Under The Rain

   I noticed the people moving in as I was washing my new car. 

  When I say new, I mean a mint 1963 Chevrolet Impala, blood red and convertible. It was my grandfathers when he was younger, twenty years old to be precise. Now, at the age of 69, he spent his time sat in the house, reading old war books and watching Countdown. 

   Gran was hobbling about in the garden, muttering to herself about the 'rancid cat next door', who saw her rose beds as a litter tray. 

   I'd lived with my grandparents for the past five years. Only five years, five years trying to forget everything that happened. Trying to push away the screams, the blood. All of it. Of course, it's not that easy. My brain seemed completely unwilling to erase any detail of that night. I'd always been stubborn, but now it seemed my stubbornness  was in a battle with itself. To forget, or not to forget. That was the question I so needed answers to. 

   Soap sloshed off the shiny surface of the car, leaving a raindrop shaped mark on my skinny jeans, soaking through and warming the skin. I grimaced, going to rub it, but then realising my hand was drenched in water and suds anyway. 

   "How's it going?" 

   I jumped, pulling a headphone from my ear and squinting in the sunlight, turning to face the house. Grandpa stood in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick, a grin on his sweet, lined face. 

   "It's amazing," I said, smiling back at him. "I love it. Thank you."

   "It looks a lot better now the paints been freshened up a bit," he said, stepping carefully out the doorway, raising a hand to shade his eyes. "You'll have to take me for a drive sometime." I nodded, smiling as his warm blue eyes gazed affectionately at the car. "Did you have a nice birthday?"

   "I was completely spoiled, but it was great," I said, laughing, remembering the mass of presents I'd walked downstairs to find. "Thank you."

   "Stop saying thank you," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Are the new neighbours here yet?" He looked at me quizzically, and I noticed his arm shaking slightly. I sighed. 

   "No, but Grandpa, you need to get inside," I said gently, putting the sponge down and wiping my hands on my jeans, not caring about the damp spreading through to my skin. I walked over to him, taking his free arm gently. "You need to rest. Come on."

   He sighed heavily, grumbling about how his body just wasn't what it used to be. I sat him in the living room, opening the curtains and a window to let in some light and air. When I turned back to face him, he was already half asleep. 

   Shaking my head, I walked outside, only to stop outside the front door, a frown forming. 

   A tall, lanky boy was walking around my car, his back to me. I could make out wavy, shaggy, chestnut brown hair, and fairly tanned skin. Despite his lean build, he looked well muscled under the dark jeans and white long sleeved tee shirt. 

   "Can I help you?" I asked, and he glanced back over his shoulder, revealing piercing leaf green eyes, and a killer smile. 

   "Is this yours?" he asked, and I raised an eyebrow. 

   "Yes," I replied bluntly, walking towards him. 

   "Sweet," he said quietly, hands in his pockets. He glanced up at me. "1963 Chevrolet Impala, right?" I nodded once, picking up my sponge and resuming wiping the roof of the car. 

   I didn't recognise him from anywhere, watching as he gently ran the tips of his long fingers over the bonnet. He glanced up at me, and I looked away, blushing slightly. 

   "I just moved in next door," he said, and I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, just over the waist high wall, there was a shiny black car on the drive with a moving van behind it. The front door of the house was swung open, and I could hear movement inside. "I guess that makes us neighbours."

   "I guess so," I murmured, and he grinned. 

   "You look thrilled by that," he drawled, and I glanced at him. His teeth were perfect, pearly white and perfectly straight. 

   "Well, considering I don't know you and you're stood on my property staring at my car as if you're about to steal it," I said, tilting my head to the side. He laughed, a sweet, yet rough sound. 

   "I won't, I swear," he said, and I tsked my teeth as if I didn't believe him. I slopped the sponge on the window, wiping it along and leaving a trail of tiny soap bubbles and streaky water. "I'm Lucas." He held out a hand, and without thinking, I took it, soaking his hand instantly in water and bubbles. My jaw dropped, and I felt myself going pink. He glanced up at me. 

   "I am so sorry," I said quickly, grabbing my jacket from the floor and handing it to him. 

   "I might jack cars, but I don't wipe my hands on a pretty girls clothing," he said, and I blushed a deeper shade of pink, glancing away as he wiped his hand on the front of his jeans. "Your name is . . . ?"

   I cleared my throat, scratching the back of my neck uncomfortably. My name wasn't exactly popular, and I worried he'd react like everyone else - laugh, then stop, and ask if I was serious. He was looking at me patiently. 

   "Kenzia," I muttered, so quietly I prayed he wouldn't hear. No such luck. He was silent for a moment, and I glanced at him, then away quickly. 

   "That's beautiful," he said quietly, and I felt my eyebrows fly up. 

   "Weird, you mean," I corrected, shaking my head, and he laughed. 

   "No, unique, and beautiful, just like you," he said, and I felt my face go red again. I opened my mouth to answer, but was interrupted.

   "Lucas!" 

   I glanced back, and saw a curvy woman with soft blonde hair and tanned skin stood by his new home. She was beautiful. 

   "Get your butt over here, we can't do it on ourselves!" she shouted, before glancing at me. She smiled warmly. "Hi there, sweetie! Sorry to drag him away, but he's being lazy again."

   "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" he called, and she waved at me before stalking into the house. He glanced at me. "I'll see you tomorrow."

   "You will?" I asked, confused. 

   "Sure," he said, shrugging. He smiled. "We're going to the same school, I'll need a tour guide." He left, disappearing into his house. 

   It didn't occur to me even once that I had a boyfriend, the butterflies in my stomach caused by his voice the only thing I could focus on.