Give it a go if you want. Changed last names (unfortunately...I really did want to keep the legal last names :/)

Apologies for any typos.

Chapter 1: Enter Demetria. Goddess, Nymph, Divine...among other things.

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There's always that moment in life that you're thankful for, and of course there are those moments you wish never happened. Finding the difference between the two can be a total bitch. And of course sometimes it could lead to a series of unfortunate events (pun not intended by the way), or perhaps it can create that cheesy happily ever after (in which case, please teach me your ways).

You never really know when these "moments" will grace you with its lovely presence. I hope you can sense the sarcasm. It could be today, tomorrow, or maybe it just slipped right through from under your nose you oblivious idiot.

But for me (you know, since this story is about me), it all started the day I was rudely awakened from my slumber on a Tuesday afternoon. My mother had pulled the sheets off of me and complained to my half conscious self the importance of starting a productive day. The first of which being: not waking up in the afternoon. Considering I had already failed at that, I attempted to roll back into bed. Unfortunately she anticipated my move and tickled my foot. The only one exposed after a fest of tossing and turning in bed.

Before I managed to groggily demand she leave my room, or kick her at the very least, she was dragging me out of bed and shoving a shopping list in my hands. Orders and threats were heard. Something about no time and guests and grocery shopping. Whatever.

To say I was angry was an understatement as I slammed the car door glaring at everyone and everything within a five foot radius in that supermarket parking lot.

I hated a lot of things. Being woken up early. Driving. Zucchini. Boys in snapbacks. I was a sarcastic little shit most of the time. Ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent was the unfortunate awkwardness that managed to take over completely whenever certain people were near me. Or rather, one person in particular. The point was I hated things.

I hated grocery shopping specifically. I absolutely loathed every aspect of it. Finding parking, grabbing a germ-filled shopping basket that's been baking out in the sun all day, realizing the damn employees haven't stocked the sanitizing wipes for said shopping basket, kids throwing tantrums and parents bribing them with candy that they'll end up putting back on the shelf once they were at the cash registers. But the thing I hated about grocery shopping the most – or shopping in general – was the small chance of bumping into someone you knew.

I realize that seeing someone was kind of unavoidable, but I had an annoying knack of unintentionally putting the mortifying spotlight on myself.

I groaned, pushing the shopping basket with my forearms as I dragged myself through the produce section, nearly running into customers in the process. They glared naturally, and I looked down at my list sheepishly. I wasn't the best people person.

I studied the list, noticing irritably how unspecific things were. Because I was supposed to know all the trades of cooking and things! Please, I could barely manage to heat things up in the microwave properly.

I sighed, shoving the list into my purse as I parked the basket.

I didn't understand my mom. She complained about the neighbors, yet routinely tried to invite them over for dinner. Not that I'm completely objecting. My best friends were my neighbors – well at least one of them. But that was a whole different story.

I didn't ask for a whole lot in life. Especially during this particular summer. I was happy wallowing away in my room while two of said best friends spent most of their time making out instead of hanging out with me. I was fine with it. Totally completely fine. I knew what to expect with this lonely summer. But unfortunately life had an uncanny tendency to just screw me over at the most inopportune moments. Much like this instance.

I was in the middle of tearing off one of those plastic bags from the roll (and let me tell you how annoying it is when you ruin the bag by ripping just below the perforated seam), when I spotted something that immediately made my heart stop. It wasn't like how it was in the movies. I wasn't overcome with an angry blush, okay well I was. But the movies don't tell you how the blood drains out of your face or how you feel like collapsing on the floor and they don't emphasize enough on the urge of wanting to be invisible. There was nothing, absolutely nothing more (not even concert tickets) I wanted than just disappear, poof away from the spot I was rooted too. And coincidentally I was rooted right next to the ginger roots (no pun intended).

There standing beside the oranges was none other than the cause of my resentment towards grocery shopping – her.

Okay, I mean, that was sort of an exaggeration. It wasn't like I hated her, on the contrary, quite the opposite. But seeing her in the flesh, inspecting an orange, just represented my whole paranoia of seeing a familiar face in public. Very familiar face indeed.

