My Life Next Door

" One Summer. One Night. Changed Everything."

"Hey, need rescuing?"

I stare at this boy. He's obviously a Lynch, and not Riker, but which one? Up close, in the light spilling from my bedroom, he looks different from most of the Lynches since he looks more ranger, leaner, with his messy blonde hair.

"Why would I need rescuing? This is my house, my roof."

"I don't know. It just hit me, seeing you there, that you might be like Rapunzel. The princess in the tower thing. All that long blonde hair and...never mind you're a brunette."

"And you'd be?" I know I'm going to laugh if he says "the prince." Instead he answers, "Ross Lynch," reaching for my hand to shake it, as though we're at a college interview rather than randomly sitting together on my roof at night.

"Laura Marano." I settle my hand into his, automatically polite, despite the bizarre circumstances.

"A very princess-y name," he answers approvingly, turning his head to smile at me, with his white teeth.

"I'm no princess."

He gives me a considering look. "You say that emphatically. Is this something important I should know about you?"

This whole conversation is surreal. The fact that Ross Lynch should know, or need to know, anything about me at all is illogical. But instead of telling him that, I find myself confiding,"Well, for example, a second ago I wanted to do bodily harm to someone I'd only just met."

Ross takes a long time to answer, as though weighing his thought and his words. "Well," he responds finally. "I imagine a lot of princesses have felt that way...arrange marriages and all that. Who could know who'd you'd get stuck with?"

"But...is this person you want to injure me? Cause I can take a hint. You can ask me to leave your roof rather than break my kneecaps." He stretches out his legs, folding his arms behind his head, oh-so-comfortable in what is oh-so-not his territory.

Despite this, I find myself taking him all about Clay Tucker. Maybe it's because Vanessa's not home and Moms acting like a stranger. Maybe it's because Raini is 'working'. Or maybe it's something about Ross himself, the way he sits there calmly, waiting to hear the story, as though the hang-ups of some random girl are of interest to him.

At any rate, I tell him.

After I finish, there's a pause.

Finally, out of the half dark, his profile illuminated by the light from my window, he says, "Well Laura...you were introduced to this guy. It went downhill from there. That might make it a justifiable homicide. From time to time, I've wanted to kill people I knew even less well...strangers in supermarkets."

Am I on my roof with a psychopath?

As I start to edge away, he continues. "Those people who walk up to my mom all the time, when she's with our whole crowd, and say, 'You know, there are ways to prevent this.' As if a big family was like, I don't know a forest fire, and they're Smokey Bear."

"The ones who tell my dad about vasectomies and the high cost of college as if he has no clue about any of that. More than once I've wanted to punch them."

Wow. I've never met a boy, at a school, or anywhere, who cut through small talk so quickly.

"It's a good idea to keep your eye on the guys who think they know the one true path," Ross says reflectively."They might just mow you down if you're in their way."

I remember all my own mothers vasectomy and college comments.

"I'm sorry," I say. Ross shifts, looking surprised. "Well, Mom says to pity them, feel sorry for anyone who thinks what they think is right should be some universal law."

"What does your dad say?" I ask.

"He and I are on the same page there. So's the rest of the family. Moms our pacifist." He smiles.

A whoop of laughter sounds from the basketball court. I look over to see some boy grab some girl around her waist, whirling her around, then lowering her and clenching her to him.

"Why aren't you down there?" I ask. He looks at me a long time, again as though considering what to say.

Finally: "You tell me, Laura."

Then he stands up, stretches, says goodnight, and climbs back down the trellis.

What just happened?

In the morning light, brushing me teeth, doing my same old morning routine, looking at my same old face in the mirror- chocolate brown hair, brown eyes, nothing special- it's easy to believe that it was a dream that I sat out in the darkness in my nightgown talking feelings with a stranger-a Lynch, no less.

During breakfast, I ask Mom where she met Clay Tucker, which gets me no where as she, preoccupied with vacuuming her way out the door, answers only, "At a political event."

Since that's pretty much all she goes to anymore, it hardly narrows things down.

I corner Vanessa in the kitchen as she applies waterproof mascara in the mirror over our wet bar, prepping for a day at the beach with Chris, another boyfriend. and tell her all about last night. Except the Ross-on-the-roof part.

"What's the big deal?" she responds, leaning closer to her reflection. "Mom's finally found someone who turns her on. If he can help the campaign, so much better." She slides her mascera'ed eyes to mine. "Is this all about you and your fear of intimacy?"

