Differences

Chapter 3

~Destiny~

I really couldn't be more bummed today, waking up at 11 am on a Sunday morning and watching a bunch of cars lined up in front of my house from my bedroom window. It's not a very comfortable site, especially when you know your parents will soon be in one of them, speeding away from home. I put my guitar down and fell flat on my bed, not caring about anything for a moment.

"Destiny!" my mom called from downstairs. "We're leaving in ten minutes, honey, please come down! Get ready, we have to introduce you to the babysitter." I groaned silently. Just great. I didn't want to believe my parents were leaving, not now, not ever. But I knew I didn't have a choice.

I trudged into the ensuite bathroom, getting annoyed by the bright sun rays falling through the translucent curtains. My mom called me another time, warning me they're leaving the house in five minutes. Still in my tank top and PJ bottom, I walked out of my room with my messed up hair and looked over the railing. I saw the heads of a bunch of people wearing suits and ties, very business-like. My parents were talking to Marcello and beside Marcello, listening politely was a guy with brownish-auburn hair. I leaned over the railing squinting my eyes. He looked a lot younger than everybody else and was quite good-looking, too. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and I could see the dog tag hung around his neck, giving him a boyish look.

That's when I saw the glint at his ear. Dammit, don't tell me. I found the two white specks of his earrings and I felt like my stomach just dropped. What is Dawson doing here?! What the hell.

At that moment, my mom looked up and smiled.

"Oh, Destiny-" she started. I got the hell out of there. I slammed the door to my bedroom and put on proper clothes. I really didn't have much time, so I left the pants on. I put my hair into a ponytail without having time to comb it and stumbled out of the room. What the hell, I kept murmuring to myself.

I looked downstairs again, and they were closer to the main entrance of the house. Dawson looked extremely bored for the most part, and it looked kind of funny if it wasn't for the situation I was in.

"Destiny!" my mom looked at me staring and smiled. "There you are. You're going to make us late, hon, come downstairs." When Dawson looked my way, I looked away and started walking down the stairs. I lightly rubbed my forehead as I stopped before them.

"Oh, there is she is," Marcello said. "I hope you had fantastic sleep." I didn't dare look at Dawson. I've never been that close to him, and I wasn't willing to get a lot of attention anyways.

"Well, sorry for the hurried introductions," my dad said. "But this is your babysitter." I had no choice but to look at Dawson. The first thing I noticed were his dark, chocolate eyes. Now I know why girls swoon over him, but I looked away without much effort.

"I thought my babysitter was older," I said, disappointingly. "You know, somewhere in the twenties?"

"Well, we wanted you to interact with someone your own age for once," my mom said. "Marcello got the perfect person, and I'm sure you two will get along great." She had this big cheesy smile on her face and Marcello laughed at my expression.

"Why'd you have to make it a boy?" I argued.

"I wouldn't mind if you took a magic wand and turned me into a girl," Dawson said with humor in his voice. My eyes turned cold as everyone laughed. What a jerk. Before I could argue further, my dad interrupted me.

"Look, honey, we don't have time," he said. At that moment they all exited and I followed them outside to their car. "The maid is going to come tomorrow, her name's Pearl. So, welcome her well. Not like Dawson." I found that more like a warning-order thing than a request, since my dad didn't even say please.

I walked all the way up to the car door where my parents were sitting. My mom gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and I said good-bye. Marcello lightened up the mood with some witty joke about being a baby and they all drove away. I still stood there, looking at the empty street two minutes after they left.

"You know, you are a baby," I heard Dawson say to me from the porch. I cringed. I had momentarily forgotten "the babysitter" was right there. I turned around and saw him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Aren't you too immature to babysit?" I said.

"Aren't you too old to be babysat?" he countered. I rubbed my forehead, rooted to where I was. It was best to keep my distance from Dawson. "Am I that annoying to you?" he said. "Because that's a first for me."

"For what, to be annoying to someone?" I said. "Because I can't imagine why. You seem like a dick." He laughed at the porch and I looked away before my stomach started doing all sorts of things. I mean, he was annoying, but he wasn't unattractive.

"Everyone likes me at school, you know," he said. I crossed my arms across my chest, thinking of all the mobs forming wherever he went. I just hate people like that, always reminding you how popular they are.

"Guess what? I go to the same school, and I'm not one of your lame paparazzi," I said. Dawson coughed and looked at me in surprise.

