Chapter 3

What about Jamaica Bay Blue….? Or maybe Gutsy Grape would be better…?

But that seems a little too dark… What about Novel Lilac…? Or maybe darker is good…?

I had been standing in front of a rainbow of paint samples in the store for almost an hour now, trying without success to pick a color for the walls of my room. I was officially in over my head.

Mom had sent me to go pick up another can of yellow paint for the kitchen from the hardware store a couple blocks away. The walk had been nice, the weather overcast but rain free. But since there was a sale, buy one get the second half off, I figured I may as well go ahead and grab the paint for my room too.

Problem was that I hadn't decided what color I wanted yet. Problem two was that my mother wasn't here to help me.

So I had been sitting there for the last forty-five minutes drowning in the hundreds of color choices. I really can't handle these kinds of permanent, life-altering decisions.

I mean, what if I chose the wrong color? What happens if it was too happy, too sad, too mellow, too something that I don't want?

I want my mom.

"Hmm, the greens don't look so bad either…" I mumbled aloud, drifting towards the other end of the spectrum.

"No, you don't want that. There's already too much green around here already."

"Yeah, definitely not then." I had already returned to the purples and blues before my mind was able to catch up with reality. Either I was schizophrenic or someone had just talked to me. I whirled around to find the source of the voice.

Holy shit.

This guy was bloody huge!

Easily 6'4", tall and slender with clear-cut muscles and ridiculously high cheek bones, the guy was practically dripping 'male model' potential. His dark russet skin, black cropped hair, and warm brown eyes were a stark contrast to the rainbow of colors I had been staring at for a little less than an hour. Yet, his powerful and intimidating presence was ruined by the goofy, boyish grin he sported.

That probably could have had something to do with the fact my jaw was probably hanging somewhere around my knees.

"How long have you been there?" I asked, horrified, thinking back to the ridiculous arguments I had had with myself out loud, punctuated with flailing limbs.

He instantly shifted uncomfortably, a sheepish expression replacing his grin. "Eh, long enough to have heard the long list of reasons why Iceberg and Blue Refrain are actually the same color and how the paint companies are simply bullshitting America by selling it under two different names…"

My face lit up like a tomato. "Oh."

"Yeah…" he responded uneasily, rubbing the back of his head shamefacedly.

A few moments of tense awkward silence past between us.

I finally broke it by letting out a highly attractive snort before laughing wholeheartedly. Mr. Male Model followed soon after. I realized that he was probably laughing at me, but, for reasons beyond me, I couldn't be bothered to care.

So, there we were, two complete strangers laughing it up before the rainbow.

"I'm gonna have to try to be a little more aware of my surroundings before I decide to rant publically, again," I said, wiping a fake tear from my eye and donning a friendly grin. Inside, though, I was tearing myself apart for my mistake, still reeling from the embarrassment of the entire moment. It didn't help the guy was gorgeous either.

"I don't know, it's not exactly fair to keep that kind of entertainment from the world," he responded, with a shy smile, probably uncertain how I would take such teasing.

I rolled my eyes. "I'll take that into consideration next time I think of restraining myself."

And, just like that, we fell back into an awkward silence, neither of us knowing where to go from there. I racked my brain for something to spit out.

Apparently Mr. Male Model is a bit quicker at this social networking stuff, for he blurted out, "So, you were having some issues with colors?"

I felt myself sink back into a puddle of hopelessness.

"Yeah, I'm trying to pick a color for my room, but there are just too many choices, you know?" I groaned. "I've been here for almost an hour now. Normally, I have my mom to help me make these kinds of choices, but, no, she wanted to take the day off."

He let out a snort as he moved to stand next to me, facing the wall of paint samples contemplatively.

"Maybe I can try and help, then?" He stated, but the underlying question was obvious, as he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, I'm far past the point of desperation, here. Any remote smidge of help would be beyond welcomed," I replied, trying to do my best to send him an encouraging smile.

"Right then, let's start out with the basics, what's your favorite color?" he grinned down at me.

"Blue" I responded immediately. It had been my favorite color since I was four. "But purple works too…but I want something happy. Something to sort of contrast the constant gloomy, gray weather," I explained, waving to the window nearby to emphasize my point.

"Blue and purple, huh?" he echoed, eyes scanning across the samples, "Let's see…"

I watched him curiously. Were all Native Americans this gorgeous? If so, its' really not fair to the rest of us mere mortals. Yeah, I was jealous of a six foot hunk of male muscle. Sue me.

