How to Steal Mason's Heart

ONE

Two years ago, I first met Mason eating a cup of ice cream. He looked oblivious with my stares thrown towards him. And now, I saw Mason standing at a random aisle of Claire Count’s house—she was the head cheerleader of New Boston High School—with a smile glinting on his face. His brown hair was ruffled in an organized manner, a dimple marking his left cheek. That dimple was my favourite part of his face because he looked younger with it whenever he smiled.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Courtney spoke beside me, rolling her eyes at my actions. I was giggling right beside her as I grabbed my phone and took a picture of him. The blinding colours of various lights contoured his physique. He looked more gorgeous once I snapped a photo of him.

Courtney groaned beside me saying, “You should probably go ahead and tell him you like him. It would be a lot more easier compared to what you’re doing now.”

“You do know that you’re using more and easier in one sentence?” I asked her, ignoring her statement about me crushing over Mason. My smile widened when I saw that he was accidentally looking at my camera when I took a picture of him—without the flash, of course. He had a small smile on his lips on the picture of my phone and he incredibly looked stunning wearing his plain white shirt.

I noticed Mason liked wearing plain shirts no matter the season or the decade that we belonged to. He simply looked gorgeous wearing it most especially his lean muscles were accentuated with his shirt. A day ago he wore a plain sky blue-coloured shirt but that didn’t make him any less handsome.

Courtney sighed. “Stop being such a grammar Nazi,” she complained, crossing her arms across her chest. “You know what I mean.”

I stood up from where I was seated, heading my way towards the drinks section where beers and juices were kept. I opened the Coleman filled with drinks and grabbed a lemon juice in a can, drank the contents in a mere second.

Courtney followed suit to where I was and she grabbed a drink, a passive look flitting her features. She always wore an indifferent expression whenever she was in a public place. She told me that she wanted to intimidate people so that they would not hit on her.

Undeniably, Courtney was a looker. She was a good inch taller than me while her jet black waves were overflowing lustrously. Even though her eyes held a bored expression, they looked enticing once you get lost in waves of brown. She was toned due to the exercises she would do on Saturdays.

The music was still blaring loudly as they danced off to Taylor Swift’s hit single “Shake It Off”. The beat was catchy you could never deny you wanted to dance off to the rhythm. I pulled Courtney over to the dance floor, securing my phone in my pocket. She was hesitant to join me at first but once I pulled off the puppy dog look she surrendered, walking limply towards the sweaty and cramped bodies.

Everyone was jumping up and down, their bodies colliding with mine I almost tripped to the ground but Courtney was there, her lips thinning in disappointment.

“Let’s go home,” Courtney said, “Your parents are probably looking for you.”

“B-but…” My eyes flew to Mason who was nowhere to be found. I sighed dramatically, closing my eyes and opening them once more, wishing I could get a glimpse of Mason for just a second.

“No buts,” Courtney reprimanded, grabbing my hand as she led me to Claire Count’s house’s exit, the door wide open with a lot of high schoolers spilling out their guts on Mrs. Count’s tended garden.

The smell of vomit nauseated my respiratory system as we walked out towards Courtney’s car, an old Wrangler jeep given by her mother who could barely afford anything. My parents often times would lend a helping hand to Courtney but they would decline much to my parents’ dismay.

“Your mother texted me,” Courtney said, “that you should go home now. Your phone cannot be contacted.” She frowned but immediately was replaced with the robotic expression she expertly carried around.

Gasping, I answered, searching through my pockets where my phone was, “I am pretty sure it was just inside my pocket before we danced.”

“Maybe it fell on the dance floor,” she suggested.

My feet immediately took me to the dance floor without permission. Courtney was yelling my name at the background but my heart was palpitating dangerously, my eyes widening as I hastily scanned for my phone. It was colour white but was secured in a grey case. I knelt on the floor and looked underneath the sofas, even the bedrooms where most teenagers were having their good time.

I wrinkled my nose when I saw the pure satisfied look of the girl’s face before walking out, my palms sweating. I was sure I placed them inside my pockets for it would be impossible to just simply fall down on the floor without making a sound.

Then fear dawned on my face. What if someone stole my phone? But that would be very impossible. My phone wasn’t the very least the most high-tech here in my place but it wasn’t that bad either. I treasured it most especially I used my cash to buy it since my dad wasn’t the kind of dad who liked bringing in presents.

Sweat beads fell down on my forehead. Courtney walked towards me raising a brow. “Did you find it?” she asked, worry laced around her eyes.

I shook my head, forbidding the tears to fall as I bit my lip. “I think someone stole it,” I whispered quietly but as my eyes met Courtney’s, there was a look of pure horror on her face.

That meant I was screwed.