by Anna B. Doe
“I’m not really an athletic person, you know.”
“I would have never guessed.” Her dull tone is dripping with sarcasm. “Come on, lets’ try to actually play today.”
“But not so hard,” I warn her, giving her the ball and then moving to make distance between us. Safety measurements and all that.
Jeanette gets in the position to serve the ball. Her tall frame curves into what looks to me as unachievable, perfect form. She jumps a few inches off the ground, one hand holding the ball and other extends in the air. I see it all in the slow motion—her hand releasing the ball in the air, the palm of her other hand connecting with hard skin, and the ball flying toward me with force.
I think I shriek softly as I cross my hands in front of my face to protect myself from the impact.
The impact that never comes, I realized after a few long, silent seconds. Carefully, I move my hands from my face and look in front of me. But the only thing I can see is back and broad shoulders covered in soft, white t-shirt.
I move my eyes up that back just in time for the person to turn around and meet his impossibly dark, green eyes. From the moment I met him for the first time I thought they were beautiful, if only the soul hiding behind them was as beautiful.
If Derek’s eyes were the color of the sky, his best friend had eyes the color of the woods—green with a drop of brown, enough to make them mysterious and dark. But they suit him well. Dark woods are cold and hard and you can never be sure what you’ll meet there. Just like you never know what to expect from Andrew Hill.
Flashbacks from my past assault my mind with force: his almost maniacal laughter and hateful looks in his eyes, stolen homework and missing things from my bag, and things like extra pads that were glued to my locker for everybody to see and laugh at my expense.
Swallowing hard, I close my eyes for a second to push all those ugly things away.
“Getting hit by the ball again, aren’t you Dotty?” He makes a tsking sound, tilting his head to the side and looking at me like he sees me for the first time.
I don’t say a thing, but keep staring at him.
“Ohh, come on!” His lips curl into a one-sided smile. However, there is nothing amusing about the way he looks at me. “We both know what I’m talking about, Dotty Dalm.”
I shudder at the use of the nickname. Being in Andrew’s company is always suffocating and so uncomfortable. The way he looks at you, with those dark, empty eyes … it makes me shiver and Goosebumps rise on my skin. Not in a nice way either.
“Can you …” I start, hoping to get the ball that’s nestled in his hands—so he’s the one that stopped the ball from taking the head off my shoulders—but Jeanette is faster.
She marches towards us, pulls the ball out of his hands and stands in front of him, toe to toe. Jeanette is only a few inches shorter than Andrew so they look each other in the eyes.
“What are you? A preschooler? Being rude to a girl you want attention from is like the oldest trick in the playbook, and it rarely works, just so you know.” Her voice is cold and irritated. If I didn’t know better, I would think she’s upset for me and is defending me, but that is so not Jeanette Sanders. She doesn’t get in the middle of anything. She just stands by, looking with her icy, disapproving eyes and occasionally throws some sarcastic comment in passing.
“A who do you think you are?”
The way he asks it, using those few extra inches and looking at her down his nose like he is someone famous and important and nobody can do or say anything against him, makes Jeanette even more pissed off. So much, I’m sure I can see smoke coming out of her ears. I’ve seen enough of her to know what’ll come after every muscle in her body stiffens and she flips her shoulder-length hair from her face.
“Someone sick of watching you act like the king of everything and everyone around here,” she pokes her manicured finger in the middle of his chest. Red polish on her nails matching her mood. “Because, newsflash, you are all but. Just another jackass who thinks he is the almighty gift to people around him. That he can do whatever he wants and there won’t be consequences because his daddy is a big face in the city that’s the size of the pond. But let me assure you, the world is a much bigger place and once you enter the ocean you’ll drown because small, freshwater fish will never be able to swim there.”
I’m standing there with my mouth hanging wide open. I’ve never seen somebody stand up to Andrew Hill. Not child, nor adult. The look on his face, his smug, half smile slowly dropping down until it becomes a tight, thin line, is priceless.
Something flashes in his eyes, but it all happens so quickly I’m wondering if I even see it or if it was simply a play of light. His eyes narrow in tight slits and his hands clench by his side.
I would lie if I said it’s not nice to hear him get a piece of his own medicine.
“And you …” she turns and points her finger at me. Thankfully, I don’t get it stabbed in my chest. “Why are you letting him stomp all over you? Grow a pair, Amelia.”
Seeing her like this makes me think, for the first time since I met her, that maybe she can feel like everybody else. Her cheeks are flushed and her tone is raised, because … maybe I’m wrong, but I really think she cares. She cares ... for me. Perhaps Max was right and somewhere deep down is hiding one big, soft teddy bear after all.
The bell rings, marking the end of class and everybody starts towards the locker room. I look over Jeanette’s shoulder and catch Andrew looking at us. When he finds me looking back he huffs, turns around on his heels, and stomps away from us.
“And just so that you know, I’ll need your address,” she adds over her shoulder.
The quick and unexpected subject change makes me frown. “Why? Are we like besties now?”
