D R A F T   # 4

In the Author's Note I wrote in the first chapter, I mentioned that I'd written thousands of drafts to try to tell this story right. 

Well, to clarify, I'd written four drafts of the first few chapters. Figuring out how to start the story with a bang, with a certain spark, knowing these chapters would shape out the feeling of the book altogether.

Would it be sassy? Serious? Playful? Deep?

Three of the drafts had been a playful, easy read. Light and charismatic. But it always felt like the story was missing something. 

I wanted it to say more than the simplicity of its words. I wanted it to pull at your heartstrings without realising you've been pulled in.

And so, alas, the fourth draft was made... and it established the mood and aura I wanted to create: a little bit of sadness, a bit of melancholy... but also full of heart, soul and passion.

This is that draft.

I present to you, dear readers, an El and Theo you've never met.

1

Eleanor

     "NO," I BEGGED. "Don't leave."

     The elderly man looked down at me in sympathy. "Sorry, kid. I have to make my own wage. It's just not working for me anymore."

     And just like that, he turned and left.

     With the cool air caressing my back, I closed my eyes and let my head fall on the counter with a soft thud. You'd think I'd get used to having employees quitting on me since it happened often—but trust me, I never did. In fact, it just became worse. Every time someone walked away from me, I felt like sinking further and further into the water.

     And It was only a matter of time until I drowned.

     I was sick of this. Sick and tired of endless faces appearing before me—faces I knew and admired—with pity in their eyes as they told me they were leaving. Because this was dying, they said. Because this business wasn't worth fighting for. Like the remnants of what was once here and all its precious memories would be blown away in the wind, its dust forever lost in the sea. There'd be nothing here. 

     As if there was always nothing.

     My chest hurt.

    "Lenny?" A familiar voice called.

     I lifted my head. Standing in front of me was Jeffrey Jones, the youngest person I'd ever employed. The only reason I hired a high school freshman was because he offered to do five shifts per week, which was almost as much as mine. At first I'd denied it, not wanting to strip his time from school, but that changed when he started coming back with his face covered in black and blue.

     I didn't ask where those bruises came from.

    "It's okay," I tucked a flyaway hair. "I'm okay."

    "You're not." Jeff jumped over the counter and sat on top of it, facing the soft, crashing waves in the distance. It was nearing sundown, the sky just beginning to colour warm tones of red, orange, yellow. Birds quietly chirping. It was the type of silence that could be painted into art.

     I joined him atop the counter.

    "Do you agree?" I asked quietly.

    "What?"

    "About what everyone says right before they quit," I said bluntly, swinging my legs a bit. "That I should close down this shack for good."

     He turned to me, his dyed white hair gleaming against the sunlight. "It's not up to me to make that decision, Len."

     I let out a heavy breath and looked away, gazing at the sprawling sight. This was always the beach they loved. I couldn't blame them. This very one was the town's main attraction. Everyone came here, whether they were college kids on summer break, families on vacation or random city folks who decided to have a change in scenery.

     There were miles of golden sands and even more miles of clear, turquoise waters staring back at me.

     It was absolutely beautiful here.

    "I can't lose this shack," I breathed. "You know I can't. I won't."

     Jeff smiled. "I've known that for years now, Len. Why do you think I stayed after months of desperation?"

    "Because you're broke?"

     He punched my shoulder.

     But he let out a small chuckle, and that made me laugh, the heavy weight on my chest lifting up a bit. Both of us knew this little shack of ours—Anchor's—didn't earn as much. We barely did these past few months, as seen by the decreasing number of workers. Now with the leave of another person, we had five co-workers in total. One was always asleep and one would leave their shift to sneak off to the beach, so really, there were only three of us. Jeff, Wanda and I.

     But the lack of co-workers wasn't really a problem when we almost had no customers to begin with.

    "You can go home, Jeff," I sighed, dropping to the sand. "The shack's about to close and I can handle the last customer."

     He looked back across the counter—our shack was shaped in a square booth of all sides—to the old man that finishing up his meal.

    "If you say so, boss."

    "Tell Wanda she's off the hook, too."

    "Got you, boss."

    "Stop calling me boss."

     Jeff hopped off the counter and looked at me with a cheeky grin one last time. "Alright, boss."

     I hid my smile as he walked away. I heard him shuffle around before Wanda's voice wafted through, both packing up their things. We bid goodbyes and I walked towards the old man sitting alone in the booth.

    "Thank you," the old man stood, finishing his coffee.

     I smiled warmly and nodded. "Have a nice a day, sir."

    "You, too." He seemed to sense that I was not in my best of moods. I tried to keep a smile in my face but he could see right through it. "Everything's going to be fine, dear."

