PETER
Peter stands outside the record shop collecting his courage to step inside. "Just smile and be normal," he whispers to himself.
Normal.
Yeah, because I know anything about normal.
He straightens the cuffs of his silver leather jacket and glances into the store. The girl spurring these anxious feelings is sitting behind the register with her feet propped on the counter and a book clutched in her black painted nails. Her inky hair
/cascades over her shoulders and down her back like a dark waterfall. Blindly, she reaches for her cherry slushie and sips from the neon blue straw. Her pale eyes never leave the pages of her novel.
Finally, he takes a deep breath and walks through the door, a chime rings, signaling a customer has entered. The girl is oblivious to its metallic echo.
When she doesn't acknowledge him, Peter edges toward the counter where he stands waiting for her attention.
Waiting is not something he does often. His foot taps impatiently on the linoleum floor, his fingers tap a silent rhythm against his thigh.
She's reading Stephen King's Carrie.
Peter coughs and the girl glances at him through her thick lashes.
"Can I help you?" she swings her legs from the counter and sits up on the stool, setting all four pegs back on the ground.
Peter's mind goes blank for what is surely the first time. He always has a snarky anecdote to quip but with this girl's wide, icy eyes staring up at him he has lost all ability to speak.
Shit.
She's even prettier up close.
Her thick brows arch is confusion at the silent boy before her. The minimal patience she possesses is wearing thin.
"I, uh, I'm looking for a record," Peter sputters, heat rising up his pale neck and across his cheeks.
Stop stuttering.
Annunciate.
No one likes a guy who babbles like an idiot.
"And which one could it possibly be?" she replies seeming bored with the whole situation. His sights flit to her shirt, the iconic chrome logo of Van Halen is printed across her petite chest.
"Ah, Van Halen," he offers quickly. "If ya got any." That elicits a minuscule grin from the girl.
"Yeah, it's over here," she stands and leads him to the back of the store where shelves display vinyls and piles sit on the floor. "This one is my personal favorite." She bends down to retrieve the thick paper case then hands it to Peter.
He chuckles nervously when he light eyes meet his dark ones.
God, she's perfect.
"Nine eighty-nine," the girl murmurs. Peter hesitates, not used to actually paying for things, then pulls a black and white checkered wallet from his back pocket and hands her a crinkled ten-dollar bill.
"If you write your name and number here," the girls points to the small yellowed notepad sitting before her, "I can call you when a new one comes out."
She's not asking for your number she's just being polite.
Peter grips the blue ball point pen she's holding out to him and scribbles his name and home phone.
Say something charming.
"So, um, I guess I'll see you soon or when you call me, which you should but it doesn't have to be on the Van Halen record-" He's off on a tangent and the girl is smiling, her bright white teeth shining.
"Okay," she glances at the notebook, "Peter."
It worked.
Holy shit!
I'm such a lady killer.
"I'm gonna go before I embarrass myself," he says more to himself than the blue-eyed girl.
She lets out a solitary giggle then responds, "I believe it's a little too late for that."
Beautiful and funny; she's too good to be true.
A/N: So I know I sorta abandoned this story like a year ago but after coming back and reading the original first chapter I decided to rewrite it and take it in a new direction. Hopefully I'm not disappointing anybody!
In reply to chibi-no-baka: I think this revamp might clear up why Peter didn't steal the record (he wants to meet the girl thus uses buying it as an excuse to try talking to her). And my fic does, in fact, take place in the 70s.