by Celeste, B.
“Why?” My nose scrunches. “Is she afraid weird guys are waiting outside restaurants for their unsuspecting victims?”
“Har har.”
I grin down at the cracked pavement of the sidewalk the town keeps saying they’ll redo.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, kicking a pebble with the tip of my knock off Converse. “Like I said, I don’t live too far from here. Plus, it’s mostly lit the whole way.”
“Mostly,” he repeats. “I’ve already made it my civic duty to walk with you. Unless you want to walk across the street and let me get my car. I won’t even kidnap you.”
Rolling my eyes, I glance over at him. “I appreciate that, but it’s okay.”
“What if I offered you candy?”
“Do you drive a white van too?”
He snorts. “White Jeep, actually.”
Now I’m laughing. “My brother once told me I’d get easily kidnapped if someone offered me free pizza. Sad thing is, he’s probably not wrong.”
“Does that mean you want the ride?”
“Jeeps do have windows…” I shake my head and keep walking, a smile on my face. “But, like I said, I prefer walking.”
“Is your brother older or younger?”
“Older.”
“Is he your only sibling?”
I nod.
“What’s his name?”
“Gavin.”
We walk for a few seconds in silence.
Then he breaks it with, “This is the part where you ask me if I have any siblings. The answer is no by the way. I do have a cat named Fred though. He likes to steal the strings from all my hoodies and hoard them under my bed.”
My eyes go to his hoodie before I giggle and meet his eyes. “You have a cat named Fred?”
He pulls out his phone and opens his photo gallery before showing me an array of adorable pictures featuring a chubby yellow tiger cat. One of them even shows a pile of strings next to him like they’re his most prized possessions.
“He was supposed to be mine,” he explains, shrugging. “My mom took a liking to him and they get along better. He just uses me for my hoodies.”
I’ve always wanted a cat. When I was six, I smuggled a stray one into my room using my backpack. It didn’t take long for Mom to figure it out because the cat was making weird noises and smelled bad. It was friendly enough with the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen. Mom fell into a bad allergy attack when she found it and told my Dad to take it to the local shelter.
“We have a dog named Buddy. He’s a chocolate lab and one of the sweetest animals. I know he prefers Gavin to me. He sleeps in his bed all the time even though we’re not supposed to have animals in them. Mom gave up that fight a long time ago.”
We get further down Main Street until some of the other smaller businesses like the art gallery light up the street. People mill about and laugh at something before breaking apart and going their separate ways for the night.
“I’ve always wanted a cat,” I admit, even though at least a minute has passed since the conversation lulled into silence.
“Why haven’t you gotten one?”
“My mom is allergic.”
He hums out a reply.
Another minute passes before he says, “I guess you could get your cat fix from Fred sometime. He loves the attention.”
I slow down, stumbling when my shoe catches on uneven pavement. Corbin grabs my arm to steady me, not letting go until I’m on stable feet again.
“You want me to come to your house?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Nobody invites me to their homes…
“I’d have to ask my parents,” I murmur, keeping my gaze locked on the weeds breaking through some of the cracks on the ground.
“Okay.” Another pause. “How much further? I’m not trying to get rid of you or anything, but chances are I’ll wander in the wrong direction if you don’t tell me where to go.”
For some reason, that amuses me. “I’m on Alden. Across the street from the cemetery.”
“Creepy.”
“Not really.”
“You ever see Stephen King movies?”
“Don’t you mean read Stephen King?”
“That too.”
“No to both.”
He stops walking. “You’ve never read or watched anything Stephen King related? IT? Carrie? Pet Semetary?”
When I keep shaking my head, he weaves his hands through his hair until it sticks up in random directions. Clearly he’s a King fan, which doesn’t surprise me. Gavin read a couple of his books once upon a time and watches almost all his movies.
“That needs to be remedied.”
I blink. “It does?”
“Are you scared of horror flicks?”
“I don’t know. No?”
“You’ve never seen a horror movie?”
I shrug.
“What about clowns?”
I’m completely lost. “What about them?”
He cusses under his breath. “We’ll start with Carrie. It’s a classic and not that messed up compared to his other work.”
“I didn’t agree to watch anything,” I remind him, hugging my arms close to my body to warm myself from the cooling wind.
He nods his head toward my street. “Let’s go before you freeze to death. You need to watch at least one Stephen King movie before you die.”
“Thanks for being a concerned citizen.”
His teeth flash with his grin this time.
When we get to my house, he examines the flowerbeds planted in tractor tires on the front lawn, and the decorative windmill between them. Dad made sure everyone who passed the house could see it since the town voted against real windmills being put anywhere in the town limits.
The house is bright red and two stories. There’s a tiny basement that offers little standing room, and an attic that nobody has ever been in before. Dad has been renovating the whole thing for years, starting a new project every summer on the outside, and little projects indoors during the wintertime.
“Cute place,” he compliments.
“It’s home.”
He nudges the ground. “How about tomorrow afternoon?”
I stare at him in confusion.
“For the movies?”
“Now we’re watching more than one?”
“Is that a yes?”