     Wanda and Jeff were nice enough to clean up the whole inventory before they left, so it didn't take me long to lock up. But his words kept coming back to me. Everything's going to be fine. I looked at the shack, all wood and faded paint and looking like it could fall any minute.

     I found the old man's words hard to believe.

     I made it around five steps from the shack when I realised someone was walking towards me.

     The guy was tall, probably had a full head over me. His brown hair was messy and sticking up from its ends, as if he had run his fingers through it. And he wore a crewneck sweater and jeans and everything—an unusual choice of clothing for the beach, but it was nearing nighttime, so it did made sense.

     But when our eyes met, my feet almost halted.

     He had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. It was a fascinating colour—a mixture of blue and green and all the shades of the sea. 

     Beautiful.

    "Are you lost?" I managed to ask.

     He stopped a few steps in front of me, shifting his weight back and forth. "I hope not. Are you guys still open?"

     I glanced back at the shack, debating my options. We didn't really have much customers at night. That's why we tended to close early. 

     But one customer couldn't hurt.

    "You can be our last customer for the day," I smiled a little, walking back and gesturing him to follow me. "What can I get for you?"

    "Anything, really," he muttered, his soft footsteps on the sand. "I'm kind of famished."

     I chuckled. "And why not our lovely neighbour? The District?"

     The District was an area across the beach that was famously known for its endless rows of bars and restaurants, known for their notorious parties and events. They were mostly open twenty-four seven and people tended to flock over there by the minute.

     Another reason why our shack couldn't last long—we couldn't beat that type of competition.

    "Too crowded," the guy scoffed, and paused before saying, "And I need a bit of fresh air from all that, you know?"

    "Yeah."

     We reached the shack again in seconds before I went inside the counter again. He took a seat, and I took notice of him watching me as I turned on some of the lights, taking out some inventory and making the shack look at least a tiny bit presentable for this strange customer.

    "Were you just about to leave?" he finally asked, looking up at me.

    "No," I said steadily. "I'm staying right here."

2

Theo

     I STIRRED MY COFFEE in silence.

     It was actually luck that I found this place. I'd spent about twenty minutes walking around, trying to find a quiet spot, but everywhere was loud. People chattering and music blasting from the centre of the beach, where a few restaurants near the upper hill had taken spot. They were crowded and full and not at all what I was looking for, and when I went up to the District, well, that was even worse.

     But after going back to the main area, I spotted an old man walking from a direction I wasn't sure I had crossed paths before. And the more I saw it, the more I could see a little shack in the far corner, almost invisible from the wild nightlife that was starting to awaken.

     So I walked over there.

     And now, the girl wouldn't stop looking at me.

     It wasn't that it was weird, not really. She wasn't blatantly staring at me like I've caught some who did since the day I arrived a few days ago. But she was looking at me with something else—curiosity.

    "What?" I finally asked, a bit unnerved.

     Her deep brown eyes were fixed on my face. "I just don't get customers younger than, like, sixty years old."

     I scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."

    "Are you kidding me?" She gestured wildly to her establishment. "It's like one push and this whole thing comes crumbling down."

    "Your shack isn't in the best shape, that's true," I admitted. I hesitated before saying the next words, but honesty always came naturally to me. "But you're gorgeous. That has to be at least one reason to come here."

     She seemed shocked by my blunt way of putting it. But I was right. Even if she had her black hair tied up in a messy ponytail that was in the verge of falling apart, she looked good in her simple T-shirt and shorts, her tan skin in full view. The girl was blushing from head to toe. "That's... that's not—it's completely irrelevant."

     I merely shrugged, but on the inside, I wanted to grin for making her stumble on her words so easily.

     She sighed and sat down on her own stool behind the counter. "It doesn't matter, anyway," she said quietly. "We're not going to last long."

     The cool air only filled the silence between us. It was actually nighttime now, the last bit of sun disappearing before them in shadows.

    "You shouldn't give up so easily," I started to say.

    "It's easier said than done." Her tone was immensely sad. "The more I keep telling myself that, the more I don't believe it."

     I turned to her, and she was looking up at the stars, like they held all the answers in the world. From this vantage point, I could almost see them reflected in her eyes. If only I ventured a little closer.

     I didn't know what else to say. What could you say to a complete stranger, anyway? A few minutes later, I was finishing up my coffee, and the girl started cleaning up the shack. I watched her as she worked, sneaking furtive glances. She had purpose when she moved—like she knew where every nook and cranny belonged in this place. And her hands moved softly but swiftly, like everything she touched in this little space was precious to her. Her eyes were downcast the whole time.

     A heavy feeling sank in my chest, and I didn't know why.

    "Are you walking home?" I suddenly asked. She turned and nodded slowly, confused. "Which direction?"

    "Pass the District."

