by Seven Steps
“So that’s where she went off too,” Joshua said, stepping forward. His hand wrapped around mine again, and I gripped it. I tried not to think that I probably looked like a wet dog by now. “She must’ve gotten the scent of all the dogs and came this way.”
“Her own little doggy party,” Caleb walked over to us from the right, holding a candy apple whose sugar top was quickly disappearing in the rain.
“How long have you been here?” Mya demanded.
“Long enough to get a candy apple,” Caleb replied.
Mya raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Next time you run off, why don’t you let us know first.”
Caleb shrugged and took another bite of the apple.
“Well, I guess we should be getting back,” I said. “My mom probably called the president by now.”
“Yeah,” Josh flexed his hands around mine. “Poppy there’s been something that I’ve been wanting to tell you,” he said, turning to me.
Mya’s face broke out in a wide grin. “I’ll go get the dog,” she said. She grabbed Caleb’s arm and pulled her with him.
I turned to Josh, examining his eyes for clues of his announcement.
“I just wanted to say how much fun I had with you today,” he said.
I smiled wide. “I had fun too, Josh.”
“I’m happy to hear that. What would you think about having fun again… sometime… together?”
He cleared his throat while I caught my breath. My heart blasted, the sound of its erratic bests blocking out the rain and thunder around us.
“Like a date?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes. Like a date.”
Little bubbles of delight worked their way through my body. I wanted to pinch myself. To make sure that this wasn’t a dream.
“Yes. I’d like that.”
He let out a breath. “Good.”
“Good.”
We stood staring at each other for another minute.
“There is one more thing,” he said.
“Yes, Josh.”
He stepped closer, keeping his hand firmly in mine.
He leaned forward.
I did too. My chin came up.
His came down.
And then, oh so gently, our lips touched, and my world caught fire. I felt everything and nothing at all. My world rose and swirled. Our lips waltzed with each other to a sweet tune, and I swore that my feet grew wings. It was as if we were dancing to a song where only we knew the steps. Where the rhythm was all heartbeats and thunder and puffs of breath. When he pulled back, I wanted to pull him to me again. To press his lips to mine for a second time. To once again forget the world.
I cracked my eyes opened and looked up at Joshua Summers. His Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
“Pops,” he whispered.
“Yes?”
But the thunder rolled, and the rain went from fat drops to a waterfall that broke the spell between us.
Mya ran past us, the dog in her arms.
“Run away, run away!” she cried. Caleb was hot on her heels.
Josh’s turned to me.
I turned to him.
“So, this is it?” he asked. “Our adventure is over?”
I twiddled my rain soaked thumbs. “Maybe its just beginning?”
He stepped closer and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.
“I’m thinking Italian for our first date,” he said. “In a place with red and white table cloths and drippy candles.”
“And a guy playing a violin?” I asked.
He nodded with a smile. “Definitely a violin.”
“Poppy!” Caleb called. “We gotta go!”
I turned back to Josh. “Call me?”
“Definitely.”
I squeezed his hand one more time, and followed Caleb down the path and out of the park.
Today had been a whirlwind.
I’d found the courage to face a place that had always scared me.
I kissed the boy of my dreams.
And I found my parents dog.
All in all, I could say that I, Poppy Pritchett, had learned something about myself.
I was brave.
I was strong.
I was highly respectable.
And I knew, above all else, that I was going to be all right.
The End
Stealing Hearts
1
My name is Alex Wells and I am a thief.
At least I was.
Twelve years ago, my parents died, leaving my sister Lindsey and I to fend for ourselves.
Sometimes, that fending involved taking things.
Watches, wallets, jewelry. Anything that uptown’s finest could afford to lose was fair game for us. We would find some poor sap with a visible wallet or open purse, and I would pretend to be a cute, lost baby. Then Lindsey would lift whatever she could from wherever she could, before turning back into the distraught six-year-old sister who’d finally found her four-year-old brother.
It was a win-win, really.
Lindsey and I didn’t starve to death.
And the snobs got to tell their equally snobby friends about their run in with the criminal underbelly of New York City.
It was an okay deal. But all good things must come to an end, right?
About a year into our crime spree, Lindsey and I got caught snagging a wallet off some old lady and were put in foster care. That’s where we met Ms. Tuck, our foster mom. She took us in. Rescued us, really.
Lindsey’s still adjusting to the “tied down” life but, for me it’s not so bad.
A warm bed, my own TV, a laptop, a cell phone, and all the food I can eat without my stomach exploding. Compared to living on the streets, or living in a group home, it’s pretty sweet.
The three of us walked up the stairs and into our small, but cozy apartment in Brooklyn, New York. I found myself pulling off my navy-blue tie after our usual Sunday morning church service while Ms. Tuck stepped out of her matching blue heels. I’d been matching my ties to her heels since I was five years old. Now that I was sixteen, I was still doing it.
Ms. Tuck flew past me, heading for her room.
“Lindsey, start the water,” she called behind her.
It was the end of spring. Baseball season. Ms. Tuck and I were huge baseball fans, and the New York Blues were coming on in exactly eight minutes. If Ms. Tuck missed the opening pitch, her entire day was ruined. I loved baseball too, but even I wasn’t as much of a fan as Ms. Tuck was.
