It All Started on a Saturday (Part 1)

*Any pictures of people are to give you an idea of what their respective characters look like.

The Woman with Nature Colored Eyes

"Always keep your eyes open. Blink and your life changes, for better or for worse."

Alexander's mother used to whisper those words in his ear every day before he would leave the house for the day. When she first told the young child this, she meant it as a simple warning; make sure the street is clear before crossing it unless you wish to fly over to the other side. As the years passed, the warning took on a more metaphorical meaning. Life changes quickly.

The saying became quite the mantra for Alexander, so much so it appears, today of all days, he forgot to apply his late mother's words literally. But to be fair, he was very distracted.

***

Moving to Midway City was harder than Alexander had anticipated. It was so difficult it was near impossible to keep his cool, laid-back demeanor that made him so darn charismatic. This particular day, a no-clouds-in-the-sky Saturday, seemed at odds with his unusually jumbled mental state. Not even his calming jazz playlist could center him today. This move might be the death of him; every time he would scratch one item of his to-do list, another three took it place. It was one of the few times he wished for the simplicity of his former life, regardless of the massive guilt that came with it.

Trapped in his head, Alexander barely glanced up to notice if he was at the right intersection where he needed to cross over to the other side. The rest happened in, well, the blink of an eye. One moment his right foot was on the crosswalk, the next he was yanked back on the curb, watching the car which almost gave him angel wings speed past.

"You know, most people wait for the little person and numbers to show up before attempting to cross over. But maybe you're the rebellious type," teased a feminine voice. It contradicted the initial image he created based only the strong grip on his left arm, for which he subconsciously smacked himself for assuming the grip could only come a male. If there was ever a time for his mother to rise from her grave, it would be now to do the smacking herself.

He pulled on the wire attached to his ear buds, forcibly vacating them out of their spot. Turning toward the direction of the voice, he admitted, "not usually," before choking on the rest of his words.

A raven-haired beauty with a smirk matching her apparent wit decorating her face stood there. Her outfit was the perfect blend of allure and edge; a casual olive-green dress, black leather jacket, and black combat boots. But it was her eyes, one of Hawaiian palm leaves and the other like glacier ice (or more the blue reflecting off the ice, for the ice itself isn't blue), that captured his attention. He knew if he never saw this woman again, her eyes would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, which was quite fine with him. It was more pleasant than what normally entered his dreams, or more often, his nightmares.

Alexander blinked, attempting to come back to his senses. Thankfully and with great surprise, he was able to keep his awe contained and his face void of any emotion, though the sunglasses probably helped with that. It was then he realized the woman's hand was still tightly gripping his arm. "Um, I think you can let go of my arm now." When she squinted her eyes in what he hoped was mock disbelief, he joked, "I believe my rebellious moment has passed."

In fact, it might had been the most rebellious he had ever been. Alexander broke the common stereotype of being the middle child in that way; it was often an inside joke between him, his older sister, and younger brother. Furthermore, his lack of defiance was the reason he was a favorite among his former superiors. Of course, he wasn't going to tell her that; it seemed a little too...personal. Plus, Alexander had a feeling admitting even the first point would lead to a black bruise on his ego. The physical bruise the woman was sure to leave behind on his arm was enough for him.

Alexander reached a hand out to the tough woman with nature-colored eyes. I really need to get her name. "Alexander."

The woman's eyes twinkled with mischief as she clasped Alexander's hand in greeting, ignoring the tiny spark she felt between the two of them. "You're not going to get my name that easily, Lex."

"You sure it's not Lana by any chance?" As soon as the geeky quip slipped out of his mouth, Alexander regretted it. Goodness, what was going on with him? First, he almost died because of his accidental rebellion. Now his inner closeted nerd was coming out. Not that being a geek or nerd was a bad thing, at least, not for most people. Alexander's nerdy persona had been mocked constantly throughout public school and it was something he hid well, especially from pretty girls.

And now, not to his surprise, this pretty girl was laughing at him. Deja vu struck him hard and for a brief second, he was back in high school. Some things don't ever change. Not even a grow spurt (height and muscles, thank you very much), a very much upgraded wardrobe, and facial hair could change what was ingrained in Alexander.

"Thank goodness it's not. That didn't end well from what I remember. The woman sighed nostalgically, "God, I haven't watched Smallville in so long." The only indication of Alexander's shock was a raised eyebrow, an action noticed by the anomaly in front of him.

"What? Pretty women can be geeks too. And you shouldn't be quick to judge. Most men in a getup, well, like this," her finger pointed up and down, addressing the casual suit and tie, leather jacket, and gelled hair. (It quite reminded her of the mysterious billionaire CEO playboy from a rom-com.) "They usually don't appear to be the type to dish out such a geeky line."