    "I'm heading that way as well."

     Liar.

     It felt like the longest walk in my life.

     Here she and I were, strolling through the streets of the District—complete strangers. That was true. I knew nothing about her, not even her name. But after our short encounter, I realised I didn't want her to be alone. Maybe it was the sadness in her eyes or the fact that trouble came common during the night in these areas. Probably both.

     I've done crazier things.

     The District was coming to life, as I expected. Late-night restaurants raged on, bars started opening, and neon signs from various thrift shops and clubs flickered in the night. The main sidewalk was crowded so we stuck to the left lane.

     What I didn't expect was the girl's reaction to all of this.

     I thought that, with the hopelessness that she spoke of her shack, she would hate this place. After all, it was one of the reasons why her business wasn't doing so well. The District was everyone's go-to place. Second after Bond Beach. I was prepared for her mood to worsen.

     But she was completely at awe. Every time a group of people laughed nearby or a random pantomime showed up, or some street musician began playing or chefs in restaurants started pulling off a show, she'd look there. She'd look everywhere.

     It was the first time true happiness painted those eyes.

     She noticed me staring at her.

     I cleared my throat. "Not your first time here, isn't it?"

    "Not at all," she shrugged. "But every time I pass these streets, the feeling is always the same, you know?"

     I knew what she meant. The District had the power to make you feel like you've stepped into a whole new world, one that was exciting and thrilling and with endless possibilities.

    "You're a local." I didn't phrase it as a question.

     She smiled and nodded. She should smile more. "And you're not."

    "Perceptive."

     That smile turned into a full-on grin, and for a moment, I was awestruck.

    "So what brings you here?" She kicked a pebble. "Other than having the pleasure to visit the most greatest shack in town, of course."

     She was being sarcastic, but that melancholy undertone still lingered, and I had the urge to wash it away. "I have my reasons."

    "Mysterious," she quipped. "Do you like it here?"

    "Anywhere's better than where I was before."

     The response rolled off my tongue on instinct and it was only seconds later did I realise what I'd said. Fuck. Why did I just say that?

     She just looked at me thoughtfully. "Let me guess," she started, and my heart thumped fast. "You're here to start a new life. Attend university, maybe. And you haven't been here for long—give it a few days—because any local would think twice before coming to my shack."

     "Do you always psychoanalyse people you just met?"

     "Only ones I'm interested in."

     I slid my gaze over her, wondering what she meant. She wasn't fazed by my stern expression. In fact, she threw her head back and laughed.

     I rolled my eyes, but it felt nice to hear her laugh for once.

    "That shack," I said slowly. "You own it?"

    "Yeah."

    "That's a big deal." I paused. "How long have you been boss for?"

     That laughter suddenly died. "A while."

     And that bit of spark went away.

     You're a true hero, Theo.

     We finally reached her house—a standard one with faded white bricks and a small porch and all. Finding a decent area near the streets of the District was nearly impossible, but her house was situated perfectly in the quiet part of the neighbourhood.

     We walked to her front door and stopped.

    "Your parents home?" I asked.

    "My grandparents are asleep at this hour." She went up the steps, gaining some height advantage over me. Now I had to look up to her. "I never had the honour to know your name, stranger."

     I raised an eyebrow. "You never asked."

    "Well, I'm asking now." She outstretched her hand and gently grabbed mine, fitting them together. An odd feeling shot through me—like our hands just fitted. Like it was familiar.

    "Eleanor," she smiled.

     I swallowed. "Theo."

    "Theo," she repeated. My heart raced a bit when I heard her say it for the first time. "It's been a pleasant night. Well, as pleasant as it can be. Thank you for walking me home."

    "It's nothing."

     She cocked her head. "Will I be seeing you in the shack again?"

    "Maybe."

     Likely.

     Eleanor gave me one last look before shutting the door behind her. I stood there for a while. It dawned on me that I had just met this girl in less than two hours—a girl that I called stranger five minutes ago.

     And I realised I liked hearing her say my name.

Boom. That's it.

So, you see, this is a very different world I've crafted here. From the get-go, El and Theo's storylines are quite reversed—El is the one struggling, and Theo is the more stable one. Anchor's is an old, dying shack, and El fights a battle with herself to keep it alive. And though bits of Theo's story was there, this draft was meant for El.

And a universe where she doesn't smile? Now you're talking crazy.

There was a million different ways in which they could've met. And though this was heading in the right direction, I knew I could make the first encounter better. Memorable. Thought-provoking. 

One that hooked you as soon as you started.

I hadn't intended the final version to be as poetic and to carry powerful meanings, but it was that first chapter—the one published—that guided the way. The switch to third-person was also a major game-changer.

I hope you enjoyed this little insight!

love, j