Apologies for the disorganization, but I've finally managed to figure out a logical plot for this. New year, new plot! Sorry for the inconvenience. 

Also, there will be many significant time jumps throughout this story. Everything is for a reason. Bear with me please :) 

Enjoy!

--

 Chapter 1

"'Sincerely, Desmond.'" I finished softly. An amused smile slowly crept onto my lips. "He seems troubled," I said, biting my lip thoughtfully.

Christian licked his cheesy fingers clean. "Please give us a full analysis." He said, a mouth full of Doritos.

"He can't be any more blunt than he already is, genius. The man thinks he's going to die..." I said. The words before my eyes unexpectedly transformed. They were frantic words written by frantic hands.

"Oh please, he'll get over it. Help a brother out and send him something. Maybe a bag of chips or a soda." He held up his bag of chips in example, but was rejected by Angelica's obvious disapproval. 

"How about instead of sending him some empty carbs, we send him some books for a little mental stimulation?" Said Angelica.

Christian rolled his eyes. "Mental stimulation? Where'd ya hear that from? Web MD?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Books are better than a Coke."

"Unless they're porno magazines, he's not gonna do shit with them."

Angelica scrunched her nose up in disgust. "Men."

"What's the harm in doing both?" I inquired. 

"Like send him junk food and a couple of porno magazines?" 

"No, Christian," I sighed. "actual books."

My bookshelf stood as lonely as ever in the corner of my room, and the idea of sending some books wasn't repulsive as I thought It'd be. Sharing a good book was like sharing a good recipe, my father once told me, It stayed with that person forever.

The next few minutes were critical. 

 "Alright," I said, breathless from my flight of stairs. "Here's a box. Here's some chips, now we need some books." I clasped my hands together in excitement. 

"Now...what to choose..."

"Are you seriously considering sending him some books?" Christian asked in disbelief. 

"Sorry if it's too much of a nerd thing to do." I said.

"That's beside the point. Money doesn't grow on trees for you to give them away like that." He said.

I laughed. "You sound like my dad," I said, and as coincidental as it was, I heard my father's faint voice call me from the kitchen. 

"Speak of the devil," I muttered. "I'll be right back. Could one of you pack some books for me?"

"Ooh, I volunteer!" Christian jumped out of my bed. 

I eyed him. "No obscenity!"

"Got it."

 "Angelica?" I looked at her with pleading eyes, but she was a little preoccupied with her phone. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'll keep an eye on him." She mumbled. Reluctantly, I left the room to tend to my father. 

Shame on me for not thinking twice. Christian didn't end up packing any indecent magazines (not like he would find them in my room), but he ended up packing something I deemed far worse than a couple of women in their underwear. 

Before I knew it, I had sealed Desmond's package, oblivious to the fact that this so called package contained a letter, a fresh bag of Doritos, a few books, and-last but not least-a seventeen year old's diary.

A few weeks prior...

"Fifteen." 

I was met with a pair of unamused, droopy brown eyes, which I quickly made the effort to avoid prolonged eye contact with. My wallet luckily spared me some seventeen dollars, but I couldn't help but curse at myself at the thought of not taking the twenty dollars my dad offered earlier. I wouldn't be able to buy anything else in this overpriced mall.

In pursuit of some decent new clothes for the upcoming school year, I found myself in this indie store, placed far from the heart of the Stewart Mills Mall. Soft jazz gently floated through the air. A colorful array of shirts and jeans met my eyes as I strolled by, and my knack for variety kicked in.

"Cents?" I tried to joke, but contemplated jumping off a bridge as soon as I uttered the word. 

The cashier looked at me skeptically. "Get outta here. Fifteen dollars for that isn't reasonable?" 

The shirt between us was seemingly made to catch my eyes; it had an interpretation of Van Gough's Starry Night, with swirls of blues, blacks, and yellows printed on its fine black fabric.

"It's not that it's unreasonable," I said. "With fifteen dollars I could buy two pairs of pants and one shirt at the swap meet." I laughed awkwardly, hoping he would laugh along too, but he didn't. He seemed to not catch on with the obvious look of disbelief on his face. Stop talking, Angel.

The more I stood there, the more an uneasiness pooled into my system. It was pretty shallow of me, to be judging based on appearances, but I thought he belonged better in the Hot Topic a couple of doors down. The inferno on his head didn't reassure me much, either. 

It's safe to say that I lived a realtively sane life of calmness and compliancy. I never snuck out, I never talked back to my father, and I never got in a fist fight with anyone, let alone attempted to dye my hair. I thought it was crazy enough to dye your hair any color really, but the deep red on his head seemed to suggest this guy was on a whole other level of wild. 

