Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
When I return home from Paris and I's delightful photoshoot, I plug my camera into my computer and start editing the dozens of pictures. It's almost impossible to single any out. They're all so gorgeous. In every one of them, Paris is stunning; a shining star who's illuminated my heart. I can't wait to see him again. Tomorrow, I plan to take him into town. We can go shopping and have lunch at his favorite restaurant. Then maybe he can show me around and I can take a few shots of his beautiful frame traversing the cobblestone streets.
Until then, I'm left with Paris' pictures, each one encapsulating the jovial memories of today. Tessa rests beside my desk while I tell her all about our day. I can't wait for her to meet him. As long as Paris has Tessa's approval, he has mine.
In the middle of my rambling, Tessa whines, abruptly darting from my side to the windowsill. She barks and I pull back the curtain to expose the evening sky, black as Paris' eyes; the only source of light comes from a weak lamppost on the corner. Tessa continues to bark, and I peer through the darkness to find Paris lying in bed, reading a book. His adorable figure makes me smile, and I wish I could join him under the covers. His foot tickling mine. My fingers untangling his black curls. His body pinned underneath mine. My delicate kiss fluttering against his lips.
Gloomy clouds encroach on the cul-de-sac, pulling me out of my fantasy. Delicate water droplets form on my window and Tessa stares out with a curious glance, worried. I shrug it off and leave her at the windowsill, petting her softly before returning to my computer.
As I sit down, a text from Maya appears on my screen, "Any luck with Paris?"
I can't help but smirk. Maya and Tommy have been texting me nonstop about Paris since I told them about him during our last FaceTime. I didn't wanna jinx our chance at a relationship by bringing my feelings up too soon, but I also couldn't keep Paris a secret from my best friends.
"Yes... ;)," I text back.
Maybe I'm blissfully optimistic, but I'm starting to think Paris feels the same way I do. He seems comfortable around me, unafraid to share even the most intimate parts of himself. I've never felt that spark with anyone before. It's an unspoken electricity igniting between us. I want to feel that electricity for the rest of my life.
Regardless, I'm still hesitant to act on those feelings. If Paris and I were a couple, would I be comfortable putting our relationship out in the open? Would I even tell my parents?
Am I ready for the world to see a part of me that I barely even understand myself?
Tessa's incessant barking interrupts my spiraling thoughts. She scratches her paw against the glass, catching my attention and prompting me to join her at the windowsill. I follow her field of vision to the sidewalk, where a young woman lays motionless. Instantly, I rush outside to see if she's alright. By the time I'm outside, rain is pouring over the cul-de-sac. The young woman's turquoise bicycle is down on the ground, threatening to be swept away by the rushing water. Hastily, I prop it up before kneeling down to check on the young woman. She appears shaken, but not unconscious.
"Hey! Are you alright?"
The young woman looks up at me with anguish in her crystal blue eyes. I extend my hand for her to take, and she grabs it.
"I'm fine," she replies as I help her up on her feet, "One second I was turning into the cul-de-sac to hide out from the rain. Next thing I know, I'm ass up on the concrete."
She rolls her eyes and I let out a small laugh, earning a smirk from her.
My chuckling is cut short by the young woman's subsequent slip. Only, this time, I catch her, gripping my hand around her waist to keep her from falling down.
"Thanks, random dude I don't know," the young woman offers as I keep her grounded.
"I'm Grayson, random girl I don't know."
The young woman lets out a swift laugh while flipping back her shoulder length sweeping black hair.
"I'm Naomi. Hey, I don't wanna sound too forward, but would you mind if I took cover in your house until the storm passes?"
"Judging from what I've seen of your biking skills, that's probably not a bad idea."
With my hand still around her waist, I guide Naomi toward my house and walk her bicycle in my free hand. Once we're inside, I lead her to the dining room table and brew a cup of decaf. When I return with the steaming mug of coffee, her left leg is elevated.
"Do you live alone?" Naomi asks as I extend the mug out to her. She gladly takes it as I sit down beside her.
"Nope. Dad's at work and mom's out with friends."
"So, are you in college?"
"You ask a lot of questions," I tease. Naomi rolls her eyes at me while I move to check on her elevated leg.
"Sorry, I've just never seen you around."
"Does this hurt?" I check, guiding her leg upward. Naomi flinches, but shakes her head.
"Not bad."
I look over her knee, which is darker then the rest of her tawny complexion.
"I think it's just a bruise. I'll go get an ice pack."
"You don't have to do that," Naomi insists, but I slide open the freezer and grab it anyway, pressing the cool compress to her skin and wrapping it taut with gauze.
"My parents and I just moved here," I explain as I join her back at the dining room table, "That's why you've never seen me."
"So, you're in high school?"
"Yeah. I'm starting senior year at Santa Barbara High School."
"Me too! You're looking at the new President of the Yearbook Team!" Naomi smiles awkwardly, clearly not one to brag.
"That's impressive. I take it you're into photography then?"
"I am. Are you?"
"Most definitely! When I lived in New York I would bring my camera everywhere."
"You never wanna miss a picture perfect moment," Naomi winks, setting down her finished mug.
Over the course of our chatting, the clouds break up and a ray of light pours through the dining room window. Naomi removes the ice pack from her knee, which is starting to turn a deep purple. I help her up but she makes her way to the front door with no problem.
"It was nice meeting you, Grayson!" Naomi exclaims as she grabs her turquoise bicycle and walks it out toward the sidewalk.
"You too! Do you need help walking home?"
Naomi's soft pink painted lips curl into an unrestrained smile, revealing a slight overbite, "I think I'll be alright. I'm just down the block. But, call me sometime, alright?"
Before I can say anything, Naomi slips a piece of paper into my open hand and blinks her long lashes. There's a look in her shimmering sapphire eyes that conveys a sense of interest. Is it possible Naomi wants to be more than friends?
I trace Naomi's steps as she leaves the cul-de-sac. Nothing sparks within me when I look at her. Nothing close to the magnificent burst of electricity that strikes my heart every time I look at Paris. She's arguably one of the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and I feel absolutely nothing.
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