1: Home Sick
The different pitch of the taxis and cars around the airport sounded like music to my ears. It may have sounded like noise to some people, but to me, it sounded like home.
Lockwood town was a lot more different than the last time I saw it, and that was five years ago before my self centered parents thought it convenient enough to pull me away from the life I once knew, thrusting me into one filled with their endless bantering, fights and eventually, a divorce.
And finally, five years later here I am.
Home.
The cerulean sky elevates my mood, bringing back memories of lazy summer days spent at the beach, laying on the golden sound and listening to the peaceful waves of the ocean roll on all the while happy teens laugh about nothing and everything.
A sharp honk drags my attention to its source, a black convertible with its hood pulled back and an annoyingly familiar face grinning back at me with such an intensity it almost blinds me.
"Hey, Sugar!" The blonde haired boy yells tipping his Lakers' cap back so he could get a better view of me. "Need a ride?"
With a smile, I trudge over to Ethan, that million dollars smile stuck to his pathetically handsome face. "I don't think you can handle me, boy."
He scoffs and pulls back his cap so he can run a hand through his unkempt locks. "Boy?" He winks at me. "Darling, why don't you hop in and ill show you a very huge reason why I'm not a boy."
By the amused look on his face, I'm sure my face has morphed into an expression of total disgust. "Nah, I think I'll pass."
If possible the smile on Ethan Parker's face widens and he opens the door of his car sliding out with all the grace of a baby ostrich before crossing over to me and engulfing me in one of his bro hugs.
"Fucking missed you, Jacobs." He laughs while landing a heavy pat on my back. I chuckle despite the pain on my back and pull back to look into those wickedly mischievous green eyes of his. I know when around Ethan, cussing is the order of the day. But back in LA, I made an oath, to my self and good manners not to cuss. "Wish I could say the same, bro."
He shakes his head and buries his hands in the pocket of his ripped jeans. "Still a cocky bastard, eh?"
"Only if you are."
He releases another megawatt smile and moves to hug me again. "Fucking missed you, Jacobs."
Letting out a sigh, I hug him back. "Fucking missed you too, bro."
Well, so much for not swearing.
"So..." Ethan drawls, smacking his juicy fruit gum, the sound I'm one hundred percent sure is gonna give me migraines. "How was L.A, huh? Hot babes?" Without waiting for a reply he nods in confirmation. "Fucking knew they were hot babes." He's jamming his head to the awesome tunes of the Rolling Stones' Paint It Black while the warm summer breeze blows through his hair and his eyes squint behind his LV black sunglasses. He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the edge of his car door, tapping along to the song from the radio.
"There were hot babes, alright. It is L.A, not Santa Barbara."
He averts his eyes from the road and gives me an incredulous look. "Santa Barbara babes are hot, bro." He blows a bubble. "You remember Nica?" When I simply stare at him he groans. "Monica? Red haired chick, looked like Sansa Stark from Game Of Thrones?"
Its an odd description, but it definitely jogs my memory. "That Monica. What about her?"
He lets out an amused scoff and taps louder to the beat of the music. "She's from Santa Barbara. And she's - till this very day- the hottest chick I've seen. Have you seen the set of racks on this girl?" Once again, he doesn't wait for a reply. "Phenomenal. Fucking phenomenal."
I take a giant gulp of Voss water and turn down the volume of the new track playing which was some saucy piece by Spice Girls. "I wouldn't know how phenomenal her tits are dude. The last time I saw Sans- I mean Monica, she was eleven and as flat as my surfboard back in L.A."
He worries his lower lip for a second as he contemplates my statement. "You're right. But now she's seventeen and has more curves than all the Kardashians put together."
The water comes back up causing me to violently choke. "You fucking idiot. No one's got more curves than all the Kardashians, what drug are you high on?"
HE throws his head back I laughter. "I'm sorry. Probably more curves than Holly Michaels. And more sex skills too."
"Holly Michaels' a porn actress."
"I know."
"You're demented, Ethan."
"I know."
He blows another bubble and grins childishly. "So... you fuck any L.A babes?"
Despite my effort to keep the shit eating grin off my face, it still appears.
Ethan lets out a wolf whistle when he sees it. "Well? How was it?"
"Phenomenal."
Lockwood Town was known for many things. But one thing triumphed all that.
Its summers.
Ethan drives past the Golden Crest beach like he's in a competition with Van Diesel while I seat back and get acquainted with my buddy's killer driving skills.
"Sweet ride." I say, voicing my thoughts when I first saw the Chevrolet Corvette.
A color of pride warms Ethan's cheeks. "Thanks. Dad got it for mom, but she's convinced driving hot cars like my baby here," He rubs a hand over the steering. "will damage the earth's Ozone layer. So it was handed over to me."
"You're so lucky, bro."
He nods in agreement. "What about you? Your superstar pops finally get you a ride?"
I roll my eyes at his statement as he takes a curve down the streets. We're in the middle of town now. Where the best restaurants, hotels and other sights can be seen. palm trees line the edge of the pavement, giving off a homey vibe as the wind coaxes it to a gentle dance. "Yeah. A 2016 Ford Mustang."
Behind the frame of his glasses I can see Ethan's eyes as they nearly budge out of its sockets. "You lucky bastard." I laugh at his expense watching him take of his glasses so he can stare at me. "I wish I had parents like yours."
My heart suddenly feels like its been weighed down by a million boulders. "Trust me, you don't want parents like that."
Thanks to the improvement of technology, I and Ethan had been able to converse through various means for the past five years, Which was one of the reasons I still had my best friend.
He throws me a sympathetic look. "That bad?"
I groan. "You have no idea."
"Well," He exhales deeply. "good thing you're home then."
He takes one last curve and my breath hitches in my throat when the first view of the brown church like roof of Ethan's home comes into view.
Next is the white, and somewhat creamy paint of the house, then Mrs. Parker's neatly kept lawn full of bright, healthy grasses.
Ethan parks the car and leans back I his seat. 'Welcome, bro."
A smile creeps up my face as I take in my first lungful of fresh air in the last five years.
"Its good to be home, bro."