"Touché," Alexander responded, chuckling.

As if the pedestrian signal felt left out of the conversation (if it was a person, it probably would have deemed itself the genius behind this meeting), the walking man and decreasing numbers appeared. Alexander stepped aside, allowing those closer to the road to start crossing. Plus, maybe he could figure out this woman's name before they went their separate ways.

"It's not going to work."

"What?"

"I'm not going to give you my name."

It's like she can read my mind.

By this time, they crossed over to the other side in silence, somehow never separating from one another despite the crowd. The mysterious woman turned to Alexander, and for a second, hesitated. She may have ignored the spark she felt earlier, but it was still there, taunting her. No, this cannot happen.

Her father's word came to mind. "Love, heck, even, liking is lightning for people like us. It seems all pretty from the distance, until it strikes right by your feet. Then, it might even kill you."

Alexander looked at her, naïve to her inner turmoil. "Would it be too much to hope we are heading in the same direction for a little bit?" He pointed behind him, indicating his planned route uptown. Thankfully, in the woman's mind, she was going the opposite way.

She still chuckled bitterly, acknowledging the universe's cruel parallel to how different their lives were. Alexander was going uptown, where all everything was nice and shiny, where all the good guys went. She was going to where criminals thrived in the darkness, downtown, not that Alexander seemed to know that. "It would."

"Well, maybe I'll see you around," Alexander offered his hand out to her again, "and thank you again. For before."

Before she knew what she was doing, she took his hand again. There was that spark again. I wonder if he feels it. Not that it mattered. More than likely, or more hopefully, their paths would never cross again. "Not a problem."

***

As she went deeper and deeper into downtown, she barely batted an eye to the subtle changes signifying she was leaving uptown. Not only did she live here and was used to the humble surroundings, but she was also in a rush. Saving Lex's life set her back five minutes, which shouldn't be a big deal, but the person she was meeting would have her hide if she was even thirty seconds late.

She reached her destination; a big, abandoned, run-down warehouse. Looking around, she made sure there wasn't anyone stalking her before approaching a side entrance. She punched in the code, 1-9-0-4-8-6, and waited for the door to unlock. Click! The woman looked at her watch, cursing under her breath. Five minutes late.

There wasn't any point attempting to sneak in; her shoes against the concrete floor would give her away. She decided to strut in, leaning for a fashionably late approach. She saw her contact, or more the curly mop of sliver-streaked brown curls, first. Even in the midst of a crowd, the man commanded attention. This group was made of six of the toughest men out there, all street and prison harden men. They surrounded a huge table covered in a disarray of blueprints, scribbled on papers, greasy takeout trash, and weapons.

Six of the seven huddled men's heads whipped in her direction, one by one. The looks on their faces ranged from interested to extremely eager. Only the one in the middle, the contact, seemed to ignore her presence. She knew the truth; he knew she was there while simultaneously planning the deaths of the males around him for staring at his daughter.

"Lennie, you're late," boomed her father.

"Dad, with this group of boys, I'm sure I'm right on time." Compared to Lennie's father, Jefferson Frost, an aged and master thief, the rest of the men were boys. Not only was there a significant difference in the ages between the second oldest and Jefferson, but there was also a great lack of maturity. Jefferson would never ogle a female, even when he was younger, whereas the others could care less about the fact they looked like drooling dogs.

Although with the mention of the father-daughter relationship, the men realized how toxic it was to even glance at her direction. So, they aren't completely hopeless.

"Lenora." A warning, a stern reminder to behave, one she dared not disobey.

The bond between Lenora and her father, was...unique. Jefferson loved her strongly, but one needed to look deeper to see it. With every 'again' during fight training, no matter the number of bruises and knife wounds accumulated on her body, was a man ensuring that his daughter could protect herself. Every extra minute practicing simple pickpocketing skills and cons was a man devoted to his daughter's success. It looked good on him and his legacy, yes, but more importantly, he wanted his daughter to thrive in ways he couldn't and to stay alive.

"We will deal with the matter of your tardiness later. But for now," Jefferson shoved aside the man on his right, creating a spot big enough for Lenora, "the plan."

Lennie scurried to claim her spot, feeling a touch of nostalgia; her father's right side is where she always belonged. "Let's get started."

Oh no. It's the end. But the story has barely begun.

Don't worry. This is to be continued. Be on the lookout for a part two in the future.

If you like this, want to offer some constructive criticism, or maybe even a couple of ideas, be sure to like and comment below.