Last two parts:
KariceA: hey. wat r u doing?
DailiaB-Nothin’. Just doing hw.
KariceA-u? hw? come on man, u r smart. u don’t usually study, and u still friggin get an A! wat’s really up?
DailiaB-there’s a big, big, big test tmr and i have to make sure. c u ltr.
I turn off my phone. Karice will get over it, like she always does. She has to learn to stay in the dark about some things.
Pasta, ten euros ninety nine, sit before me. Spicy chicken pasta, a mixture between Thai and Italian. Did you know that spicyness clears your pours, and is a real stress reliever? Something to do with happy hormones, but right now, that was something I really needed.
Tick, tick, tick, tick. The clock counts down time, which was edging precariously close to 7. Where is he?
His hair, fair as the sun, is stained red and blue by the lights. His eyes twinkle in amusement as he slinked on the other chair.
His hair is slicked back, a tux and dress pants on which would have looked ridiculous on most people, but looked posh and professional on him.
A scar lines his face, bleeding and red. But still he smirks, the red slash crossing lines against his face. He’s too rigid, his face too restless.
His eyes looked from left to right, which is a sure sign of wariness. Arms crossed-He has secrets. Chin slightly up-Trying to hide something. Tilting his head-Trying to appear relaxed. Arrogant, rich, but with a dark side. Hm. So easy to read.
Someone like him would want a girl who didn’t ask questions, who went along with his facade. He would want someone who he could share his screts too. They’re beneath the surface, bubbling. If I know his secrets, and if they are dark, then there is much potential. He knows people, people who know Harvard admissions, Bill Gates, and White House members.
But how to get to those secrets?
“Come on, let’s go somewhere.”
“Just come on. “
“-But, but we didn’t pay yet!”
All I remember is looking into a vast trench, in the dakrness. No where near the bustling lights of Alexanderplatz, but how I go there... A small abandoned building glowing in the distance. The starry night almost swallowed us, and we looked on upon the dark grassland and the wilderness.
“You see that?”
He points at the building.
“That’s where I hang out most of the time, get some fresh air away from everything. It’s an old gallery that fell down after the Cold war. It’s meant to be a memorial, but then everyone moved out from East Berlin from this part of town. It’s going to be renovated into some airport soon, but until then, I’ve got it all to myself.”
Dust fils al the deep dark shadows, but he tells me those shadows hold nothing. Old paintings, defaced and filled with graffiti, hang from the peeling, brown walls. The smell of musk and staleness fills teh air, but everything’s empty. You can tell things still live here; the feeling of desolation clings to every speck of dust.
Light filters through the crack, a spot of light in the gray darkness. I can tell why he finds peace here.
“Here, I’ll give you a personal tour, starting with the “kitchen,” or where I put all my sketches and notes and stuff. There’s so many boards you could hide things under. It’s pretty cool.”
His hands meet mine.
Tears come to the edges of my eyes. Snap out of it! It’s just a note!
Climbing from under the bed, I grab my bag from the bed and take my notebook out.
In it, something brown and torn peeks out.
Something that wasn’t there before.
A map. Of the old building.
What this airport used to be.
The pawn makes the first move. He might be winning now, but I’ll sneak up to him. I’ll find out what kind of gme he’s playing. Then he’ll see.
Pawn to D5