I hate it when Vanessa pulls that self-pity, psychoanalytic garbage on me. Ever since her rebellious phase resulted in a year of therapy, she feels qualified to hang out her own shingle.

"No, its about Mom," I insist. "She wasn't herself. If you'd been there, you'd have seen." Vanessa throws open her hands, the gesture taking in our completely updated kitchen, connected to our massive livingroom. They're all too big for three people, too grand, and make God knows what kind of statement. Our house is probably three times the size of the Lynches, and there's like ten of them!

"Why would I be there?" she asks. "What is there for any of us here?"

I want to say, "I'm here." But I see her point. Our house contains all that high-end and high-tech and shiny clean. And three people who would rather be somewhere else.

Late in the evening Clay Tucker decides to have dinner with us. Yay!

I silently sit at my respective spot at the dining table with Vanessa, as mom and Clay talk all about her campaign, so I won't bore you with all the details. But, in the end Vanessa received the opportunity to have more time for her, and her unending series of boyfriends. While, I get to life guard this summer.

Again.

And, I get the feeling I'll be seeing a lot of Clay Tucker.

Sadly.

When I get home from work the next day, sticky from walking back in the summer heat, my eyes immediately turn to the Lynches'. The house seems unusually quiet. I stand there looking, then see Ross in the driveway, lying on his back, doing some kind of work on a huge black-and-silver motorcycle.

I want to say right there that I am by no means the kind of girl who find motorcycles and leather jackets appealing. In the least. Michael Kristoff, with his dark turtle necks and moody poetry, was as close as I've gotten to liking a "bad boy," and he was enough to put me off them for life.

We dated almost all spring, till I realized he was less a tortured artist than just a torture. That said, without planning. I walk right to the end of our yard, around my mother's tall "good neighbor" fence-the six foot stockade she installed a few months after the Lynches moved in-and up the driveway.

"Hi there," I say. Brilliant opener, Laura.

Ross props himself up on an elbow, looking at me for a minute without saying anything. His face get an unreadable expression, and I wish I could take back walking over. Then he observes, "I'm guessing that's a uniform."

Crap. I'd forgotten I was still wearing it. I look down at myself, in my short blue skirt, puffy white sailor blouse, and jaunty red neck scarf. "Correct." I'm completely embarrassed. He nods, then smiles broadly at me. "It didn't quite say Laura Marano to me somehow. Where on earth do you work?"

He clears his throat. "And why there?"

Ross scrutinizes me in silence for a minute or two, then says, "He must have a rich fantasy life."

I don't know how to respond to this, so I pull one of Vanessa's nonchalant moves and shrug. "It pays well?" Ross asks, reaching for a wrench. "Best tips in town."

"I'll bet."

I have no clue why I'm having this conversation. And no idea how to continue it. He's concentrating on unscrewing something or un-wrenching something or whatever you call it. So I ask, "Is this your motorcycle?"

"My brother Riker's." He stops working and sits up, as though it would be impolite to continue if we're actually carrying on a conversation. "He likes to cultivate the whole 'born to be wild' outlaw image. Prefers it to the jock one, although he is, in fact, a jock. Says he winds up with smarter girls that way."

I nod, as if I'd know. "Does he?"

"I'm not sure." Ross's forehead creases. "The image-cultivation thing has always seemed kind of fake and manipulative to me."

"So, you don't have some persona?" I sit down in the grass next to the driveway. "Nope. What you see is what you get." He grins at me again. What I see, frankly, up close and in daylight, is pretty nice. In addition to the sun-streaked, wavy blonde hair and even white teeth, Ross Lynch has hazel eyes, and one of those quirky mouths that look like their always about to smile.

OI glance around, try to think of something to say. Finally: "Pretty quiet around here today."

"I'm babysitting my cousin."

I look around again. "Where's the baby? In the toolbox?" He tips his head at me, acknowledging the joke. "Naptime," he explains. "Mom's grocery shopping. It takes her hours."

"I'll bet." Prying my eyes from his face, I notice his T-shirt is sticky with sweat at the collar. "Are you thirsty?" I ask.

Broad smile. "I am. But I'm not about to take my life in my hands and ask you to get me something to drink. I know your mom's new boyfriend is a marked man for odering you to serve."

"I'm thirsty too. And hot. My mom makes good lemonade." I stand up and start backing away.

"Laura."

"Uh-huh."

"Come back, okay?"

Here's a small but longer chapter of this story, and hopefully you all enjoyed it. I shall update soon! Don't forget to watch the new A&A episode tonight!