We Could Be Something Beautiful

Acepilot

I was determined not to waste away the summer. I had been told as much by my mother. And my step-father. And my teachers. It was the summer between junior and senior year and it was the time for me to prepare for the most gruelling year of my life. It was 92 days of getting ready, proving myself.

It was 92 days of something.

8 - * - * - 8

1. Hell of a Summer - The Triffids

8 - * - * - 8

It was a hot summer in Conneticuit. Hotter than she had any recollection of. Probably hotter than any on record. Isn't the globe meant to be warming or something?

Ginger sighed as she walked along the grass beside the road. She had a car - of sorts, a junker that Carl and Hoodsey had resurrected in ways that only they knew, and were allowed to keep on the proviso that they keep it roadworthy and that Ginger was allowed to use it until they were old enough to drive. Ginger had suspicions that they had cut this deal quite deliberately, mostly as a thank you to her for all her help over the recent winter. That, and she had good money that they had already built a much better car for themselves, and that a lack of license was definitely not stopping them, Blake and Brandon from tearing around the local counties until all hours of the night.

She had left her car at home today, however, deciding that she needed fresh air of the sort that only came from walking. And at least, in Sheltered Shrubs, there was never any shortage of places to walk. She had strolled down to the woods, wandered along the river, and was now picking her way along back to town, following the road back to the sound of kids, relieved to be free for the summer, tearing up the city. She imagined she could hear them even from this far away.

It was a beautiful summer day. It was the kind of summer day that just begged to be walked through.

She turned at a strange sound - an odd whirring and clicking. It sounded a bit like a bike but...deeper. Heavier.

Coming down the hill behind her was a boy on a motorcycle, albeit one with the motor off. She paused to watch the spectacle as he wrangled the bike in a straight line, trying to hold the momentum.

He wasn't wearing a helmet, or headgear of any kind, but was wearing a battered leather jacket. The piece of clothing looked in marginally better condition than the bike, which had clearly seen long years of service and better days. She suspected the engine was not running because it couldn't.

He cruised past with his ongoing momentum, throwing a wave as he went past.

She shook her head and continued on her way.

She caught up with him when she started up Euchrid Hill. Unencumbered, she was making good time, but with no engine to push him up the hill, he was having to do it himself, walking the old bike up toward the peak.

"You know, there's a motor in that," she told him.

He turned to her and seemed to consider her for a moment, perhaps trying to work out if she was being funny or just stupid. He seemed to decide on the former. "It's broken down. I only paid fifty bucks for it and I'm beginning to sense there's a reason."

He had brown hair in desperate need of a cut, wavy and shaggy, leaving him looking a bit like a slightly under-cared for dog. He was tall and lean with a slightly unusual shape to his head. She couldn't see through his hair well enough to see his eyes very clearly beyond the fact they were brown. "You didn't buy it off two kids, did you? A brunette and a blonde?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Have I been had?"

"Nah, for fifty bucks you're lucky it had wheels. Get a warranty?"

"I was not offered one."

"They're slipping," she observed. "I haven't seen you around here before."

He nodded. "You wouldn't have, no. I'm not from around here."

"Where are you from?"

"A long way away," he said, not offering any further information. "Just visiting family for the summer."

She would have guessed he was about her age, but wouldn't be able to pin anything about him beyond that. They had reached the crest of the hill, and he hauled himself up onto the broken down bike.

"You want a ride?" he offered.

"Aren't motorbikes dangerous?" she asked. "I'd rather be in a car."

"Cars aren't all that safe," he said.

It wasn't anything so much about his voice but more his overall demeanour, but she felt him change as he said that.

"I'm Ginger," she said, on an impulse.

"Darker than ginger, surely," he said, looking her over. "Although that might be the light."

She rolled her eyes. "My name is Ginger."

"Ah," he said.

She waited a moment, before prompting, "And yours is..."

He hesitated. They were standing atop the hill, him atop his broken down bike, her next to him, waiting for an answer.

"Richard," he said.

She looked at him more closely. "You are not."

He smirked. "Bold call."

"You don't look like a Richard," she elaborated.

"Maybe I'm a Dick."

"Use that line a lot, do you?"

"No, actually that was the first. No-one's ever questioned my name before."

"First time for everything."

He let the smirk on his face blossom into a full-fledged smile, and shook his head slowly. "It's nice to meet you, Ginger. See you around."

And then he kicked off, the bike rolling effortlessly down the hill. He jumped a little in the seat, goosing the throttle, trying to open up the engine. It gave a few sputtering coughs before finally wheezing to life, and he was gone, around a corner at the base of the hill and on his way back into town.

8 - * - * - 8

Okay, so I've not been around lately. There's been a lot of stuff going on, and I'm sorry for my absence. Anyway, this is a bit of an older number that I've been working on for a very long time, but one that I'm very fond of. I've just finished moving (again) and thought I'd dig it out and finish it. I hope you enjoy it.

Reviews, questions and commentary are always appreciated.

Acepilot