Chapter 1

"We're getting a divorce."

My Mom and Dad sit across from me on the dining room table. We're only a few feet apart but it feels much further. It's a Saturday afternoon and normally I'd be sitting in my bedroom, doing homework, listening to music or looking through old family photos, where times were so much simpler. Today, however, my parents had requested a 'special' chat with me, like some kind of formal meeting had been arranged. It doesn't really surprise me – we rarely have a heartfelt conversation, what with Dad travelling for work and Mum constantly locked up in her office. Let's just say I thought today would be different.

How wrong I was.

I quickly realize that they're waiting for my response, Mom with her fake sympathetic expression and Dad appearing to be barely interested at all. He's most likely concerned that he's wasting precious time, time that could be used to run his company, no doubt. Mom's clearly a little more attentive, but the slight twitch in her lips suggests that her impatience is beginning to grow. How had I noticed such small mannerisms as these and not predicted what was happening now? Sure, they haven't been spending as much time together recently, but a divorce? That's bordering on the absolute extreme! Can't they just get couple's therapy or something?

And then I notice the way they're sitting. It all seems to click into place. Deliberately facing away from each other, arms crossed and an uncomfortable atmosphere...it doesn't really paint the pretty picture of a happily married couple. The reality of it all hits me – they're seriously separating. Images of my future life begin to spring to mind and I start to panic. I'll spend weekdays with Mom and weekends with Dad. I'll have two separate birthday parties. I'll always have to travel. We won't be a family anymore. We'll be broken.

"Honey, say something." My Mom breaks me from my reverie, and all I can do is look at her, a hatred building inside of me, directed at both my parents.

"What do you expect me to say?" I ask, partly out of anger but more out of sheer curiosity. Did they honestly expect to smile and say that I was fine with this? Had they not learned anything about me in our seventeen years together?

"Well...it's just, it would be helpful if you told us how you feel about this," she replies, and I know immediately that she's thrusting her entire work ethic at me. My Mom's a psychiatrist you see, getting paid a gross amount of money to simply ask others; 'How do you feel?'

Yeah, sounds real challenging.

"Please Mom, we're not in one of your sessions now, okay? I'm not one of your patients." My anger is simmering and heat floods my face. Meanwhile, Dad just stares at the tiny scratches carved into the wooden table, looking faintly bored. Mom, annoyed, nudges his arm a little more forcefully than I would have expected and Dad reluctantly joins the conversation.

"Look Jennifer, your Mom and I have been talking about this for a long time, so as soon as we get all of this over with, the sooner we can get back to our lives as if nothing ever happened." He looks pleased with himself, as if this contribution deserves a round of applause. I can't hide my disgust. It's clear that he doesn't give a damn. I'm pretty sure he didn't give a damn the moment I was born. Those photos I mentioned earlier? They were when I spent my summer vacation with Aunt Linda and I hardly saw my parents. They were the best summers.

I can't help but wish I were there now. Anywhere else, really. Just as far away from here, far away from this situation, as possible. How could they do this to me?

My rage reaches its peak and I shove my chair back from the table, making a sickly screeching noise on the floor at the same time. I hurl myself to the front door, ignoring my Mom's protests, and out into the scorching Miami heat. I just have to get away – call it instinct.

My feet are running before my brain can even register. I sprint full pelt down the street, towards the beach, whilst my mind races over everything that just happened. My life, I realize, has changed direction. This one piece of information about my parents will alter paths I take, the people I meet, even the choices I make. Pressure. Pressure all around me. People zoom by in a blur, my legs pounding into the pavement faster and faster. Can you ever remember those times when you were a kid, and running felt so free, like you had the whole world before you, ready to be discovered? That all your troubles would fade away after each step? I wish I could feel like this now. But all I feel is weak, a light sheen of sweat collecting on my forehead.

My red hair occasionally clouds my vision, covering my eyes in the breeze, and I take this moment to curse myself for not tying it up. It's always the little things that get to me. The ones that make the day just that bit harder. Aren't I just the epitome of a moody teenager? You surely didn't expect anything else.

I'm so pent up with frustration when I reach the soft glowing sands that I hardly notice the handsome boy staring at me a few yards in front, dark eyes and dark hair a stark contrast to the light settings. His feet are bare, resting firmly on the ground. He really has that whole tall, dark and handsome thing down pat and even given my ferocity at everything that's happening, I find myself annoyed that I haven't put on any makeup today.

Registering his shocked expression, I wonder how I could be provoking such a response, and then I realize that I'm still sprinting – straight towards him.

It all happens very quickly.

My legs won't slow down, no matter how hard I try, and the boy continues to stand there, as if preparing for our inevitable collision. He even begins to open his arms, as if to catch me. What the hell's he doing? The speed I have built is impossible to diminish, and I pray to God I don't hurt him.

I smash into his chest, pushing us both down onto the sand.

It's definitely a cringe-worthy moment, to say the least. I'm sprawled on top of him in a very ungraceful way, my head smack bang on his chest, and I dread to think what our position must look like to others on the beach. Maybe they're distracted and won't notice us. Well Jennifer, you were always the one to make a grand entrance…

Congratulations.

Whilst all these thoughts are running through my mind, I realize that the boy hasn't made any attempts to fling my immobile body off him, and it's only when I tilt my head up to see his face that I realize he's looking down at me, with a somewhat unreadable expression. My head, still resting on his chest, gently rises and falls to the calm beat of his breathing. It's his eyes that stop me moving. Two black pits that seem to never end. So dark, that I can see the slight outline of my face reflected in them. I literally can't move. Why can't I move?!

Wow. I thought moments like these only happened in those creepy paranormal novels. Come on Jennifer, pull yourself together.

Before he thinks me an absolute lunatic, I jump off of him and move back a few steps, giving him time to correct himself too. When he doesn't walk off straight away, instead coming to stand directly in front of me, I start to prepare myself for a big argument. He'll probably ask me what the hell I was doing, why I was in such a rush…same old, same old.

Hey, it's not like I've never been in this situation before. This isn't the first time I've gone on a 'reflective sprint', as my Mom would call it. She's seriously deluded.

Anyway. Moving on.

The boy comes even closer and he stands about a foot taller than me. He doesn't speak straight away, instead just stares at me with calculating eyes, roaming over my face like he's searching for something. I wonder if I should initiate the conversation, introduce myself even. The whole scenario is strikingly weird.

When the silence starts to become excruciatingly painful, he finally opens his mouth to speak, and I can't help but notice how perfectly kissable his lips seem.

Such a random thought – concentrate Jennifer, he's about to speak!

He leans down to make eye contact, obviously not caring about the whole personal space thing. I can't say I really mind. Hey – stop judging me! But seriously, he is GORGEOUS. I wait patiently for his first words.

This is it.

"Feel better now?" He asks, his voice so rich and deep I find myself momentarily shocked that such a sound is directed at me. There's a subtle crease in his brow, suggesting that he genuinely wants know my answer to his question, like he's actually concerned. O.M.G.

But I can't speak.

I can only let myself stare for a few precious moments, taking in his high cheekbones, long lashes and beautiful eyes. I will answer him eventually of course. Honestly I will! Just let me have this second to admire such a sweet, delicious, mysterious, sexy –

Okay, answer him now Jennifer. Now!

But before I even have a chance to open my mouth, he turns and walks away. I watch as he goes further down the beach, a dark spot getting smaller and smaller. Damn it! I don't even know his name.

Well, fine. Screw you mystery man.