I had always wanted to have that 'exotic' look about me, but I was overall pretty boring. I mean, I wasn't ugly; with some make up I could be considered cute. But there was certainly nothing exotic about me. I rocked more of the-girl-next-door look. I had brownish, reddish hair that wasn't straight, but wasn't curly either. My eyes were a hazel-y brown, and my nose and cheeks were covered with freckles. In other words, I was plain.

If people were cereal, I would be Whole Grain Total. Not necessarily horrible tasting but mildly healthy for you and always there for the soccer mom in need when she goes on that diet she will inevitably give up on. I mean, have you ever seen anyone get excited over a bowl of Total? Ever heard someone say 'girl, I am just craving some Total, right now!"

Didn't think so.

So that was me. The un-crave-able cereal.

"So, what's up with the massive painting project? Redecorating or something?" he asked, sending me a glance.

"Actually, my mom and I just moved here and we've trying to make our house actually livable. How'd you know?"

He let out a low chuckle, eyes drifting over me. "Well, the fact that you're covered in paint was a small hint."

I followed his gaze and looked down. I felt my cheeks burn.

I was so caught up with getting here before it started raining again, I had completely forgotten to at least peek into a mirror and check the state of my appearance. Aware of it now, I looked down to see yellow paint streaks all over my four sizes too large work shirt and athletic shorts. My arms and legs looked no different, and I couldn't even imagine what my face must look like.

I let a loud laugh at my own expense. "At least I am wearing clothes, Mr. I-run-around-in-the-freezing-rain-half-naked." The guy was wearing a freakin' wife beater! It was like fifty degrees outside! He wasn't even wearing shoes either! Humph. Whatever happened to 'no shirt, no shoes, no service?' Mr. Frederickson was letting his standards slip.

"Touché," he laughed back. "So, have you met any kids around here yet?"

I shifted embarrassedly. "Not really, my mom hasn't really given me a chance yet. Since we got here, it's been nothing but painting and lame attempts to salvage the yard and fencing. The highlight of my days has been getting to use the power tools unsupervised."

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Erm, almost three weeks now," I replied, uncertainly.

"And, you don't know anyone?"

"Hey, I know Mr. Frederickson really well," I defended, waving a hand towards the elderly man behind the register. He didn't he even look up at the sound of his name. Okay so I hadn't really had a real conversation with Mr. Frederickson besides the normal 'your total is…'

"And, my mom has met a few neighbors…"

He stared at me, disbelieving. "How have you survived?"

I shifted, uncomfortably. "I was busy?" I winced at the lameness of my own comeback.

After a few beats of awkward silence, Mr. Male Model nodded his head determinedly and stretched up to his full height.

"Well, its settled then, I'll just have to introduce you to some people," he stated, as if it was already agreed upon, and walked confidently up to the counter. "Right after you finish painting your room, of course."

"Hold up- I never said anything about needing help finding friends-" I paused, watching him hand a paint sample to Mr. Frederickson, who disappeared into the back to retrieve the can.

"Wait, what are you doing?" I asked, bewildered.

"Getting the paint for your room," he replied nonchalantly.

I placed my hands on my hips and cocked an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I deserve to have a say in the matter?"

He turned back to me with a cheeky grin. "Of course you deserve to, problem is that if you actually got it, we'd be stuck here another hour, while you make a spreadsheet of the color's pros and cons."

My mouth dropped open in indignation. I was not that indecisive! And I would not make a spreadsheet!

"It's just easier this way, trust me." He patted my head, like I was a dog or something before turning back to the counter.

I simply fumed. Stupid Mr. Male Model, trying to tell me what color I should paint my room!

A heavy weight was thrust into my arms, snapping me out of by mental tirade.

"There you go paint-girl, enjoy!"

I was too distracted to even register him leaving, as I started down dazed at the large can cradled in my arms.

Impromptu Blue

Huh, that was certainly ironic.

"Hey! Did you pick this just because of the name-" I began, but stopped realizing that Mr. Male Model had disappeared.

It struck me then that I had spent all that time talking to him and hadn't even bothered getting his name. I needed to become better at this friend-making thing. At this rate, I'll spend my summer alone holed up in the house, an official hermit.

I paid for the paint and traded goodbyes with Mr. Fredrickson. And, surprise, surprise, when I got outside, it had started raining again. Great. I get to walk four blocks with two heavy cans of paint in the pouring rain. Yay.

I mumbled curses, as I began trudging down the sidewalk, my shoes making horrible squishing noises. I didn't think I could hate this place anymore, but Forks, Washington just loved going above and beyond my expectations.

Though, I have to admit, the Mr.-Male-Model encounter had certainly been an interesting experience. Awkward and weird, but different at least.

I paused for a moment in the downpour.

Huh.

I had the urge to eat skittles.