by Shayla Hyde
SUNNY EVE
SHAYLA HYDE
“Sunny Eve”
Copyright © 2019 by Shayla Hyde.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Edition: February 2019.
ISBN: 9781796406177
Cover design by Rebecacovers.
Title page art by Mariss Reyes.
Edited by Kerrie Irish.
CHAPTER ONE:
It was seventy degrees in Portland as my father pulled the last of our belongings from the trailer of his semi-truck. He was glowing like he'd just won the lottery, but the fake smiles I had been wearing all day were beginning to shrivel. I knew how much this move meant to him and to his career, but I was never one for big cities. Unfortunately for me, Portland happens to be the largest city in the state of Oregon.
I would miss the peaceful Langley, Washington. Since birth, I’d lived in that sleepy little everybody-knows-everybody town. Our cozy cottage, tucked away behind miles of winding back-roads and
wilderness was the only place I’d ever called “home”. That was about to change, but this was for Dad. He'd spent the last seventeen years of my life supporting me, and for the most part, raising me on his own. Who was I to stop him from doing something that would make him happy?
"This is the last of it, Evelyn!" my father chirped.
He had a substantial childlike grin on his face that reached his restless eyes. He would have made the four-and-a-half-hour drive here without so much as a restroom break if I hadn't pestered him to stop for a snack and a pee. He was acquainted with the long drives, though, as he's been a truck driver on-and-off for seven years now. I am the reason for the "offs." I was young when he first started his career, and he hated leaving me with a sitter for two to three weeks at a time while he was working.
He would quit his job for that reason, but as soon as we would start hurting for money again, the process would restart. Even when I became a teenager, I tried to convince him I would be fine if he left me home alone, but he wouldn't allow it. Alas, I was fifteen with a babysitter, and I absolutely hated it. Now that I was a junior in high school and only one birthday away from legal adulthood, I was finally able to convince him I could take care of myself while he’s on the road. So, here we were in a larger city with more job opportunities for truck drivers. Dad liked to think of it as his new beginning.
With the help of a local moving company, we were moved into the new house in less than two hours. I carried the smaller stuff while Dad and three other burly men hauled the heavier furniture inside. I kept to myself for the most part, and I didn’t mention how upsetting it was for me to see all our old furniture lounging in this different, unknown place.
Before sunset, I'd already settled in and unpacked most of my things into my new bedroom. My bedroom was on the left side of a short hallway, while Dad's was on the right. Our rooms looked the same; mostly empty besides our beds and nightstands, sandy wallpaper on the walls, floors made of timber, and lofty white ceilings. Nothing special, but not too simple.
When the day was done, I collapsed on my bed. I ran my fingers through my frazzled hair and let out a dramatic sigh.
"Eve! Come to the kitchen please," my father shouted suddenly, making me flinch.
I didn't budge for a few seconds but eventually got up and did as he said. As soon as I stepped out into the hallway, the savory smell of food smacked me in the face, making my mouth water almost instantly. It wasn't until then that I realized how hungry I was.
"What are you making?" I called out as I rounded the corner into the kitchen.
He was standing in front of the stove with a spatula in one of his hands and taco seasoning in the other.
"Tacos," he said, "I thought that might cheer you up if nothing else."
"I'm fine, Dad," I quickly insisted, folding my arms over my chest.
He grinned over his shoulder at me, "Whatever you say." I rolled my eyes and pulled a chair from the kitchen table.
"So, what're the plans for tomorrow?" Dad asked, still facing the stove.
"What do you mean?" I inquired. I sat down, curiously gazing at the back of his head.
"Don't you wanna explore a little? You might like it here more than you think," he glanced back at me with a solemn expression.
"Maybe," I shrugged, "but how will I get there?"
"Your bicycle," he chuckled and turned back to the stove, "my car won't be here for a couple more days."
“I wish you would’ve just let me follow you in the car,” I sighed softly, “will it be here before I start school?”
He shrugged, still facing away from me. "Maybe?" "Oh, great," I huffed, rubbing my tired eyes.
“It’s just that you haven’t driven that far on your own yet,” he explained, “I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed. You saw the traffic today.”
“But still,” I complained. “I hope it gets here before Monday.” “If it doesn’t, I could always take you in my truck,” he said, shooting me another toothy grin.
"No, thanks, " I chuckled, "I don't want to draw any attention to myself, and I'm sure whipping into the school parking lot in a semi-truck wouldn’t be a good start for that.”
He laughed and cut the stove off. "Tacos are done. I'm gonna go freshen up."
I waited for him to exit the kitchen before hopping up and throwing a taco together. I stood in front of the stove and was just about to take a bite of my most favorite food in the world, when suddenly I was interrupted by a soft knock at the front door.
Knock-knock.
Confused, I tiptoed from the kitchen into the living room. We didn’t know anyone from the city or our neighborhood yet, so someone visiting us was the last thing on my mind.
"Who is it?" I timidly called out.
There was no answer.