"You go to the same school as me? Your parents never told me," he said. I sighed and scratched my ear. "And I don't think I've ever met you. In fact, I don't think I know you."

"And I'm glad," I said loudly for him to know I'm not disappointed. "Popular jerks like you never speak to loners anyways." That's when Dawson raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"That sounds awfully familiar, you know," he said with an edge in his voice.

"Whatever," I scowled.

"Aren't you that creepy girl that stays after school with me in the music room?" he said.

"I don't 'stay with you'," I pointed out. "I practice after school. And don't assume I'll be hurt if you call me creepy. I get called all sort of things at school. You're not the only one."

"Well, I'm not trying to be rude. I'm glad you're not some stuck up chick," he said. "Anyways, it was nice meeting you."

"I could think of nicer ways," I said. He broke into a grin. "And I'm surprised you don't know me. Everybody knows me." He raised an eyebrow and I cleared my throat. "I'm not popular, though. Not at all."

"Well, you seem pretty rich," he said, looking at my house whole. I shook my head and walked over.

"I don't really care," I said, passing him and slipping into the house. He followed me inside and I didn't bother turning on the lights. The sunshine filtered through the windows, enveloping the whole room with brightness.

I went into the family room with Dawson tagging along and went on my computer. He asked me what I was doing, and I was forced to explain to him about the newspaper. He made a cocky comment like a smartass and I wished my parents never left for the tour. I didn't want Dawson hanging out with me anymore, for two reasons: he got me distracted a lot, and he was so annoying. Some gentleman my parents were fond of.

"Why are you being so boring?" he said. I ignored him and continued typing on the computer. He took the back of my swivel chair and spun me around. "Your parents told me to make you interact better."

"I don't want to interact with you," I said flatly. Dawson raised an eyebrow and put his palms up.

"Well, I'm sorry, but it's my job," he said.

"Are you getting paid?" I said, narrowing my eyes.

"I'm doing it for volunteer hours. I'm going to be getting a lot for two months," he said.

"Oh, so you volunteered," I said, feigning surprise. "You want to babysit someone like me." I left Dawson struck in one position as I turned back to the computer.

"You forgot that you're doing the article for volunteer hours, too," he said. I winced. That was true. "I have to take you outside and s**t, show you around."

"Do that stuff with your girlfriend, because I don't want to be seen with you," I said. He snorted.

"If anything, I should be the one not wanting to be seen with you," he said. Yeah, that kind of stung. "But I don't have a girlfriend, so..." I sighed in frustration and rammed the keyboard.

"Just great! Why'd you break up with Brigit?" I said angrily. He laughed in confusion.

"What does that have to do with you?" he said. "We just weren't working out." I groaned and put my head on the keyboard. "Can I ask you why you're so angry right now?"

"That b***h of yours is going to torture me tomorrow," I said. "When did you break up?"

"Yesterday," he said confused. "Like I said, why are you so affected by it?" I shook my head and collected my mental breakdown pieces and super-glued them together.

"Nothing," I said. In other words, Brigit's going to think I took Dawson away, now that he even babysat me and hung out with me. I don't want to go through the same episode with Aspen and Dexter. They should all keep their jealousy monsters with them and not eat me to death.

"Didn't look like nothing," he said.

"How long are you staying here?" I said, sighing.

"As long as I want," he said. "I'd still get the hours. I'm generally supposed to sleep here, too, but I can go back to my own house if you don't want me to stay."

"Please," I said immediately. Dawson gave me a thoughtful look, like he was trying to figure something out.

"My intuition tells me you don't like me very much," he said.

"My intuition tells me you should stop talking to me," I said without leaving my eyes from the screen. I couldn't type properly with Dawson staring at me from behind. He was so intimidating, I felt like a million bubbles had packed up inside my body and they just keep getting bigger. Makes me want to just chug down a bunch of nails and pop 'em all.

"We should walk around a little bit," Dawson suggested. "Show me around your house." After a moment of hesitation, I turned off my computer and stood up. I led Dawson out of the family room and showed him the kitchen, main entrance and living room. When he saw the giant piano, his eyes widened, and he quickly sat on the seat, playing a few notes.

"We need to keep moving," I said.

"You know how to play the piano?" he said.

"Yeah, so?" I replied. He looked at me.

