So, little intro here. This is my first submission. I'm actually working on becoming a published author, so fanfic is, unfortunately not my first priority. Also, I'm flying by the seat of my pants, so who knows how this biz is gonna work from chapter to chapter. I own nothing mentioned in the story within. Refraining from flames and lawsuits is appreciated. Thank you and goodnight!
Remember When.
Book one: College
Chapter 1: Butterflies.
Simon sat alone in the amphitheater, letting the wind turn the next page of his book. The autumn wind brought a chill that foretold an early winter, but this did not concern him. Cold did not bother the young college student. His lack of friends was cause for about as much concern. He was well suited to be a loner. While not particularly anti-social, he had never fit in to any clique or easily definable category, and was not given to seek out other people. Many of the other students considered him to be aloof or self important. The first was arguable true, though the second was a misconception. He did, more or less, what he pleased, went where he would, liked what he liked, and no more changed this for others, then he did ask them to accommodate. Were it not for his frumpy, slightly disheveled appearance, plain, tattered clothing, and permanent absence from the campus coffee house, he might have been mistaken for one of the hipster elite, but one look at his well-worn white sweatshirt, ordinary non-designer wireframe glasses, and five O'clock shadow dispelled any such notion. Plus, he drank Super Porp. No hipster at his school would be caught dead drinking Super Porp.
What did worry Simon were the grades from his last period. He had more or less blown it on nearly every front, though not because he wasn't smart enough, nor because of lack of interest. The last semester he had just woken up, realized he was completely unsure of his direction, and had began to loose his spark. Now was no different. If anything, he felt almost completely burnt out. He had gone in thinking he wanted to be an archeologist, but the more he learned, the less certain he felt. He had looked at other fields; everything from architecture, to psychiatry, and even graphic arts. Simon loved the different kinds of interior and exterior styles of buildings and periods, but hated drafting blueprints. And the application of medical science needed for psychiatry made his brain meat hurt. Graphic design might have been an interesting field, but his computer skills were only marginal, and he was far more interested in reading up on history and mythology than trying to learn his way around a bunch of technical computer programs. So there he sat, on the cold stone slab towards the height of the empty amphitheater, reading another book that was not in anyway relevant to any of his classes, nor to the mountain of school work he was collecting. Trying not to think about his growing collection of assignments that would soon need extending, he turned another page when suddenly, he heard an electronic jingling noise from somewhere behind him. Turing to peer over his shoulder, he looked around seeing nothing at first, but then glimpsing a movement in the gnarled tree that grew crookedly off to one side of the highest point of amphitheater. A young woman, roughly his age, give or take a couple of years was lazily laying against one of it's branches, her right leg dangling off the side. She somewhat resembled a large cat, lethargically relaxing on a branch in the neighborhood park. That is if that cat was typing disinterestedly on a cell phone, and rather cutely munching on a bagel. He had seen her before, once, in the campus library. She was an earthy, but stunning beauty with red hair, soft, rounded features, and horned rimmed glasses, that should have looked about fifty years out of style, but on her invoked the sensibility of an archetypal sexy librarian. She wore a long blue cardigan, and a sweatshirt, much like his, except purple, and in better condition. Her bluejeans and tennis shoes, while also similar, were also more fashionable, and less well-worn. She grumbled something, put her phone away, and then put the bagel in her mouth before letting go with her hand to scratch her knee, happening to look up at him in the process. His eyes caught hers, and she froze, blinking a few times, and mumbling something that was drowned out by the mouth full of bagel. Realizing her error, she quickly removed the chewy bread snack, and finally spoke. "Oh, don't mind me.', she called, waving daintily. 'Just breaking up with my dingus of a boyfriend." She patted her jeans pocket with the phone for emphasis.
Simon blinked a few times himself, and stuttered. "Um... Oh...' She had spoke to him. The pretty girl had spoke to him. Such things did not happen often, and when they did, he was never anything less than completely ill-prepared. Think, Simon... THINK! He pressed his brain, only then realizing that he was still making soft guttural noises, and mouthing half words. 'I'm sorry about that. How very unfortunate." How very unfortunate? Really?! He knew that even as reserved and proper as he might be, he was not that formal. Why don't you just talk to her in your jauntiest British accent? He mentally berated himself.
"Eh.', she shrugged. 'Don't be."