She stops mid-step, turns around and looks at me like I’ve grown another head. I want to laugh, but by the way she is looking at me, I’d be safer if I don’t. “I guess not.”
It’s good to know some things will never change. And maybe, just maybe, that’s not such a bad thing.
Amelia
“It really isn’t a problem for your parents that I’m here?” Brook questions from my bed, nipping at her lower lip nervously and adds: “Again?”
Turning around in my chair, I face her with a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. You know Mom and Dad love you. You can be here anytime.”
It’s true. My parents love Brook, but they worry about her too. That’s why they never opposed her staying at our house.
Through the years there were a lot of times she would come, sometimes late in the evening, and stay the night. But lately, it’s more often than not. I’m not sure what is happening in her house, but it can’t be good if she is here so much.
Brook hates asking for help, loathes it even, which speaks volumes by itself.
Her mom’s an alcoholic, that’s almost everything I know.
I never met the woman, just seen her a few time from the distance when we were younger. She was always loud and angry, yelling at Brook and calling her names. I even saw her slap Brook once so hard it left an angry, red print on her cheek, but she made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone, so I didn’t.
Even then I knew it wasn’t the best choice, but Brook convinced me that nothing would change even if we did tell somebody. It’ll only get her mom angrier and she’ll hurt Brook more, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt my best friend or let her end in the system. God only knows where would they take her.
So I did everything I could to help her and she became our adopted family member. I love her like the sister I never had. And in every way that matters, she is my sister.
“I’m just…”
“Brook,” I cut her off before she can finish.
Brook has this awful habit of overthinking everything. She’s accustomed of taking care of herself, of building walls around her heart to protect what’s left of that innocent girl she couldn’t be, that she doesn’t know how to accept people that want to help h
er. Love and gentleness are almost foreign concepts to her.
She’s been with my family and me for years now. I know she loves us. I know that deep down she knows she’s a part of our family, but living in two different worlds makes her doubt. When she spends time with my family, our family, she relaxes and you can see traces of a sparkle and light in her eyes. The skepticism and darkness that surround her are almost gone, and the weight lifts off her shoulders, but then she would have to go back to her mom for one reason or another and everything good would vanish like it didn’t exist in the first place.
Brook’s jade green eyes lift and meet mine across the room. “Not one more word.”
She smiles and nods her head before concentrating on her homework again.
It’s kind of like our routine. She comes and we have a snack my mom always has on standby, then we go to my room and as we’re both obsessed with schoolwork, we first finish any homework or assignments we have.
Brook usually lays down on the bed—the one that quickly changed from single to king because mostly two people are always sleeping in it—on her tummy, her legs swinging in the air as she does her own thing.
I can never understand how she does it. I need a desk and a chair to study, but not Brook. She lies on the bed, sits on the floor or most time, her favorite, sits on the window seat. It’s a good thing really, because the bedroom is so small there is no way we can put another desk in it.
The window seat takes up most part of the wall, looking at the front yard. There is barely enough space for one person to pass to get to the other side of the bed, and there is a small nightstand in between them. In front of the bed is built-in wardrobe, with two head-to-toe mirrors hanging on the doors. There is a small desk pressed against the other wall, with bookshelf standing against it, and another one, hanging off the wall above the desk.
Some would probably call it cramped, but for two of us, it’s our escape.
Our safe haven.
A few years ago, when Dad decided to paint it, we both agreed on a lavender color for the walls, and then Brook painted a design on the wall above the bed. It was of a tree in the night with a crescent moon, and instead of leaves and flowers, the branches were covered in stars. It was the first time Brook ever painted something for me, and it’s magical. I’ve always known she could paint and draw, but apart from our art teacher, nobody else ever saw her work finished.
Because it was something Brook did for me, it made it special, but knowing she didn’t do it for anybody else made it so precious I never wanted to part with it again.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Brook whines loudly, waking up Lola and breaking the long silence in which we were scrubbing down answers. “Are you finished yet?”
“Just a bit,” I murmur, trying to concentrate on the equation in my notebook that is making my head hurt.
Absentmindedly, I softly pet Lola’s silky head, soothing her and making her go back to her nap. Lola is my three-years-old Cavalier King Charles spaniel. She’s such a cutie, always looking to cuddle, play or sleep with someone.
“I’m going down and preparing everything for movies then.”
I hear the rustle of the sheets and paper as she gets up and collects her stuff to put it in her backpack. She opens the door and leaves them slightly ajar so that she can carry more stuff upstairs.
Rubbing my temples to try and ease the pressure behind them, I look once again through the equation and then I write down what I think is the right answer before giving up on it all together.
Just as I’m putting my things back in a drawer, I hear the doorbell ring. I’m contemplating if maybe I should get up and open the door, but I hear Brook call from somewhere, probably kitchen, “I’ll take it Mrs. C!” followed by hurried steps to the front of the house.
A loud noise wakes Lola up again and she jumps off of my lap and runs to see who came to visit us, barking excitedly.