Her name was Demi Torres. Short for Demetria Torres. Personally I always felt that was an incredibly kinky name. Like can't you just picture some hot girl into bondage and…well, I digress.

Let me back up. It wasn't like I knew her. It was more like I knew of her. We weren't friends. We never talked. She was just this girl that was in my sixth period drama class. A girl that I would occasionally stare at from time to time…most of the time. Well, actually all of the time if we were getting technical. And before you comment on the pathetic act of 'moon-eyed' gazing, I'll have you know that I was extremely subtle in this secret indulgence. Key word: secret.

I wasn't exactly ready to broadcast the fact that I would stupidly stare at a girl. It wasn't like I ever liked her or anything. I mean…well, I kind of did but not to the point that explained the fluttering panic within my stomach as I darted down the nearest aisle away from her line of sight.

The freezers.

I felt a chill ghosting up my arms and I knew it had nothing to do with the frozen goods. This was bad. Beyond just bad. It was…freaking bad. My eyes glanced towards the nearest fridge door, frantically taking in my messy attire. Of all people I could have possible seen at the freaking store it had to be her – Demi freaking Torres.

Jesus Selena you couldn't have dressed decently for once?!

I tripped over my old flipflops, attempting to fix the horrendous, poor excuse of a bun (and trust me I know what a freaking messy bun looks like, and I can guarantee you my hair did not even measure up to that). I tried straightening my sleep worn clothes hurriedly – a graduating class t-shirt from middle school that had holes in the armpits (which honestly I really don't understand of all places why there?), and a pair of faded, frayed shorts that did a wonderful job of showing off the small stubble sprinkled across my legs from two days of shaving neglect.

And maybe you're asking, oh Selena why have you let yourself go? My answer is simple: summer. It was a period of time spent lounging around the house, stuffing my face with the most unhealthiest snack foods, wallowing away in the heat, staying up at all hours of the morning blogging about Game of Thrones and how Justin Bieber could suck my nonexistent dick (well, not really). I didn't have time for little trivial things like going out, partying, or going to the damn grocery store to run into the girl you pathetically drooled after. It was something my mother had a hard time understanding. She still managed to have that same incredulous look every time she prodded me awake at two in the afternoon. Clearly today was no exception. I should have expected it. She had been developing a nasty habit of making me do her errands ever since I got my driver's license.

I let out a strangled groan, close to banging my head repeatedly against the basket handle.

I had to get out of here. I had to disappear from this godforsaken supermarket. I had to abandon what little groceries I had (I noticed fleetingly that I had none). And I had to make a run for the store exit.

I grabbed my purse. This could work. This could totally work. This could definitely –

"Owww!"

"Sorry I…" The words drained from my mouth as I looked up. Again, with the whole life screwing me over thing. Demi Torres stood right before me rubbing her forehead.

Her.

I was frozen for a moment – an irritatingly long moment. And I couldn't help the automatic, reflexive scan over. I took in the tousled, wavy brown hair that fell a little past her shoulders and the bangs that touched her eyebrows. And the Ray Bans that rested on top of said hair. Her face was free of the usual heavy make-up she wore to school, and for the first time I got a clear view of the freckles across her cheeks. I didn't even know she had freckles. This was the closest I had ever been to the girl. It was almost too much for me to take in. My eyes were in visual euphoria. But then I finally met her gaze.

She stared back at me expectantly, probably waiting for the completion of my lame excuse of an apology. But I had absolutely nothing. All I could manage to do was continue to stare and even that was beginning to prove to be a troubling feat. Her eyes were just so goddamn brown and warm and –

"It's cool." She said nonchalantly after a few seconds of awkward silence (clearly on my part). "I wasn't paying attention." She smiled crookedly, and suddenly the only thing I could process was the little curve of her mouth.

Crap, stop staring you freak.

