Disclaimer: Clearly anything associated with The WB is not mine.
A/N: This is my first fanfiction because I have yet to be inspired by a storyline for Lucas and Peyton. I'm not sure exactly how this is going to turn out. I got this idea after reading a story called, "Jack." Anyway, I do know that this story will definitely be AU.
o o o o o o o o o
Every night, the flame of a single candle on my nightstand painted thick shadows on the walls of my room. They gathered in the corners and flirted with the shreds of moonlight spilling onto the hardwood floors. My father, Larry, was always away on business. Even though I missed my mother, who was killed in a car accident after running a red light, I missed my father most of all. See, its one thing knowing that someone is dead and cannot return, but it's an entirely different story knowing that someone chooses to stay away. He loved his job, though, and I understand that, now.
I was thirteen the first time that I met Lucas. It was one of those slow summer days in North Carolina, the kind with the sticky air that always smelled like flowers and stale beer, even if there was no one drinking. The humidity made my curly hair wild and little baby curls stuck to my face and the back of my neck. I wore my mother's huge, vintage Christian Dior glasses. The ones with the white frames. Sure, they were expensive, but they were apart of my mother who'd recently died and my daddy was never one to say 'no' after the accident. The day that I met Lucas, I'd been playing with my mother's make-up, but the heat was melting it right off. I used the bottom hem of my navy and white polka-dotted halter top to wipe away the sweat. When I looked down it was covered in streaks of pale beige. I pursed my lips together and furrowed my brow. I carefully took off my mother's glasses and set them on the ground while I shed the top. Standing there only in my bathing suit, I heard a faint, "hey," from behind me. My head snapped around, but I was blinded by the sun, so I quickly picked up my sunglasses and put them on. I squinted one eye getting reaccustomed to the light and put my hand above my eyes to shield the light. "Hey," he said again, barely opening his mouth at all, just sort of pushing the words out. I silently studied the boy in front of me for a few moments. "Hot, huh?" He said as more of a statement than a question. My nose crinkled and I took my hand from my forehead and let my arm drop. "Yep." It was the only thing I could come up with. It was too hot out and I was too lazy to come up with something better. His burgundy shirt was soaked through and clung to his body. "I'm Lucas." "I'm Peyton, but my dad calls me--" "Chicken!" I head my father call from down by the river. He was home for the week, so we were going swimming as a way to pass the time. "Well," I pointed down to the water and the man in the distance, "I should probably..." "Yeah, OK." I started to walk away, then I remembered my shirt still laying on the ground. I ran back to get it and Lucas was still standing in the same spot watching me. I chewed on the corner of my bottom lip for a moment contemplating, and then I lightly shoved his arm, taunting, "Race ya there!" I don't know where my sudden burst of energy came from, but it only took him a moment to catch up and pass me. When I got down to the dock my father tilted his head looking straight at Lucas, then to me. "Lucas," I said, offering an answer to his unspoken question. He looked back over to Lucas cautiously, still silent. "I just moved in, sir. Down the street? I don't know anyone yet." He was nervous. My father looked back over to me, and I shrugged, pushing my glasses further up my nose. "Know how to swim?" "Uhh, yes, sir," he proudly added, "I hope to be a lifeguard just like my uncle was when he was younger!" My father suddenly smiled and clapped his hands together, "Then let's go swimming!" Daddy ran towards the unoccupied space between Lucas and me and grabbed us both by the waist, like we weighed nothing, and dove right into the river. Lucas was hyperventilating with laugher as my father and I splashed around him.
Walking around our driveway, drying off in the sun, my father emerged from the front screen door walking towards us, "Hey Lucas, you staying for dinner?" Lucas looked over at me and I smiled, enthusiastically nodding my head, "Pizza!" "Um, that would be really nice, sir." My father had reached where we were standing and pulled Lucas to him ruffling his hair, "Boy, quit calling me 'sir' --surely I'm not that old." Lucas chuckled. "Do you want to call your parents to tell them you'll be staying for dinner?" Lucas' demeanor changed completely. He got quiet and shy. "Um, I don't think my mom will notice." "What about your dad?" my father questioned. I looked over at Lucas again. "I, um..." Lucas was searching for the right words, "I don't have a father," he finally stated like it was the simplest thing he'd ever said. My father noticed the tension and decided to change the mood, "Well then, what do you like on your pizza? Bologna? Pickles?" "That's nasty!" Lucas laughed. "You've been awfully quiet over there, Chicken, you OK?" I shake my head 'yes' and my dad skeptically walked back into the house as if he knew what I was about to tell Lucas. Once we were alone, I was about to speak but he cut me off, "Do you have a best friend?" The way he said it, it almost came out as one word. I ran down a mental list of all of my friends. I'd been popular my whole life, my daddy said it was because I was beautiful like my mom, but no one came to mind as a 'best friend' so I shook my head 'no' and waited for him to explain why he asked. He looked at me like if I answered wrong I'd be kicking him in the shin and he'd run off crying, but then he pushed his shoulders back like a puff of courage had just caught his sails and asked me if I'd be his best friend. I looked towards the front door of my house, then back at Lucas, "OK," I shrugged. He smiled baring all of his teeth starting to walk towards my house. "Um, Lucas?" He turned back to face me and after I stared at him in silence for a moment he took a step towards me, "My mom... she died. I only have one parent, too. We sort of... depend on each other." He took my hand and walked me to the front porch and we sat on the steps. We were a few inches a part and I could feel the heat radiate off his body. I groaned for no particular reason. "Thanks," he stated. I looked over at him. "For making me feel welcomed. To Tree Hill... and... to your family." Nudging him with my elbow, "That's what best friends are for, right?"