The situation was more than a little sketchy, and my internal red flags were waving. I slowly creeped closer and tried to peek through the
glass peephole on the door. To my disadvantage, I couldn’t see anything. It was pitch-black on the other side, even though the sun hadn’t fully set yet. It was almost like someone was holding their finger over the glass so I couldn't see them. I took a step back, feeling unsettled.
"Who was at the door?" Dad suddenly blurted out from behind me, scaring me out of my wits.
My hand instinctively covered my racing heart as I whirled around to face him. "I don't know,” I said just above a whisper.
Without hesitating, Dad stepped by me and unlatched the lock. I anxiously stood back as he pulled the door open and peeked outside. The corners of his mouth upturned at once. "Hey there. Can I help you?"
He pulled the door open a bit further and revealed a family of three: a middle-aged woman with caked-on makeup and teased auburn hair, a bald middle-aged man wearing a white button up shirt with khaki shorts, and a teenage boy wearing a navy-blue letterman jacket and an annoyed expression on his face.
"Hello! We are the Clarks! We live across the street," the woman exclaimed, pointing to their house, "I'm Michelle, this is my husband Joe, and our son, Bradley. We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."
Michelle’s perfume was intoxicatingly strong. One sniff, and my head started throbbing. Michelle and Joe took turns shaking hands with my dad while Bradley bitterly stood off to the side.
"Thank you, that’s
very nice. I'm Frank, and this is my daughter, Eve," he motioned to where I was standing. I quickly hid my taco from their view and forced a smile.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” Joe smiled halfheartedly. He glanced around the living room, a look of suspicion in his eyes. Then, without a formal invitation, he took a single step inside. “So, where are you guys from, huh? What brings you here?”
My dad’s facial expression told me he was unappreciative of Joe’s intrusiveness, but he invited the others inside anyway. “We are here from Langley, Washington,” Dad explained, shutting the door after the Clark family entered the house.
Joe bobbed his head twice and flashed a convincing smile. “You watch any sports, Frank?”
Dad chuckled, “Oh, yeah. Who do you root for?”
That was my cue to leave. I sneakily crept away from the living room and enjoyed my dinner in the comfort of my bedroom. After eating, I decided to shower. I scavenged some comfy pajamas from the many boxes on my bedroom floor and quietly stepped into the bathroom.
I tugged the shower curtain back and adjusted the water temperature until it was toasty enough for my liking. I slipped out of my t-shirt and gym shorts and stepped under the relaxing downpour. I spent some time trying to wind down, but my anxiety kept creeping in. I was nervous about starting school that Monday. Westview High has over
2,000 students in the high school alone. Langley didn’t have 2,000 people in the entire town, much less the minuscule high school I’d attended. I had a reason to be nervous.
After a long, steamy shower, I slipped into my fuzzy polka-dotted pajamas and brushed the tangles out of my hair with my shaky fingertips. I didn't dare look in the mirror. I didn't want to see what shade of purple the bags beneath my eyes would be after the drawn-out day I'd had. I could hear Michelle’s nasally voice echoing from the living room when I exited the bathroom, so I went straight to my bedroom where I comfortably resumed my seclusion. Shyness has always been my most frustrating characteristic, and it was something I wasn't sure I could ever work through, because staying inside my own head was much more welcoming.
It was close to impossible for me to sleep that night. It wasn't because of the thunderous sounds of the city that I had expected. It was actually quite still in our neighborhood. Instead, it was the turbulent anxiety and intense fear of what was to come in this vast city. My chin trembled unintentionally, and a few warm tears escaped my eyes, streaming down my cheeks and dampening my pillow.
I don’t remember what time it was that I finally fell asleep.
CHAPTER TWO:
The next morning, I was the first to stir. This was unusual as I'm prone to oversleeping, and my dad is quite literally the early bird. I ambled to the kitchen alone and prepared myself an oversized bowl full of fruity cereal. I sat at our marble-topped table and took my first bite.
When my dad finally stumbled into the kitchen, I was on my last.
"Good morning, Eve", he waved to me. His salt-and-peppered hair was sticking up every which way, and I was fairly sure his pajama pants were inside-out, but I didn't mention it.
"Good morning," I said, turning up my bowl and drinking the remaining milk, "rough night?"
"I didn’t get much sleep. The Clarks were here for a couple hours," Dad rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands.
“What do you think of them?” I asked, remembering Joe’s pushy behavior.
“At first, I didn’t know if I would like them, but once we got to talking, I realized they don’t seem all that bad,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.
"Hm,” I raised my eyebrows, “cool.”
"Oh, and the kid? Bradley? He goes to Westview. Joe was telling me he's the quarterback of the football team. He's a junior this year and is already being offered football scholarships."
"Cool," I said nonchalantly, "he's one of those guys."
Dad chuckled, "I'm just saying. At least you'll know someone there." "I'm sure his ego is entirely too high for him to be seen talking to someone like me," I smiled, "but yeah, at least it's someone." He sat across from me at the table and chugged an entire glass of orange juice. When he downed the last drop, he slammed the empty glass on the table and shot me a grin.
"Impressive," I glanced at the glass, then back at him, "why are you looking at me like that?"