I swallowed thickly, looking away hastily. From my peripheral vision I noticed her peer over her shoulder. I took advantage of her averted eyes and let my own travel back to her again. I swallowed again, eyes drifting over her outfit. It was one that was more appropriate for awkward run ins at the grocery store compared to mine, I thought chagrined. A black Paramore croptop, short studded denim shorts, and brown flip flops (obviously not purchased for a dollar at Wal-mart like my own pair). Even her feet were perfect, I sighed, staring at the purple painted toenails.

I returned my attention to her eyes, only to notice that she was staring at me…embarrassingly enough. I could've banged my head against the nearest fridge door.

Her eyes then trailed over me, and I suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. Her brown eyes squinted in my direction when she met my gaze again. Her lips pursed as she continued to stare at me thoughtfully. I was tempted to say something. Perhaps bring up the fact that we both took drama last year. Not that she would've noticed me all that much, she was part of a different clique in the class. The actors. I was usually off to the side repainting flats, with the other crew members. It didn't help that I kept to myself most of the time. It wasn't that I was shy, it was more of being shy around…her.

"I know you," she spoke rapidly, hitting the handle of my basket suddenly.

Apparently she did notice me. The fluttering in my stomach was incessant…and annoying. But I didn't think it was quite as annoying as the relentless blush forming across my cheeks. Reflexively, I felt myself touch the side of my face, which only confirmed my assumption. Burning hot.

Can you act like a normal teenager just this once Selena Jesus Christ –

"Yeah, yeah you're Selena, right?"

I felt my eyes widen in surprise, and the next thing that came out of my mouth was a cross between a strangled cry and a laugh.

Demi's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What?"

If it were possible, my face had turned an ugly shade of magenta. You'd think being in the frozen foods aisle, it would prevent my rising temperature. Demi reached over and placed a hand over mine…. And apparently, the chilliness of this aisle was completely irrelevant.

"You okay?" She questioned worriedly.

I stepped back automatically the moment I felt her touch me. And honestly it wasn't that much of a touch. Really, it was only her fingertips brushing against the back of my hand, but it still left me a crippling mess tripping over my own feet.

"Er, yes, sorry, um my name is Selena."

"I know," Demi laughed, leaning back against the basket. "You were in my drama class." Oh god.

"Um…yes."

"Yeah, I remember your project last semester. That skit was hilarious!" Demi exclaimed, startling me for a moment because then she started laughing unabashedly. It was one of those annoying, loud, obnoxious laughs. And I could tell other people had noticed because a few customers had turned to regard us with annoyance. But I was swooning. I knew it. I could see the stupid grin on my face in the fridge reflection over her head.

"Thanks." I mumbled. Good. Progress, no stuttering.

"It was my favorite one. That one scene where you had that epic fight with Taylor was literally like the funniest thing ever." Her laugh fell into a small giggle.

…And apparently she knew my friends as well.

"We should hang out sometime." Demi said suddenly, nearly making my mouth fall open. I had enough sense to grit my teeth to prevent that from happening, but I had an eerie feeling I looked constipated instead of surprised.

"Y-yeah sure." I managed to stutter. Damn it back with the stuttering.

"Hold on a sec" she muttered, reaching into her bag. I watched her rifle through it, curious…and slightly delirious because I was one second away from pinching myself. "Ah, here we go." She said, pulling out a black Sharpie. "Uhh, you don't have like a piece of paper, do you?" At my silence, she sighed. "It's okay, give me your hand."

Before I gave a response, she reached forward and grabbed the one dangling limply at my side. She flipped over my hand, palm facing up and uncapped the marker with her mouth. "I'm sorry if this doesn't come off right away." She said through the cap between her teeth, as she held my hand in hers and began scribbling on my palm. My heart was pounding and her grip was tightening.

I watched numbly as she wrote her number on my hand. I would have suggested just typing in her number in my phone. But there was something exhilarating watching her concentrate on my hand. And god were her hands warm.

She recapped the marker and stared down at her handiwork.

"Well, see you around then Selena." She smiled, and I tried not to focus too hard on the curl of her lips.

Then I heard her utter the two words that would undoubtedly (whether I liked it or not) change the rest of summer vacation: "Call me."

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