Disclaimer: All characters belong to Ally Carter, except my own.

First Encounters

"Last one!" I shout. I heave the box off the back of the delivery truck and stagger towards the front porch, waving my arm at my father so he can come and help me. What did I put in here? I carefully try to balance the box on my knee and lift the lid to check, swaying dangerously to the side while doing so. Bottles upon bottles of oil paints and acrylics are lined up and piled on top of each other, and I also seem to have stuffed a few mini canvases and palettes in there too. That makes sense.

I drop the box on the steps leading up to our new front doors and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, collapsing in a heap in the cool shade of the porch. The sun is beating down relentlessly and although it's a gorgeous day, with endless blue skies and not a cloud in sight, I can't seem to appreciate it. It's way too hot to be doing anything outside, especially for someone as unaccustomed to heat as I am, and I find myself wistfully wishing for the cool summers we had back in Detroit.

Once I'm done cooling off, I drag myself up and push open the heavy mahogany doors. It feels weird looking at the polished brass handle and the matching number sign, knowing I live here now. Everything here in Roseville is so… foreign, and not just the weather. I don't know anyone here, and I'm going to be alone in this unnecessarily huge house for a few months while mom and dad go back to Detroit to finish off some business before moving here properly. What will I do on my own? What will the school be like? Will I even make any friends? I caught a glimpse of my new school on our way here, a huge imposing building of red brick and tall windows, and I felt a small niggle of fear in my stomach before pushing it down and forgetting my worries in a bag of M&Ms.

I step inside and relish the feel of the air conditioning on my sweaty, probably very red face. I can hear mom moving around in the kitchen and hurry towards the sound, hoping for some sort of drink. However, I seem to take a wrong turning and end up in a huge dining room, filled with bits of chairs wrapped in plastic, a half made table and a large mirror covered in bubble wrap. I resist the urge to pop the bubbles – which proves to be disconcertingly difficult – and retrace my steps. I finally find the kitchen and spot mom stood behind the granite counter, pouring a large jug of orange juice. I catch the unmistakeable sound of ice cubes clinking and practically fly over, grabbing a glass and chugging the icy cold liquid.

"Bit thirsty, were we?" My mom raises an eyebrow.

I smile sheepishly and place the glass back in the tray, and she shakes her head and smiles. Dad strolls through the kitchen doors looking a bit flustered and helps himself to a glass.

"Well, that's the last of them. We'd better get going, Rachel, if we want to get back in time for the next meeting."

"You're going already?" My face falls and I sigh.

"Sorry, Cam. You know we'd move right now if we could, but we need to sort some stuff out and we didn't want you to miss the first few weeks of school. We want you to settle in." Dad ruffles my hair apologetically.

"Yeah. I know."

"We'll be done really soon, by Christmas, definitely."

"Christmas isn't 'really soon', Mom."

"Oh, Cammie. We are sorry. We'll even call you every day if you want," she says innocently.

"Absolutely not!" I say incredulously. "Once a few days is plenty."

Dad laughs at me and I swat his arm.

"Don't you laugh at me, Daddy."

He holds his hands up in surrender and places the glass back on the tray, grabbing his car keys, while mom starts washing up the glasses. They tell me that somebody will be round later this week to help assemble the furniture, an Adam Jones, so I had better make sure I open the door for him.

"Also, remember to make friends with the neighbours. Mrs Goode next door has a boy your age, so it'd be nice to get to know someone in your year before school starts."

"Okay, okay."

She looks at me guiltily. "You'll be alright? I feel terrible leaving you here like this. But I mean, you are seventeen years old - "

"Almost eighteen."

She rolls her eyes. "You're seventeen and perfectly capable of looking after yourself, and there's always the neighbours if you need any help, and Dad and I are only a phone call away."

"Mom. I'll be fine." I give her a hug and gently push her out the door, giving Dad a kiss on the cheek before he also hurries out. I watch them climb into the car, my slightly scatter brained father and my only marginally better mother. Dad starts the engine of his beloved red Lamborghini but Mom sticks her head out at the last minute.

"And don't forget about your job at the local diner! Your first shift is on Friday!"

"I know, Mom!"

xxxxx

My parents, thank goodness, had already installed the Wi-Fi beforehand, so I decide to revisit my wonderful friend Netflix. I make myself some popcorn from the corn I had stuffed in my box of books (my secret stash of room food had to be bought over somehow) and settle on binge watching Game of Thrones.

