Footprints in the Sand

I glanced up from the pages of Water for Elephants with disdain, as the pulsating beats of some pop song invaded my ears for a third time.

In the two days I’d been at my dad’s flat in Florida, I can safely say that I hardly got a good night’s sleep during either of them. I never knew it was possible to have parties that lasted the entire day- or for 3 days straight, in my case- but this clearly showed me otherwise.

This was part of the reason I wanted to stay at home for the summer. At least if I were there, I could read in peace without having the ever-increasing desire to assault my eardrums with a rusty knife. Or maybe the person responsible; either would be fine. Of course, I couldn’t though, because according to the divorce settlement, I was forced to spend my days from June to August in bright and sunny Palm Beach.

My parents got divorced 3 years ago, about a month or so after I turned 15. It was completely unexpected, too, at least on my part. Unlike most stereotypical couples, my parents never fought with each other, never forgot anniversaries or birthdays, and seemed to be unable to keep their hands off of each other, much to my dismay. I’d never realized how much effort they put into keeping up appearances until I arrived from school to my dad’s arms around some unknown woman with red hair who barely looked much older than I was, saying he was moving out.

I got up from my spot on the couch with a groan, my feet sliding into soft wool slippers. Brushing my light brown hair into a somewhat decent ponytail, I grabbed my keys from where they rested on the mantle, and opened the door.

“Where ya headed, kiddo?” asked a groggy voice.

I turned with a smile to face my father, watching as he stumbled slightly out of his bedroom. His wavy blond hair, desperately in need to be cut, was in disarray, his bright blue pajamas wrinkled and stained. He glanced up at me. “It’s a bit early to be going out for a stroll, don’t you think?”

I chuckled lightly. “I’m not sure you looked at a clock, but it’s almost noon. And I’m just headed next door. It won’t take long.”

He nodded, reaching over to the coffee machine and pouring himself a glass. I took this as the only permission I’d most likely get, and stepped out.

Away from the safety of the apartment walls, the music was nearly deafening. Clutching my palms to my ears, I made my way to the door in front of me, kicking it as hard as I could so as not to subject myself to the torture any longer than necessary.

It took a few moments and two more kicks before someone finally opened the door and peered out. It was a boy, not much older than me judging by his appearance. His hair, dark and messy, hung low in his equally dark eyes as he stared at me. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, which I had a hard time deciding was a good or bad thing. He looked me over, his eyes traveling down my body and back up to my face, making me wish I’d at least put on a change of clothes before coming here.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice a mixture of arrogance and amusement. Of course he was the cocky type. I should have known from the second he opened the door, or maybe from the fact that he seemed to have no objection to blasting Maroon 5 at two in the morning.

“Yeah, how about turning your music up louder?” I had to nearly yell over the music to be heard. “I don’t think they could quite hear it out in Alaska.”

He rolled his eyes, something I found equally annoying and attractive, and found myself wanting to hit myself for finding it anything but annoying. As he opened his mouth to respond, a girl called out in a shrill voice, “Lukas, who’s that at the door?”

His eyes never left me as he answered, “I don’t know. No one important.”

I raised an eyebrow. Where’d this guy get off, being an inconsiderate jerk and having the nerve to insult me to my face?

“Turn off the music,” I growled menacingly. “Or I will.”

He scoffed at me.

“Yeah, right.”

“You think I won’t?”

I quickly slid under the arm he used to prop open the door, being thankful that I’d finally been able to make use of my small size. Inside, the room smelled heavily of booze and cigarette smoke, and was filled nearly to capacity with people, most of which were wearing more alcohol on their bodies than they did clothes. My eyes quickly scanned the room for the sound system, which I found pretty easily next to a couple engaged in a heated battle to see who could shove their tongue down the other’s throat the farthest. Weaving my way through the crowd, I snaked my hand around the back of the machine, grabbing the cord and yanking it from the wall.

The sudden silence was quickly filled with groans of disappointment from the disgruntled partygoers around me. I looked around, meeting Lukas’ gaze nearly instantly. His face was twisted in rage, his hands clenched tightly by his sides.

I smirked at him as I made my way to leave. As I stepped through the doorway, I couldn’t help but glance back over my shoulder.

“Told you,” I called out.

The door closed behind me with a loud slam.

A smile slid onto my face as I went to enjoy the first silence I’d experienced in days.