoned me. It was eerie, but hauntingly beautiful, as if there were a raging torrent of fire hidden underneath that non-chalant exterior. Boy, I knew he would eventually lead to trouble sooner or later. I hoped he hadn't seen my face because I would bet one million dollars that it was as red as a tomato. And then, suddenly...something happened.

"Stupid girl," I heard him mumble. I saw his right hand move up and extend the middle finger and with that he turned around, slammed the windowpane down, and drew forth the curtains. I stood there, utterly perplexed on the sudden change of his behavior. As Mom would say, he had just flipped me off.

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