I unbuttoned the top button of my white, pressed shirt.
“Yeah Lindsey, start the water,” I said.
My sister, Lindsey, walked into our apartment like a woman walking to her execution. She wasn’t into baseball like Ms. Tuck and me. She wasn’t much into anything, unless you count disappearing for hours on end. I wasn’t one-hundred percent positive, but I had an idea that Lindsey hadn’t completely given up our old delinquent lifestyle. It hadn’t gotten her into any trouble yet, but still, I worried.
“I don’t want pasta salad for lunch,” Lindsey said.
“I thought you loved pasta salad,” I said, balancing on one foot to pull off my socks. On Sundays, our trail of clothes started at the door and ended at our rooms. We usually cleaned it up during the first commercial break of the baseball game.
Lindsey shot me a look that told me to keep my mouth shut. But I wasn’t really in a listening mood today.
“How about you mind your business for once, little brother.”
I switched feet, pulling off the other sock. “You are my business, big sis.”
She held up her hands and started walking to her room. “Whatever. Go watch your baseball and eat your cold pasta. I don’t care anymore!”
That seemed like a bit of an overreaction. Granted, Lindsey was prone to overreactions, but this seemed even beyond her usual.
I balled my socks up and dropped them to the floor, feeling the smooth, yellow birch panels beneath my feet. “What’s your deal?”
�
�Leave me alone, Alex.”
Leave her alone? She was my sister, when meant, by law, I could not leave her alone. I’m sure that somewhere in the constitution of the United States it stated that brothers had to harass their sisters or face some sort of penalty like a million-dollar fine or a firing squad. Plus, I had a feeling in my gut that something was up with her. And my gut never lied.
I followed her to her room and jammed my foot in the door frame just as she went to slam the door. The cheap, splintering wood nearly crushed my foot, and I cried out.
“Ow! What is your problem?” I grabbed my probably broken foot and hopped on one leg. My cheeks puffed up, and I blew out big breaths, hoping to expel some of the throbbing pain.
Fortunately for me, Lindsey didn’t try to close the door again. Instead, she stood in the doorway and gave me a look somewhere between a glare and exhaustion.
“That didn’t hurt. You’re such a faker?” she asked.
I dropped my throbbing foot and pinned her with a look. “No, that actually hurt. Badly. And you’ve been in a pissy mood ever since we left this morning. What gives?”
“I have not been pissy.”
“Then why won’t you let me in your room?”
She regarded me and, seeing that I wasn’t going to let up, she flung open the door then turned and dropped onto her bed.
Lindsey’s room was sparse. A bed, table, chair, computer, a bureau, and a mirror. That’s it. She’d barely decorated it, unless you counted the Chris Pine poster above her bed and a picture of mom and dad stuck to the wall with a push pin next to her computer.
It was the only picture we had left of them.
I stood in the doorway, pulling off my suit jacket and threw it over the back of her computer chair.
She tossed her arm over her eyes. “You’re annoying.”
No, I wasn’t annoying. I was annoyed. With every throb of my foot, I was more and more annoyed with Lindsey and her moods and her secrets. I closed the door, walked up to her bed, and pulled her arm from her face, forcing her to look at me. My gaze settled on her brown eyes. They were so much like moms. Well, what I could remember of mom anyway.
“I’m not going to leave you alone until you tell me what’s the matter.”
“Nothing is the matter. Just go away.”
She tried to turn on her stomach, but I caught her mid-way and pushed her onto her back.
“Does this have to do with all of the sneaking out you’ve been doing?”
She sucked in a shocked breath and slapped both hands over my mouth.
“Would you shush about that?”
I shoved her hand away. “No, I won’t shush about that. What are you up to?”
“You are such a blabber mouth.”
“How am I a blabber mouth when the only person I talk to is you?”
I sat down next to her on the bad.
“Look, if something is going on, you can tell me. I’ll handle it.”
She sat up and looked at the ceiling. Then she let out a breath.
“I don’t need you to handle anything. You’re the little brother. I’m the big sister. I’m supposed to have everything handled.”
Her voice sounded so tired. So sad. Maybe something really was going on with her. Changing tactics, I allowed a smile to settle onto my face.
“Fine. I’ll just have to poke it out of you then.” I jabbed her hard in the side to prove my point.
“It’s not going to work,” she said, her tight voice sounding just a little loser.
I poked her again in the bicep, harder this time. “I don’t know. I’ve been working on my pressure points. I think I can really get you this time.”
“That’s not a real thing,” she argued, a bit of warmth infusing her voice.
“It totally is.” I used two fingers and poked her in the thigh hard enough for her to screech. “I saw it on Xena The Warrior Princess.”
“That’s not a reality-based program!”
I poked her hard in the side again, while at the same time yelling out, “Pressure Point.”
She screamed, and flung herself at me, pinching and pushing me until we were both laughing our butts off.
This was us. Lindsey and I were more than brother and sister. We were friends. We shared everything, and it killed me to know that she kept secrets from me. Secrets that could hurt her. Or me. Or Ms. Tuck.