"Oh, I was just wondering when you are going sightseeing?"
I shrugged, "I don't know if I want to, Dad."
"Ah, come on, Eve. You might like this place. You just have to get out there, yeah? You have to give it a chance," he persisted. I stared at him begrudgingly, while he smiled at me innocently. He looked like a little kid. I suddenly found myself unable to tell him no.
"Alright," I threw up my hands, "fine."
He chuckled, "Good, just make sure you take your pepper spray with you. There are some loons out there."
"I know, Dad," I stood and took my bowl to the sink, "I'm living with one."
"Hey, now," he laughed in surprise.
I giggled, stopping short when I realized what he’d just said. "Wait, so you're letting me go like, alone?" I questioned him.
"That's the plan, yeah," he nodded. "Soon, you'll be on your own more often than not, so it's important you get acquainted with the city.” I expected a punchline. I waited for him to burst out laughing and say, "I'm totally kidding, I'm not letting you go out alone in this big ol’ city.", but he didn’t. His face was serious, sincere. My dad was treating me like a responsible adult for the first time ever. I giggled and escaped the kitchen before he could change his mind.
I sashayed to my bedroom and started scouring my closet, tearing open unpacked boxes until I found something decent to slip on. I settled on a casual short sleeved t-shirt, some comfy shorts, and my Converse sneakers. I went to the bathroom to get dressed. I flipped on the light switch and hesitantly examined myself in the mirror.
I tried not to pay too much attention to how rough I looked, but that was easier said than done. My eyelids were dark and puffy from my late-night crying session, and my chestnut brown hair was frizzed. I grabbed my toothbrush and twisted on the sink faucet. As I was scrubbing my teeth, my birthmark seized my attention. The LED lights in the bathroom made it stick out like a sore thumb.
My birthmark is quite unique. It's located on the left side of my neck about midway down, and it earned me the nickname "Sunny" from the kids back in Langley. It's a little less than two inches in both length and width and it’s only a couple of shades darker than the rest of my skin. It could easily be mistaken for a tattoo and has been many times. It's shaped like, you guessed it, the sun.
When I was finished getting ready, I listened to a five-minute lecture from my father about stranger-danger. I suffered through it with a smile. When his speech finally ended, I said my goodbyes and made a beeline for the front door. I grabbed my cell phone on the way out.
"You forgot something," he told me, stopping me in my tracks. I sighed softly and turned around to see my neon pink bicycle helmet that I’ve had since I was twelve hovering inches from my face. I took it and nodded firmly.
"Thanks," I smiled, "later.”
My bicycle was leaning against the side of the house. I slipped my helmet on and fastened it because I was positive my dad was watching me from inside. I hopped on my bike and pedaled down the sidewalk. Portland is a beautiful city, my homesickness aside. The first time my dad and I visited to look at the house, it was after dark in downtown Portland, and I was so confounded by all the bright lights reflecting off of Willamette River. The scenery was like clockwork to my traveling father. He's seen it all, but it was new to me.
I pedaled faster toward the city, using my photographic memory and street signs to find my way. After pedaling for a while, my legs started to grow tired. I saw a shopping mall up ahead, so I pushed toward the parking lot for a quick rest. The closer I got, the more I realized the lot was packed nearly to its capacity. I pedaled there anyway and parked behind the building.
I remove
d my embarrassing helmet and hung it on the handlebar of my bicycle. I decided to scout out the mall despite hundreds of other people doing the same thing on this particular day. I considered it a pathetic attempt to be a new, less-awkward me. There were four different entrances to the mall, but they were all at the front of the building. I had to cut through an alleyway to avoid circling the entire shopping center.
It felt like I was in a horror movie as I trudged between the buildings all alone, but at least it was daytime. For that, I didn’t have to worry. To calm my nerves, I reminded myself that monsters don't come out until dark.
When I reached the end of the path, I followed a couple of teenagers into the closest entrance. I held the door open for a light-haired older lady who was entering the building behind me, and she scowled at me in return. Maybe she was having a bad day, or maybe she was regularly an unpleasant bat. Either way, I ignored her impertinence and carried on.
Surprisingly, despite the swarm of vehicles in the parking lot, I didn’t see a lot of shoppers inside. My anxiety was appeased. I awkwardly sauntered through the mall, trying not to connect eyes with anyone. The undeniably delectable scent of pizza filled the air, and I saw the food court up ahead. That's when I noticed the lime green storefront of Gemstone Ice Cream; a tiny vintage ice cream shop that immediately grabbed my attention, simply because there was no one else inside. I decided to enter the shop. I sat at a random booth and checked the place out. The walls were dark grey and decorated with old-fashioned paintings and mirrors, the booths were all crimson and retro-styled, and the floor tiles were black-and-white checkered. There was already a menu rested on the table, so I began skimming through it. While I was trying to decide on a flavor, I saw someone sit down close by through my peripheral vision. I wasn't sure, but it felt like they were staring at me. Without even looking, I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. I sensed that something wasn’t right. I nonchalantly glanced over, exchanging glances with a young man clothed in a black hoodie.