Struggling to find something to say, Simon continued to stare at her. He could feel the awkwardness rising to critical levels. Or perhaps that was just the blood rising in his face and heating his ears. Another breeze blew, and tossed her dazzling red hair around. She raised a hand to manage the wild strands whipping about her face and neck, closing her eyes in the process. The heat in his ears quickly rushed to his cheeks, and as if drawn to it's warmth, the butterflies in his stomach began to flutter and dance around, pushing his heart up into his chest. Simon found himself unable to look away from her beauty. That is until she gracefully brushed the last strand away and opened her eyes, which focused like beacons onto his. A sudden rush of panic surged forth, and he tore his gaze away staring at his book in the hopes that his eyes would remain in his head. They did. "O-okay.", he managed, mentally punching himself square in the temple. How completely bone-headed! Stupid Simon! Stupid, stupid, stupid! He sat there, staring at his book and not saying a word. Some time passed, but he did not dare look up. Eventually he turned a page, and it occurred to him that he hadn't actually been reading for a bit. He turned back, but his concentration was shot. He could still feel her watching him; still feel her, cutely snacking on her bagel. Finally, he braced himself, though whether for further embarrassment, or avid disappointment he was uncertain. He looked up. She was gone. Disappointment. Then there was a slight shuffle from directly behind him, followed by a soft plop.
"What are you reading?" The voice, genuinely curious, was crisp; almost sharp but sweet, like a soda, or the sound of a tiny bell. It was new to him, but he recognized it. Turning around slowly, almost cautiously, he looked up at her. The disappointment scattered in all directions like leaves on the breeze, but the embarrassment returned on the winds early-winter chill. She hadn't left, or maybe she had, only to return. Either way, the beautiful redhead was now sitting comfortably on the stoop one up from his. Though a good four feet of freshly trimmed grass danced between them, Simon felt as though she were impossibly close; nearly on top of him.
He searched feverishly for more words. "Uh, um...', C'mon Simplemon, don't donk this up!, he mentally shouted at himself. 'Book!", he finally exclaimed. His insides froze, though whether from the horror of his utter failure with words, or from all the blood in his body migrating to his now burning face, he could not be sure. Probably both.
The girl tilted her head to the side, giving him a bemused look, then giggled. Her giggles quickly turned into laughs, and the butterflies in Simon's stomach began to flutter about again; this time in confusion, as if wanting to know why his heart was draining fluids from the rest of his body to convert into an additional reserve of blood to be pumped into his red, burning face. "I would never have guessed!', she declared, finally calming a bit. 'Do tell. Y'know, I've heard about these 'book things' but I've never seen one. What are they for?" She giggled again, in spite of herself.
Great, he thought, now she's mocking me, just like them.
Noticing his sullen expression, the girl suppressed her last laugh, adjusted her glasses, and sighed. "Oh, relax! I was just teasing you is all. Come on, what's it about?"
"Huh? Oh.' Doing his best to shake off his befuddlement, Simon closed the book, and looked at the cover, as if suddenly trying to remember for himself. 'It's a case study of sorts. About various myths and legends from over the world, and their, uh... their basis in actual reality."
She smiled, arching her eyebrows, interestedly. "Ooh, neat! You get it from the library, or is it one of yours?"
"Mine.', he said, finally beginning to relax, but only slightly. Though utterly terrifying in her beauty, charm, and odd behavior of paying attention to him, the girl had a calming aura about her. 'But I think there is a copy in the library, if you're interested.', he added quickly, 'or you can borrow mine. I've actually read it a few times." Way to jump the shark, he thought to himself. She didn't ask about either one of those things.
Her smile widened. "Thanks! That so nice of you. But so have I, actually. I was just looking for something to talk to you about." The blood that was finally beginning to drain from his face stopped mid-descent, and returned on its upward path. The chill in his body returned, and the butterflies, now in little parkas, stopped their dancing and began to throw a full-tilt rave complete with glow sticks and techno music.
"Huh?", was all he managed.
"Yeeeeeaaah', she casually dragged the reply along her tongue, looking away, almost sheepishly, but then looking back to him, and making unflinching eye contact. 'I actually just came out here because I knew you liked to hang around and read too." She shuffled her feet a bit, and tilted her head, but did not break his gaze.
"Oh..." Again, a one word reply was all he could muster.
There was a long pause, and the girl clicked her tongue, her smile becoming slightly more forced. "Yep." One of the butterflies in Simon's stomach broke from the party, flying up into his head space and smacked the back of his skull as if to say, 'You're 'bout to blow it, Man!'
Nearly on autopilot, he thumped the book down on the stone plateau, pushed his glasses up on his nose in a desperate effort to look dramatic, and said, far more confidently than he felt, "I'm Simon. Simon Petrikov. And who might you be, my dear?" The rave came to an abrupt halt. The butterflies and thrown down their glow sticks, produced miniature military-grade weapons, and were now waging a full scale war on their host, refusing any longer to be bound in the belly of one so stupid. Simon felt sick at his stomach. The girl looked at him curiously, but did not laugh, nor made any indication of humor. Great. He thought to himself. This is perfect. Now she KNOWS I'm a big, dumb dork. Another gust of wind blew. He didn't feel it. Then the the unthinkable happened. She smiled. The pretty girl smiled at Simon, and extended her hand outward.
"I'm Betty. Betty Grof."