A Whisper To A Scream

by S. B. Addison Books

  I fold my arms across my chest and put all of my weight on my right side. “I guess you’re going to have to talk to me now.”

  Wren brushes past me and frantically scans the yard. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Stop acting like a child.” I tug on her arm. “Do you want me to beg? I will. I’ll get down on my knees if that will make you believe that I’m sorry.” Wren warily glances around the neighborhood as I sink down. She clutches my arm when I’m mid-crouch and lets out a long-winded sigh. “Get up. You’re forgiven. Now help me find my keys.”

  ****

  Seconds pass. Then minutes. An hour later and we’re in the middle of Wren’s front yard, up to our knees in red, yellow, and brown leaves. We still haven’t found her keys. Wren slams her hands down at her side and whines, “Why did you have to knock them out of my hands?”

  I dig through the pile of leaves I’m in like a dog. Leaves fly and it’s snowing brown, orange, and yellow. “It was the only thing I could do to get your attention.”

  Wren flops down in her pile and dead leaves crunch underneath her weight. “How am I going to get inside? My parents won’t be home for another hour and a half.”

  Usually Wren is the positive one. I try being positive for a change. “Don’t just give up. They have to be out here somewhere.”

  “We’ve been looking for over an hour.”

  “Just stop whining and keep digging,” I tell her.

  I focus on my pile and scoop and armful of fallen leaves. I inhale the musty scent of damp dirt and decayed life and toss them aside. Wren isn’t even moving. She’s still pouting. “Come on,” I urge her as I fill my arms again. “If you stay here and pout all day, we’ll never find them.”

  Wren mumbles a string of incoherent words, picks up a leaf or two, and moves them. As I focus on my pile, glistening metal shimmers in the sunlight. I hit my knees and brush away the remaining leaves as a relieved laugh exits my throat. I sit back and sigh. Wren picks her head up and stares at me, intensely. “Did you find them?”

  I lift the keys up and jingle them while Wren clasps her hands and rushes over to me. “I told you we’d find them.” She snatches the keys from me and books to the front door.

  Up in Wrens room, she flips the light on and I’m blinded by hot-pink as I sprawl across the hardwood floor. Hot-pink is her favorite color and personally, I think it makes her room way too bright. Her space also reminds me of a room that might have come out of Barbie’s Dream house.

  I stretch out felling relaxed as my joints loosen up. “So,” I ask. “Where were you at lunch today?”

  “In the bathroom.” A hint of rosiness appears on her cheeks. “Look, Ells, I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I overreacted. I should have heard you out. I shouldn’t have ignored you.”

  “Don’t apologize. I should have told you everything from the beginning.”

  “Did you stay in the cafeteria?”

  “Yes.”

  “By yourself?” Her voice goes up a level.

  “No. Adam sat with me.”

  Wren’s face lights up, excitedly. “No,” she gasps and I nod. “I bet Katie was seething.”

  I scoff and roll my eyes. “You have no idea.”

  Wren scoots closer to me. “Well, what else did you talk about?” she presses, trying to get me to divulge all of the juicy details of my lunch date.

  “We talked about my feud with Katie. Our kiss at the mall. Us in general.” I look at her earnestly. “Wren?”

  She has a soft, loving look on her face. “Yeah, Ells.”

  “I think I like him.”

  Wren smiles, bashfully. “What’s not to like?”

  “No.” I try to find the right words, but I can’t come up with them. “I think I really, really like him.”

  “You think?”

  I’m flustered. Just thinking about Adam makes me a mess inside. “I mean I do like him, but it’s more than like.”

  “You’re not trying to tell me you love him, are you? You barely know him.”

  “No, Wren.” I blush and look down at my hands. “I’m not there yet, but I’m close. I’ve never felt like this about a boy before.” I’m so close to saying the four letter word that it frightens me. Every time I’m around Adam, I slowly begin to feel myself unravel, like an apple when the skin is being peeled away with a paring knife. The parts of me that I’ve tried to keep hidden, like sunken treasure anchored to the depths of the ocean floor, float to the surface. “He makes feel different. He makes me feel like I’m only person in the world that matters to him.”