Putting the last of my stuff away, I get up to go downstairs and help Brook when I hear her angry, but surprised shrike. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Max
Jeanette presses the bell and the sound echoes inside of the house. I switched nervously from one foot to another, rethinking again my decision to come to Lia’s house without her approval.
It’s a nice, two-story house in a decent part of the town. It isn’t something big and extravagant like our house, but it looks well maintained and homey. There is a swing on the front porch with a bunch of mismatched pillows and pots filled with different kind of flowers.
“What’s making you so jittery?” my sister asks me, not even bothering to look my way. In the last few years we lost some of our previous closeness, but the twin connection is still here, alive as ever.
“Nothing,” I lie, although I know she knows it. Anette just makes a vague sound, not acceptance nor denial, and keeps staring at the door.
A few seconds later there is shouting, the sound of footsteps getting closer, and a dog barking behind the closed door. Then they swing open and I have to lower my eyes—down, down, down—to look at the person standing behind them.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demands angrily, her eyes throwing daggers at me. Unable to contain my cocky smile, I let it spread and look as her jade green eyes narrow at me. They reminded me of forest—dark, wild, mysterious—everything that is Brook Taylor.
“Well, hello to you too, firecracker,” I say cheerily. “Nice to see you again.”
“Don’t you patronize me, Sanders,” Brook utters through her clenched teeth. “What are you both doing here? Lia didn’t say anything about you coming.”
“That’s because she didn’t know we’ll be here,” Anette point the obvious and rolls her eyes at Brook. “Now move your butt and let us in.”
She shoves her away gently and enters in the foyer just as a small, furry ball comes racing to the door, barking loudly. Following my sister’s suit, I do the same—my much bigger body brushing against Brooks in passing—firmly closing the door behind me so that the small beast doesn’t get out. I have a feeling that won’t make Lia or Brook happy.
The beast keeps barking and jumping around us, looking for attention. His big, loopy ears hopping around his head with even the slightest of movements.
It’s one of those small, cute dog species, with an adorable face, long ears, and soft, colorful fur. Girly dog. That’s what I call them. The ones girls tend to put in the bag and carry around like an accessory. Tiny and cute and no real guy would be caught dead walking that thing around. At least she doesn’t have that rat dog.
Anette always wanted to have a dog, but Mom would rather die than allow a dog inside of our house. Longing flashes on her face, and she is pulled to squat down and caress little beast almost as much as he wanted her attention, but she stays up, looking straight ahead and ignoring beast’s not so silent pleas.
“Max ... Jeanette ...What are you two doing here?”
Lifting my eyes I find Lia standing in the middle of the stairs, her hand strongly gripping the railing. She’s wearing black leggings and pink hoodie with ‘My weekend is all booked’ written on the front. Her hair is falling in messy waves around her, and if I didn’t know better, I would say she just got out of bed where she had heated make out session with a guy. She’s a picture of genuine sexiness, and the best part of it? She doesn’t even know it.
Lia’s surprised to see us, and I can’t blame her. I should have really said something before today, but she was kind of avoiding me since the first day. A normal person would let her be, but I am not a regular guy and Lia is anything but just a girl.
She’s genuinely good and pure and there is something about her that pulls me in, makes me crack stupid jokes just to see her eyes lighten and smile spread on her face. Something about that girl makes me want to be better, want to be worthy. Lia makes me want to protect her, shield her from all the bad things in life. Something I didn’t want to do since ...
No, I’m not going there.
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“Hey there, Freckles!” I catch her wince at the nickname and remind myself not to use it. “We came to snatch you to party with us.”
“What party?”
“Andrew Hill’s party.” Brook looks at her friend over her shoulder. “Who else?”
Amelia bites nervously inside of her cheek. “I don’t think that’s…”
I know what she’s going to say so I interrupt her before she even finishes. “Come on, Lia. You should come with us,” looking at Brook I add, “both of you. It’s not like we know anybody around here.”
This is a low play, even for me. But if she wouldn’t accept a nice invitation, I wasn’t beneath begging and guilting her into coming.
I shove Jeanette lightly in the gut, hoping she’ll get my cue and say something that’ll pressure them into going with us. But my sister shoves me back, without a trace of consideration, and frowns at me.
“We already have plans.” Brook turns her back to us and going down the hall she dismisses us completely.
“We really do have…” Amelia starts defending her friend but stops when she hears woman’s voice shout over TV in a living room.
“Brook, honey, who’s at the door?”
“No one important, Mrs. C. Just some kids from school.”
There is rustling in the living room, and I can hear Amelia sigh in defeat as she lowers the last few steps, squats down, and picks up the Beast as he jumps into her waiting hands. The dog cuddles into her embrace and places his head right under her hand for Lia to pat it.
“You two made new friends?” Excitement and surprise in Mrs. C’s voice are crystal clear.
A small woman comes to stand at the door of the living room. She’s dressed casually in sweats and shirt. Her blond hair is pulled into a ponytail, and her face clean of makeup only makes her big brown eyes—Amelia’s eyes—stand out even more.