"Are you that broke? Jeez." He said. 

My lips pressed into a flat line. "I was joking, but whatever."

"Yikes. I couldn't tell," He shrugged. "but If you say so."

"Fifteen." He repeated. Pulling out my money, I tried hard not to slam it on the counter.

"It's empty in here." I said, a matter of factly, and looking around the room. He eyed me. 

"So it is. What's it to you?" 

I raised my hands in defense. "I'm just saying. It seems pre-tty apparent to me why."

"It's also pre-tty apparent that I don't care." I could feel the tension settle between us, like ice. Anymore from either of us and it would shatter like glass. But I couldn't help myself. 

"You know, I'm predicting a three, maybe a two star review on Yelp. Do you always act like this to your customers?" 

"Just you, really." He laughed as he bagged my shirt. "Hey, You're the one shopping here. Want to go to Beverly Hills? Good luck. Pretty sure you won't find this there. Don't think you'd be able to afford it either." His eyes flickered up and down for a millisecond. 

I could feel my throat swelling up with aggravation. "I'm not the one working as a cashier." I blurted. He sent a dirty look my way. 

"So what if I'm a cashier? Just take your shirt and get out." 

He handed me the bag, and I made sure not to make any form of contact with the devil in front of me. "I'm glad we never have to have the displeasure of seeing each other again." I said. 

I searched through my wallet. "And here," I said, placing my last two dollars on the counter. "Keep it. Don't waste it on heroine." I muttered, before hastily turning on my heel and stomping out. 

"Ouch." He shouted. "I'll think about it!"

I probably walked around looking like a tomato for a good five minutes until I finally calmed down from that minor altercation. I made sure to put as much distance between that store and I as I physically could. I was glad I probably wouldn't see him ever again.

--

I found my dad later on in the mall. He gave me the twenty dollars, but not without the signature, "I told you so." 

Barnes and Nobles was probably my favorite store of all time. As I roamed around its shelves, my eyes ultimately landed on a jet-black book laying on the floor. My guess was it fell from the shelves, and If that hadn't happened I probably wouldn't of noticed it as I went over to put it back. There was not an imperfection on its velvety cover, which also said in fine penmanship, "This diary is property of." My hands stroked its fine, velvety black spine. 

So it's a diary, I thought. 

Next thing I knew, I was walking out of the bookstore, holding the diary in my hands, and smiling like a child at the simple book. There was always that possibility, though, that I write in one entry and never touch it for the rest of my life. I could be a very inconsistent person. 

But my thoughts quickly vanished into thin air. As inconspicuously as I could, I tried ducking behind anybody who would shield me from him, and ended up cursing at everyone who wasn't 5'7" and above.

As if he knew I spotted him, his gaze found mine, and I don't believe I had ever been so unsettled by such a typical set of eyes. Brown eyes as common as any, yet they held such sadness that the word brown wouldn't do them justice.

I took in his face in those few seconds, the nice details: The highness of his cheekbones, His cat-like mouth, all framed by obnoxious, deep red hair. He was almost disjointed; a beautiful boy with the wildest of tastes. But as crazy as it was, I found my self-unable to break the gaze between both of us.

For just a tiny fraction of a second, I thought his cheeks turned just the slightest of pink as our staring contest continued, but it all washed out once that cat like mouth soon curved into a sly smile.

He brushed past me, leaning in.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer." His fresh breath briefly fanned my neck, sending waves of shivers down my spine. Plastic bags nearly slipped through my fingertips.

I bit my lip in embarrassment and turned around to give him the glare of a lifetime. I felt heat flush to my face as he looked at me, yelling, "Aww look! She's blushing!" I put my hand to my face, my heart pumping, and saw him only throw his head back in laughter. Pretty, soon, the moment was over in a blink of an eye, and he was swallowed by crowds of people surrounding us.

In a matter of seconds my dad appeared, leaning against a wall with two churros sprinkled in sugar. I gladly took one from him, biting off a chunk in frustration.

"Hey, kiddo. How'd it go? Got anything you like?" He asked. I didn't think he noticed my distress. I stretched my face in a strained smile and nodded.

"Yeah, I did actually. A couple of books, and a shirt. I think that'll do," I said. I shifted nervously, obviously shaken from the weird encounter. "Can we go now?"

"Sure. Let's roll." He said, and we both headed for the main entrance, with me chewing a churro furiously.