  Wren drops me off at home sometime later and Mom is already waiting for me in the doorway, shaking her head, disappointed. “Why must you do this to me repeatedly, Ellory? I don’t know how many times I have to explain myself to get my point across. You cannot just go somewhere and not tell me where you’re going. I swear, one of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

  “Mom, I’m sorry,” I say apologetically. “Wren and I had a fight. I had to talk to her. I had to make things right.”

  She pulls me though the door and kisses the top of my head. “Next time leave a message or a note. Just let me know.”

  I close the door. “Okay. I will.”

  In the kitchen, I toss my book bag on the table and Mom walks behind the island. She picks up a crème envelope and slides it toward me. “This came for you today.”

  “Who’s it from?” I pick you the envelope and stare and the pretty handwriting.

  “I don’t know,” she says as I flip it over. “There’s no return address.”

  “That’s weird.” Who could be reaching out to me? My birthday is months away and I know it’s not an early Christmas Card because my family always puts a return address. I gawk at my name again and the way the calligraphy looks. The ‘Y’ in Ellory has a curly q on the end. This has to be from a girl, right? I don’t know any boys who have handwriting this perfect.

  I flip the envelope back over and go to tear into it. When there’s knock at the door. Mom exits the kitchen to answer it and I rip a piece of the envelope away. Mom returns a second later. “There someone at the door for you.”

  “Who?”

  “Some boy.”

  Not just some boy. I know it’s Adam.

  I shove the envelope in one of the kitchen junk drawers and shuffle to the door. Adam beams at me from the other side of the glass and I’m a puddle. All of my insides are mush. “Hhey,” I force out as I open the door.

  “I missed you,” he tells me. “I had to come see you.”

  My cheeks tingle and I kick the door nervously. Mom is lingering behind us and she clears her throat. I snap to attention. “Oh. Adam, this is my Mom.”

  Mom steps forward as Adam extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Graham.”

  Mom chuckles, takes his hand and shakes it. “Please call me, Lisa. Mrs. Graham makes me feel old.”

  Adam pulls back and I take a good look at the redness in Mom’s cheeks. Even Mom thinks he’s beautiful. She tucks her hair behind her ear, nervously. “I’ll just give you kids some privacy.”

  “Do you wanna take a walk with me?”

  Mom is half-way to the kitchen. “Mom. I’m going for a walk with Adam, is that okay?”

  “Sure sweetie.” She waves me off and I walk out the front door.

  As soon as I’m off my porch Adam embraces me. He kisses my cheeks, my hair, and my lips. He kisses my soul. I rest my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. I can’t hear it. I squeeze him tighter and a faint rhythmic thumping vibrates in my ears. I don’t intend on collapsing in his arms, but I do. His fingertips glide across my cheek and even they’re frigid from the cool fall air, I feel steam rising from every open pore on my body.

  I’m safe in Adam’s arms—protected. Not that I need his protection. One thing I’ve always prided about myself is my ability to fight my own battles.

  Before Adam, I swore that I would never be one of those girls. The type of gir
l who sacrifices her own self-worth for the sake of her significant other. A girl who loses sight of herself, kicks individuality to the curb, and morphs herself into whatever he wants. Before she realizes it, she a weaker, diluted version of herself.

  I am not weak.

  Even though Adam makes me feel things I’ve never felt before, I tell myself I will never be that kind of girl.

  Adam slides to the right, but keeps one arm wrapped around me. We walk for what seems like miles and soon my house looks like a tiny pebble surrounded by a field of green. “Where are we going?” I ask looking up at him.

  “I want to show you something.”

