Freefall ✓

11 | melody

We didn't realise we were making memories, we just knew we were having fun.

—winnie the pooh

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I Want to Write You a Song - One Direction

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AUDREY

"Who on earth do you think you are, arriving at my house like this without warning?!" I bawled, descending down the steps of my porch and reducing the distance between us.

His eyes flicked to the Jerry depicted on my hoodie and I couldn't have mistaken the slight tinge of suppressed amusement flash through his expression. I ignored it.

"I did warn though. Didn't think it'd take you so long to see my message," he answered innocently.

"Oh yeah?!" I wondered at the nerve of this boy, incredulously. "How do you know my number anyway?"

He shrugged. "Magicians don't reveal their secrets."

I huffed loudly, shaking my head in marvel. "You truly are something else. . ." I trailed off, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose.

I was a little annoyed but, in all honesty, felt too lethargic to be indignant at him. So I just let it go.

"Okay look, whatever. You're here already anyway so let's get this done and over with. I'm gonna get my stuff. You wait here," I spun around, leaving him behind.

"Can I not come in?" His voice was drenched in confusion and incertitude.

I leered at him over my shoulder. "Nice try, Alvarez."

When I returned, hugging the French books and my white laptop with one arm, he was lounging on the steps of my porch. "Nice little riddle you've got for me over here, princesa. How are we supposed to do a project together if I can't even come inside?"

I ambled past him, disregarding his question and shooting a laconic "follow me" in his direction.

I rounded the house, reaching the backyard and heading towards the coziest place in this world— our gazebo. After plunking my stuff onto the round table, I turned around to witness Cameron's impression. 

"Welcome to the 'cozy corner' of the house," I proclaimed, feeling proud of being the co-designer of it. The hammock, for instance,  was specifically my idea.

"Wow," he breathed out in an undertone, wide eyes roaming. He was impressed, I could tell. "This is. . .nice." He paused. Then: "So you're a neat freak?"

"Nahh, not really. But I have been called a perfectionist multiple times," I pointed out with a raised index finger, opening my laptop.

"Yeah. Why am I not surprised?" he asked rhetorically.

"I don't know, why aren't you?" I mumbled without lifting my eyes off the laptop. He was timidly approaching the hammock, staring at it the way an art enthusiast stared at the Mona Lisa his first time at the Luovre. I smirked, adding  "Don't be shy, Cam—I mean Cameron. Be my guest and make yourself comfortable on it," referring to the hammock.

He accepted my invitation eagerly, the five-year-old inside of him manifesting as he jumped onto the hammock and sprawled himself out on it. Smiling inwardly, I wondered if boys knew how unsuccessful they were at pretending to be mature.

"You can call me Cam, Audrey. It sounds darn cute coming out of the petite, rose-pink lips of yours. Like everything that does, really," I heard him say overtly as he swung on the hammock.