After a few hours, it starts to get dark, so I say goodbye to Jon and Tyrion and realise I should probably eat something. I make myself some beans on toast, yawning, and take it up with me, eating it on the way to my new room. I climb up the marble staircase sluggishly, trailing my hand on the smooth golden bannister, alone in this empty house. They told me my room was the first one on the right. Pushing the door open cautiously, I go inside. It's massive, with lilac walls and a huge white metal bed in the middle, and oak panelled floors. On one side is a mirrored wardrobe spanning the length of the wall, and on the opposite side, a bookshelf and a large window. Thankfully, there is plenty of space for my easels and canvases, and my desk should fit nicely under the bookshelf.

I walk to the window, depositing my plate on the floor on the way. I'm expecting a pretty view, but all I'm met with is a big, leafy tree and a window from the house next door. I can see into the room opposite – it's surprisingly close, and the blinds are open, the window pushed up. If I could climb trees, I'd be able to swing across and land on the ledge like a female Tarzan or something.

I start to draw the curtains but before I can tug them fully closed, a movement in the room catches my eye. A shaft of light falls on the bed and somebody appears through the door, throwing something on the bed. They turn the light switch on and I instantly see that it's a boy, but he's turned away from me so I can't see his face. He's wearing a fitted white t-shirt and black jeans, and from what I can see, he definitely works out. He places something on the desk and opens his wardrobe, rifling through mounds of clothes before shaking his head. He goes out of my line of sight for a few seconds and then returns with some boxer shorts, which he promptly drops on the floor. What is he… oh.

He reaches for the bottom of his t-shirt and pulls it up, away from his body and up over his head, slowly, as if he knows I'm there. The muscles in his tanned shoulders and back ripple as he moves, and I feel my face heat up – what am I even doing? He runs a hand through his dark, tousled hair, shaking it out like some model. I should move, of course I should. But I can't, and I'm stuck behind my curtain, all of me hidden except from my face, peering out like a kid playing hide-and-seek.

He balls up the shirt and disappears again for a few seconds, returning without it. He starts to reach for the buckle of his belt. I know what he's going to do now, and I panic. Panic is the only rational thing that can explain what I do next.

"Stop!" I shout.

Startled, the boy turns around. He looks around for a few seconds, seemingly confused, before spotting me, wrapped up in the curtains. His eyes widen as he takes me in. He has eyes so green I can make out their colour from here, with high cheekbones and a jawline that would probably cut me if I touched it. His messy dark hair curls slightly around his ears and onto his forehead, making this otherwise too hot to handle boy look endearingly cute.

It's like time stands still – we are both totally frozen, neither of us moving. I'm shamelessly staring at him, and I'm pretty sure he can tell.

So of course, I make it worse.

I move away from the window but I seem to have forgotten that I'm practically cocooned in the wretched curtains, so instead of freeing myself from his stare and the now stifling cloth, I manage to get myself more tangled. I step backwards and my foot lands on the fabric, hard, and I overbalance.

I fall backwards.

I hear a mighty clang and see the curtain yanked off its rail, and it's like everything happens in slow motion. I catch sight of the boy still staring at me, his face equal parts confused, amused and slightly scared, and before I land, I see a tiny smirk curving his lips - only one truck-rhyming word appears repeatedly in my head. I land in a heap on the floor, and the curtain falls on top of me in a puff of dust, a jarring pain registering in my butt.

"Why?" I whisper quietly, looking up as if expecting some sort of answer.

I slowly untangle myself from the carnage and crawl towards the window, crouching down so my head doesn't appear above the ledge. Is he still there? I carefully lift my head and peer out. Yep. Still there. He's even more amused now, and I hear a small chuckle. A throaty, deep, chocolatey chuckle. He's still looking at me, still shirtless, and leaning out of his window. I think by now, my face must resemble a tomato.

"Well, hey there. No need to be shy," he calls, amusement clear in his voice.

I yank my head back down and sit there, banging my head back on the wall. My face is warmer than it was when I was lugging heavy boxes around earlier, and I'm so embarrassed I don't think I can even get up yet.

He realises I'm not going to reply, and carries on.

"Don't worry," he whispers conspiratorially. "I won't tell anyone what happened." He gives another chuckle. I hear the window close and the light goes off after few minutes, and I close my eyes in complete and utter mortification.

A/N I am officially back! I have decided to start afresh with a new story. This will be my new main focus, especially as it's summer and I have more time. Thank you for reading this chapter! What did you think? Is it worth carrying on with? And by the way, this story is going to be shamelessly cliché, sorry not sorry. Next chapter will show Cammie meeting Adam the (Cute) Furniture Guy ;)

Please review, favourite and follow! I'm going to try to reply to each review in this story, so in later chapters (hopefully) this will be where I do it :)