  As we continue walking, a small cottage comes into view. A small cottage that is an exact replica of Adam’s house. There are even two circular columns similar to the ones that stretch across the veranda. “What is this?” It reminds me of a life-sized dollhouse my father built for me when I was a child. I liked to pretend that I really lived in it. Sometimes, my parents would even let me camp out in it.

  “I’m sure you know this, but my house was built a long time ago. The Milton’s used to have a caretaker. This was where they lived. I use it as an art studio, now. But I was thinking this could be somewhere special for us. A place where we could meet and spend time together.”

  “I like that idea.”

  “Me too,” he says, his lips against my ear. “Which is why I thought of it.”

  I laugh and punch him playfully. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

  But he’s not just smart. He’s romantic, loyal, and beautiful. Most importantly, he likes me for me. He doesn’t care that I cuss like a trucker. He doesn’t care that I hate dressing up. Or that I don’t look like someone who stepped off the cover of some fashion magazine. Adam would never want me to be something I’m not for his sake. Now I know without a doubt that I love him because of that.

  Chapter 16: Relative Strangers

  Sometimes Adam wondered if he was cursed. Part of him hoped that maybe, just maybe he’d inherited his urges from someone in his family.

  He eyed his mother as she folded a basket of laundry. He’d known for years that he wasn’t anything like her. She was far too emotional. So emotional that a lot of times, she got on his nerves. She was always crying. Crying if he did something right. Crying if he did something wrong. And Adam could see as clearly as the bottom of an untouched swimming pool that she wasn’t empty inside. It showed through her eyes. His mother wasn’t not acting. She felt the consequences for her actions.

  When he wanted to be nostalgic, he’d go in his parents’ closet and sort through boxes of old photographs. He’d try to tie himself to the people in the photos. Maybe he took after his great grandfather on his father’s side because according to Adam’s comparison they both had a similar smile and stance. But Adam wasn’t certain and that perplexed him.

  One day, he’d been fishing through photos and he pulled out a picture of his father with another woman. He’d never saw this particular photo before and he’d sorted through the box at least a dozen times.

  The photo was yellowed with age and kind of blurry, but Adam was intrigued by it. His father was young, maybe only a few years older than Adam was and he had his arm wrapped around the woman’s shoulder and his mouth pressed to her thick reddish-brown hair.

  Who was this woman? An old girlfriend, maybe? A relative?

  Curious, Adam took the photo to his mother. “Mom?”

  His mother was washing the dishes. She turned to him with a plate in her hand. “Yes, honey. Do you need something?”

  He held out the picture. “Do you know this woman?”

  Her eye’s widened and she the plate she was holding fell from her hands, shattering in little pieces all over the hardwood floor. “Where did you find that?

  “In the box of pictures. Who is it?”

  She snatched the photo from his hands and crumbled it up in her palm. “Just one of your father’s old girlfriends.” She kissed Adam’s forehead with a smile and changed the subject. “Don’t you have homework?”

  Anytime he asked his Mom any questions about the past her answers were vague. “You shouldn’t keep living in the past, Adam. You should be thinking about your future.” When Adam thought about his future, the years ahead of him always looked grim. Most of the time he pictured cement floors metal bars, a cot, and urinal.

  There were times where he’d thought about asking his father, but he was rarely ever home. Adam came to the conclusion that his parents were keeping something from him. But what? Without names or any solid answers from his parents he had nothing to go off of.

  Frustrated, he fell back on his bed and sighed. Maybe his mother knew best. Perhaps it was best for Adam to let the past stay in the past.

  Chapter 17: New Faces

  I walk into first period English, and my eyes wander to Ms. Winkle’s desk. A woman with cat-like green eyes and heart-shaped face sits there in place of the old hag who staggers down the hall, with a fierce look in her eye and a scowl on her face.

  Ms. Winkle never misses a day of school. Part of me thinks that she doesn’t take any days off on purpose as another way of torturing the students. Another part of me thinks that maybe she finally bit the dust.

  Wren flops down behind me and leans forward, her lips against my ear. “Where’s Ms. Winkle?” she asks, puzzled.

