I guess you really want to know what a mediator is, right? I'd like to tell you, but the thing is- I don't know myself. Nobody's ever told me the definition. Only Madame Zara, some phony psychic told me I am one, she didn't care to elaborate.So I'm stuck here in Brooklyn, wondering what the hell I'm meant to be doing. Not that I don't love Brooklyn. New York is the most beautiful city in the world. The best pizza, outlets, the best friend (Gina) and the best mom and dad. My story starts on my seventeenth birthday. My dad promised me two weeks before, that we'd go to Long Island and eat so many pancakes that we'd burst. So we did. I was on my fourth short stack when in walked...a total hottie. Normally, I'm not one to go round swooning, but this guy made my heart leap. He had blonde hair, sweeping across his blue eyes, and was so tall, I'd be able to look up to him even in my ankle boots.
"Suze, honey, are you ok?" asked my dad, and I turned to look at my dad, and scowled in disgust at the trail of syrup hanging from his mouth.
"Uh...yeah. Can I be excused? I need to pee."
Ok, I admit it. I used the oldest trick in the book. I pretended to be playing with my hair, then "accidently" walked into him. I looked up with an innocently sorry look plastered on my face, then gave him my best smile. To say the guy looked slightly taken aback would have been the understatement of the century. But still, he smiled back and kept his eyes on me as I waltzed to the ladies.
As soon as the door was closed, I whizzed to the mirrors and flipped my hair everywhere, making it its best. Two coats of mascara and lipgloss on, and I looked hotter than the sun that tanned my sun-kissed pins.
"Hey." I felt nice, cool breath on my ear, and the tickle of hair.
"Hey," I said back, in what I hoped was a sexy, sophisticated voice.
"Wanna eat? On the house," replied the guy. So my voice had totally worked. But I couldn't blow off my dad...
Heck, it was my birthday. "Sure," I said and sat next to him on a cute little table next to the window. I turned around and mouthed "Sorry" to my dad, who looked all forlorn on his own. I have to admit, I did feel a twinge of guilt.
"What's your name?"
"Huh?" I turned back around to face the gorgeous guy.
"Name?" he repeated.
"Oh, Susannah Simon," I said sweetly.
"Cool alliteration. You live here?"
"No, I'm from Brooklyn. Whats your name? Do you live here?" God, it was like twenty questions.
"I go to college here." Oooh, a college guy. Neat. "My name is Jake Ackerman."