"Can you play something?" he said. I wanted to refuse at first, but then I remembered him playing the guitar in the music room. I wanted to show him I'm not just that 'creepy girl'. I took his seat and placed my fingers on the delicate piano keys. I played a very small piece that took about ten to fifteen seconds and abruptly stopped when I saw Dawson bend over me to look at my fingers.

"Stop doing that, you're being creepy," I said. He gave a little laugh and straightened.

"'Yeah, so'? Are you kidding, though?" he said. "That was amazing. I've always wanted to play the piano."

"Okay, whatever. Let's go," I said, irritated. He reluctantly left the living room with me and I guided him upstairs. I showed him all the bathrooms first, and then all the bedrooms. I showed him my parents' room, the guest room, another bedroom that was used for my grandma whenever she came to visit, and lastly my room. I lingered at the closed door, not wanting to go in.

"I can't wait to see how messy your room is," Dawson teased me. I didn't move a muscle, so he turned the knob and went inside. I followed a few seconds later. "Okay, this is...wow," he said, looking around. I wondered what was so 'wow' about my room, so I took a minute to look around, too.

There were translucent curtains draped over two windows at the back, one of them near the headboard of my queen-sized bed. There was a white desk at the right with all kinds of junk on it. Food litter I had forgotten to clean up, my school stuff, a container filled with deranged-looking pencils, and a billion notebooks in which I wrote random stuff ever since I was little.

All my walls were painted white with a very light shade of lime green, but you could barely see it because majority of my walls were covered with all kinds of stuff: posters of random quotes that I like, wall stickers of stars that lit up in the dark, all kinds of ornaments hanging from pushpins, a variety of boxes holding my treasured collections from childhood, a stick-out wall shelf filled with show pieces I had especially bought ever since I was little, and a large world map and a Canada map beside it. The Canada map had all kinds of Terry Fox tattoos, poppy-pins, flags, and a Canadian spoon hung from a pushpin to express the love for my country. On my windowsill at my headset, were stuffed animals lined up, and a dream catcher dangling from the small white lamp beside my bed.

Yeah, I admit it was a lot and I just keep adding on to it.

"Wow..." Dawson said again, going to the show piece shelf and picking up a snow globe. He saw the other globes lined up on my shelf and turned to look at me. "Wow."

"That's three times you said 'wow'," I said. "Say it one more time, and I'll be embarrassed like no tomorrow. You're the only one, apart from my parents, that ever stepped into my room so don't make it so awkward."

"Wow," he said, grinning at me. I looked away, my face feeling hot. "Where'd you get this stuff from?"

"Well, I got the snow globe from Quebec for the carnival. It's just mostly event-based," I said. "I cherish everything I get, because if I'm bored, I know that I have these things as my friends."

"Sounds lonely," he said.

"I know, okay? You don't have to remind me," I said annoyed. Dawson put back the globe and spotted the guitar lying on my bed. I didn't object when he walked over and picked it up.

"Yeah, I recognize this guitar from our everyday after-school practice," he said, strumming a few strings. I sighed and buried my face into my palms. "You look sad," he said.

"I had always wanted to play the guitar professionally," I said. "Play as good as you do, but I just suck."

"Yeah, I see you everyday just playing one note at a time," he said with a teasing edge to his voice. "And, did you just say I was really good at playing the guitar?" I whipped my head around with furrowed brows.

"You don't even have to try to play, but you master it so easily. Sometimes, it's hardly fair," I told him. "Whenever you play, I feel like my strumming is a piece of shit." He laughed out loud, and I looked away. "You know, I'm still surprised you didn't comment on my clothing. Guys like you would never miss something like that."

"Are you asking me to check you out, or are you insulting me?" he said, playing a random song on the guitar.

"I'm insulting you," I said right away.

"Yeah, I thought so," he said. We were both quiet, listening to the guitar for a while. I knew I can never play this well, never. It bothered me that he was in my room, using my guitar, and still played better than me. I stood up and grabbed the guitar away from him.

"I think that's enough," I said, turning away and putting it in my case.

"What?" he said with an innocent smile on his face. "You don't like my music?" I didn't respond and went out of my room. Dawson didn't follow me which made me relieved and worried: relieved because I don't have to act like an ass and all choked up in front of him, and worried because he might do all sorts of things to my room.

But for the first time, I realized I've spoken more than I ever did at home today. But that's because Dawson didn't know who I really was. He didn't know I was the victim of his own friends.

If he did, I might've been so quiet that 'mute' was labelled on my forehead.