We were just composing ourselves when a light rap on the door echoed through the room. A moment later, the door shoved open, revealing a short, dark skinned woman in her late fifties with a tightly curled afro and the kindest brown eyes I’d ever seen.
“What are you two doing in here?” she said with a grin. “And why isn’t the pasta on the stove?”
“Yeah, Lindsey, why isn’t the pasta on the stove,” I said, shoving my sister one last time before I stood up.
In a moment, Lindsey’s laughter dissolved into her usual tight expression. At least, it was usual whenever Ms. Tuck was around.
She crossed her arms and her legs defiantly. “I’m not hungry.”
Ms. Tuck’s smile never wavered.
“I brought some lunch meat, if that’s what you’d prefer. Why don’t you make a sandwich instead?”
“No thanks. I’m going out.”
The smile drained from Ms. Tuck’s face. Mine too.
“But it’s Sunday. We always spend Sunday together.”
Lindsey stood and started gathering clothes from her drawer. A shirt. Jeans. Socks.
“Not this time. I’ll be home late.”
“How late?” I asked.
Lindsey gave me that look again. The mind your own business look. But I didn’t care. I stood next to Ms. Tuck and together we stood our ground again the wall that Lindsey was building between us.
“Really late. Don’t wait up.”
Lindsey grabbed a book bag from her closet and started shoving her clothes inside.
“Lindsey, I don’t give you many rules, but I would like to know where you’re going on a Sunday and how late are you going to be home. Are you going to eat? Are you going to need money? Who are you going to be with?”
“I said I’m going out!” Lindsey screamed. Her eyes were wide and fiery, and her nostrils flared. I’d never seen Lindsey so angry. Why was she so angry?
“I’m eighteen years old! You can’t tell me what to do anymore!”
I stepped forward, deflecting some of the rage that poured from Lindsey’s wild eyes. Rage I didn’t understand or expect.
“Whoa. Chill. No one is telling you what to do,” I said. “We just want to make sure you’re going to be safe.”
“We?” She asked, acid dripping from her words. “Nice to see whose side you’re on, little brother.”
“There are no sides,” I said.
“Sure, there aren’t.”
Who was this crazy girl and what had she done with my sister?
I reached out in an attempt to grab her and shake some sense into her, but she dodged me and slid the computer chair between us.
“What is your problem?” I demanded.
“I’ll tell you what my problem is. This is not our home. Let’s all stop pretending that it is. Once you turn eighteen and the checks stop, we’re both out of here. That’s why she’s keeping us here. For the money, or else she would have adopted us already.”
Ms. Tuck pushed me out the way, her back sturdy and strong against Lindsey’s accusations.
“Now you see here, young lady-”
“No. You see. You may act like this is a home, but it’s not. Once the money stops, you’ll just toss us back onto the streets, just like everyone else. But newsflash, Tuck. We’ll be long gone before I let that happen.”
She violently zipped up her book bag, and charged out of the room, shoving her way between Ms. Tuck and I. She hadn’t even changed out of her clothes.
I couldn’t speak. Lindsey’s angry, harsh words kept me mute and silent until the door slammed behind her, leaving Ms. Tuck and I alone.
<
br /> “What was that all about?” Ms. Tuck asked.
My lower lip trembled. I felt tears eat up my throat, but I swallowed them back down because I was a man and that’s what men did. They kept everything inside, not allowing a single emotion to crawl out.
I didn’t speak again until I was sure that I could hold myself together.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice soft.
What was wrong with my sister? Maybe she was in trouble. Or maybe not. I just didn’t know. In fact, right now, it felt like I didn’t know anything at all.
2
It was nearly midnight when Lindsey returned home.
I’d been sitting in my room, waiting to hear the front door for hours, occupying myself with watching Facebook videos and playing games on my phone.
Ms. Tuck had gone to bed two hours ago, after I’d reassured her that I would stay up and wait for Lindsey to come home.
What had my sister been thinking? She’d blown up at Ms. Tuck, stayed out all day, and refused to answer her phone. She was acting crazy, and if she thought she was going to get away with it, she was wrong. I’d stay up all night if I had too, just to let her know what an idiot she was being.
The second I heard her tip toe past my room, I bolted from the bed and rushed to the door. Her room was across the hall from mine, and I burst through my door just as hers was closing. I stuck my foot between the door and the jam -ouch!- then shoved my way inside.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, stumbling backward. “Get out of my room!”
“Not a chance.” I shut the door behind me, hoping to keep my voice down so as not to wake Ms. Tuck. Then, I turned, ready to give my big sister the biggest piece of my mind in the history of pieces of minds. “Not until you-”
Then I spotted it.
Her book bag.
It was the same bag I’d seen her shove clothes into earlier. Pink, with yellow pineapples all over it.
When she walked out this morning, the zipper was closed. Now the bag was gaping open, exposing wads upon wads of money. There must’ve been dozens of hundred-dollar bills in there. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. It was more money then I’d ever seen in my entire life. Even more money than when we’d snatched that lady’s purse and found three grand. We’d eaten like kings for a month, and even rented a hotel room with it.