I sigh heavily. There’s no way Dad will let me go to a boy’s house to watch movies, especially a stranger. “I have to ask, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. They let my brother do just about anything when he was my age, but that doesn’t extend to me.”
He playfully pushes my shoulder. “What if I pick you up and put on my charm?”
“I don’t think flirting with my dad will help your case any,” I deadpan. Then I think about it. “Actually, if he thinks you’re gay then you might have a better chance of getting me to come along.”
He full on laughs. “Just ask and let me know. I own all King’s movies, they’re some of my favorites.”
“You have others?”
“I’m a movie guy,” he states simply.
“Movies can be … good.” I cringe at how lame that comes out, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Agreed. So, get them to let you come. I’ll even have snacks ready. What’s your poison? You mentioned pizza. What else?”
He wants to get us pizza? “Uh…”
“It’s not a hard question, Little Bird,” he muses, sucking in his bottom lip. Even in the dark, his eyes flash a bright color. “What is your favorite food to snack on? Chocolate? Chips? Sour? Swee—”
“Twizzlers,” I blurt. “I like Twizzlers.”
“Red not black right?”
My nose scrunches at the thought of eating black licorice. Dad loves the stuff. Every time he sees black jellybeans in the store, he gets a bag and snacks on them while watching reruns of crime shows at night.
“Definitely red.”
His hand goes to his chest. “A girl after m
y own heart. We’re going to be very good friends, Kinley Thomas.”
My lips part, because I never offered that information during our impromptu school tour the other day. “How do you know my name?”
“Simple,” he states, backing away. “I asked about you.”
Cringing is the best I can do. I can only imagine what people say. He’s a senior to my sophomore—two years older. I’m the quiet girl who doesn’t offer any answers in class unless I’m forced to talk. At lunch, I tend to sit by myself long enough to eat before going to the gym with a book to read. After school, I go right home instead of participating in any extracurriculars.
I’m not popular.
I don’t have many friends.
I’m just … boring.
“Until tomorrow, Little Bird.”
“Don’t call me that!” I yell after him.
I’m left with his laughter in the night.
The conversation I dreaded having with my parents about going to Corbin’s house today was anxiety wasted when Corbin showed up at noon and introduced himself to my mother. Dad was out helping Gavin do field work on the farm he’s worked on since he graduated, so it made the panic subside. Mom scolded me for not telling her about my plans before asking Corbin about his family’s move and what his parents do.
Thankfully, that was all she asked before sending me out the door. If Dad were home, there’d be threats of cleaning shotguns on the front porch while he waited for me to come home. Except we don’t own any guns, and our front porch is enclosed, so the fear factor isn’t really there like Dad wants.
The short drive to Corbin’s house is spent in silence because I don’t know what to say. His Jeep smells like the pizza from the gas station down the street, which makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loud. When he parks in the driveway of a pale yellow house, he gets out and grabs a pizza box and a bag full of junk food from the backseat.
I stand beside him, examining the green shrubs lining the sidewalk and the red mailbox next to them. There’s a little white fence in the corner where one of the side streets meets Main, and a cute little tree is planted behind it.
“Ready?” Corbin asks, drawing my attention back to him.
“Need help carrying anything?”
He shakes his head and nods toward the door. There are cement steps and black metal railings leading to it, with a brown welcome mat that has little paw print designs all over. I smile as I step over it and into the house, letting Corbin close the door behind us.
The floorplan isn’t as open as my house. To my left is staircase that probably leads to all the bedrooms. The hallway in front of us is narrow, but I can see a beige couch and an end table peeking out from around the corner. There’s a door on my right that’s probably a closet or a bathroom, and I’m sure the kitchen is near the living room. My eyes catch a few different circular patches of wall coloring that looks fresh, and I wonder if they’re also renovating.
Corbin heads toward the stairs though. “I could give you a tour if you want, but there’s not much to see. I’ll show you where the bathroom is up here in case you need to use it, but I have the TV in my room set up and ready for the movies.”
“Movie,” I correct.
He winks. “If you say so.”
I nibble my lip and watch him slowly ascend another step. “Won’t your parents think it’s rude that I don’t introduce myself?”
“They’re not home.”
My eyes widen. Mom probably thinks someone is here with us or she would have made a fuss. I know Dad wouldn’t be happy finding out that I was alone with a boy.
“Kinley?”
I snap out of it, my cheeks blossoming with heat. “Sorry. I just didn’t think we were going to be alone.”
His lips twitch like he wants to smile, but he refrains. “We can watch the movies in the living room if you want. I’m not planning on doing anything to make you uncomfortable.”
I know I’m being stupid. Or overcautious, at the very least. Most girls wouldn’t bat an eye at hanging out with Corbin alone in his room. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’d be jealous if they knew I was doing it. I see how most of them watch him and flirt. He’s barely been here a month and he’s everyone’s new favorite thing.
“No, it’s fine.” I give him a forced smile to back up my words, but I don’t know if it looks convincing. I follow him upstairs and glance at the door that Corbin mentions is the bathroom. At the end of a short hall is his room, where a yellow cat is sprawled across his blue comforter.