  “Beats me,” I reply, whispering.

  Wren’s desk creaks as she sits back. Adam strolls in and I bite my bottom lip, smiling. As soon as he takes his seat the bell rings and the new teacher’s head snaps up. I look at her, curiously as her attention averts in Adam’s direction. She stares at him, lost in a daze. She focuses hard, and tilts her head to the side, wearing a melancholy expression. Adam isn’t looking at her, he’s looking at me, but I’m caught in between both of them shifting my eyes from her to Adam.

  The bell rings and the new teacher snaps out of her trance-like state, rising slowly from her seat. I squint. She looks eerily familiar. I know I’ve seen her somewhere before. I just can’t remember where.

  A robotic smile curls on her lips. Like someone is behind her face pressing controls that command her on what she’s supposed to be doing. “Good morning, students,” she greets us in a monotone voice. “I’m Miss Miller. I’ll be taking over for Ms. Winkle while she recovers.”

  I hear Katie in the back of the room. “What happened to her?”

  Miss Miller purses her lips, giving Katie a cold, calculating stare-down. “She just had a little accident. That’s all.” I slink down in my desk. This new teacher is odd. And scary. There’s something about the vacant look in her eye that tells me she’s ten times more deadly than Miss Winkle would ever be. She claps her hands together. “Let’s get started,” she says, turning to write Miss Miller on the chalkboard.

  At the end of first period I observe Miss Miller as she watches Adam. He slides his arm across my shoulder and I’m looking over my shoulder at Mrs. Miller whose eyes are pinned to his back.

  Half-way down the hall, I look up at him. “Do you know the new teacher?”

  “No. Why?”

  “She was staring at you, a lot.”

  Adam chuckles. “I have that effect on people.”

  I slap his abs with the back of my hand, playfully. “Listen to you. Cocky much?”

  He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “It only matters to me if I have an effect on you though.”

  I shake my head. “You do.” I grip his fingers and squeeze. “You always will.”

  ****

  The rest of the day doesn’t consist of much. In Journalism we studied the structure of magazine articles. Well, the rest of the class studied the structure in magazine articles while I slept. Lunch was awkward. Adam sat with me, Wren, and Molly. I could tell they felt a little childish and didn’t know how to act around him. Molly in particular didn’t know how to act and giggled at everything he said, a swell of redness forming around her smatter of freckles.

  After
the last period of the day, I rush through the parking-lot taking long strides. Adam is perched against his car, wearing his leather jacket and sunglasses. The red fleshy organ in my chest cavity races. My stomach does a backflip. My fingers are itching for him. Inches away from the passenger side, Adam scoops me up and gives my lips a gentle caress. He sets me down and opens my door for me. I love how most of the time he’s a gentleman. Not many gentlemen exist anymore.

  I think of a story my grandfather told me about the first time he saw my grandma. He’d just returned from serving in WWII and was with a few of his friends at a summer tourist spot by Lake Erie. He was riding in the back of a convertible and he saw my grandma walking down the sidewalk with one of her girlfriends. As the car rolled by her, she met his gaze, smiling. Then my grandfather did the unthinkable. He jumped out of the car. He jumped out of a moving vehicle just so he could talk to her. I smile to myself. Maybe I get my reckless behavior from him.

  My eyes center on Adam as he turns the key in the ignition. Would he do that for me? Absolutely. I am sure of it.

  The first half of the quiet ride home consists of stolen glances, whimsical smiles, and the feel of my heart hammering against my rib-cage. The second half Adam speaks up, first. “So you going to the football game Friday?”

  Ah, football again. “Are you?”

  “I have to.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot you play.” A smile inches across my lips. “I never really pegged you as the jock type.” I’m usually good at analyzing guy types. Adam seems too scholarly.

  “So now you have to be a specific type to play sports?” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “No. You just seem too articulate. That’s all.”

  “I’ve played football since I could walk,” he jokes.