“This is Fred, right?”
The cat instantly jumps up and rubs against Corbin as he places the pizza and junk food down on the desk next to his bed. I can hear the rumbling purrs from where I stand by the door, smiling as Corbin picks up the cat and brings him over to me.
“Hi, pretty boy.” I get a squeaky meow in response, which makes me giggle. Corbin deposits the furry feline in my arms as he grabs the remote and some plates from his desk and sits on the edge of his mattress.
“You can come further in the room, you know. It’ll be hard to watch the movie from over there.” He gives me an amused smirk as I hesitantly walk over to where he sits and take the seat next to him. Fred climbs off me and nudges Corbin’s arm for attention.
Once the movie starts playing, he passes me a plate and then moves Fred to the floor. The cat stretches and watches us as Corbin opens the pizza box and takes out a slice for each of us.
He sits with his back against the wall, biting into his pizza while I stay planted where I am on the edge of the mattress. I pick at the cheese and watch the screen go through its usual copyright warning, trying to distract myself from the boy who is almost definitely staring at me right now.
“Kinley?”
“Hmm?”
“You going to get comfortable?”
“I am.”
He snickers and pauses the movie. “Look at me for a sec.”
I count to three, then look over my shoulder at his smiling face. His plate of pizza is perched on the leg stretched out straight in front of him, while his other is bent at the knee with his arm resting over it. “I don’t bite.”
Swallowing, I smile back. “I didn’t think you did.”
He eyes me. “Why are you sitting there like that then? Hell, you’re making me uncomfortable.”
Staring down at my food, I murmur out a soft apology. I’m not used to this. I’ve hung out with people before, but usually girls. Unless Gavin had his friends over, which was rare, my time around the opposite sex who isn’t related to me is limited.
He pats the spot next to him. “I promise to keep my hands to myself. Can’t make that promise about Fred though. He’s all paws. I mean, have you seen them? They’re disproportional to his body.”
From the ground, I hear another meow like he’s talking back to Corbin. It makes a genuine smile spread across my face. Taking a deep breath, I slide backwards until my back is pressed against his light blue wall.
I let my eyes go around the room, taking in the shelves lining the opposite wall that have random knick-knacks on them like baseballs, picture frames, books, and movies. Under one of the hanging shelves is a big dresser, with some of the drawers partially open and clothes hanging out—more t-shirts knowing him. The curtains on the only window off to the side are black, and the blinds are down but open so sunlight pours in.
“Are the books by Stephen King?”
“Yep.”
“Do you like to read?”
“Just him,” he admits.
I nod absentmindedly, studying a picture of him with two older versions of him in one of the black frames on the shelf. They’re obviously his parents. I can’t tell from here who he gets his eyes from, but his dark hair is from his father. I’m sure at closer inspection I’d get to see where his other features originated too. I’m a clone of my mother, and Gavin is a clone of my father. We both have the same dark brown eye color from Mom though. Dad’s eyes are blue, which I always envied. Mom thought it w
ould have been cool to see me get his eye color with her dark brown, almost black, hair—sort of like her father had based on the pictures I’d seen in our old photo albums.
“You good?” he asks, holding up the remote and pressing play again.
I wiggle until I’m settled, my eyes going back to his TV. It’s slightly smaller than the one we have at our house, but not by much. “Which one are we starting with?”
“Carrie.”
I nod and dig into my pizza.
For the duration of the movie, we’re in comfortable silence. I’m surprised by how much I like the movie, considering I’ve never thought I’d like anything Stephen King related. It’s creepy but not too dark, though the electrocution thing was a bit much. Not that some of those kids didn’t deserve it.
We eat three-fourths of the pizza before Corbin digs into the junk food. By the end of the movie, we’re sharing a pack of red Twizzlers, which we also use as straws for our soda. Gavin taught me how to do it when we were younger, so I showed Corbin our trick which he seemed intrigued with as we downed our Mountain Dew.
When the movie ends, Corbin turns to me with waiting eyes. “Well? What did you think? I know you liked it, but I want you to tell me.”
I roll my eyes. “How could you possibly know I liked it?”
He takes another Twizzler. “You’d lean in when it got good, like you couldn’t look anywhere else. Did you even notice when Fred came over to get attention from you? Poor guy looked all rejected when you ignored him.”
Guilt over my new favorite feline eats at my heart as I search the room for him. “I didn’t mean to ignore him. I just wanted to know what happened, especially when they were at the pig pen. Like … who does that? Pig’s blood?”
“Do you prefer horse? Sheep? Human?”
My nose scrunches. “Gross.”
Corbin moves off the bed and switches the movies before closing the pizza box and gesturing toward the junk food bag in silent inquiry. When I shake my head, he settles back into his spot, resting one ankle over the other.
“I want to do a Stephen King movie,” he tells me, shifting his body in my direction.
“Like a play?” There’s no way our school would let something like that run. Even if it’d be in higher demand than another rendition of an already famous musical done by thousands of other schools nationwide.