by Jo Ho
I was so shocked, I stopped dead.
Who puts food into their pockets like that? My weight must have shifted, as a noise came from beneath my feet. Lucas’s eyes flew towards me, and the blood drained from his face, caught.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice wavering, suddenly scared.
“It’s OK,” I said softly, instinctively realizing something was weird with this picture. I grabbed one of the doggie bags we had set aside for the kids and opened it. “This is for you to take home, but since you like the buns so much, why don’t we put a few more in there for you?”
His eyes went so round with gratefulness, I felt a lump in my throat. What was it about this kid? I shoved a few spring rolls in there too and handed him the bag. He all but snatched it from me.
“Give me a sec to grab my jacket and I’ll walk you home,” I said, already heading to the hallway where we kept our coats.
“That’s OK. I’m fine,” he said. By the time I turned back around he was gone.
Mom came into the room, balancing empty bowls and plastic glasses on her arms like a pro. “That was nice, what you did, inviting the kid next door,” she said.
“Don’t you think there’s something strange about him?” I asked. She dumped the bowls and glasses into the sink and turned to me, surprised.
“Strange?”
“I don’t know, he’s so quiet… and skinny. You know I caught him stealing food from the kitchen just now?” I said, feeling somewhat guilty by my revelation. I didn’t want to get the kid in trouble, but he unnerved me.
“Stealing? From our cupboards?” Mom said, shocked.
“No, the food that was out for the party,” I corrected her quickly.
“Well how is that stealing? It was there to be eaten.” She pinned her eyes on me, hands on her hips.
“He put food into his pockets…” I said, trailing off. She dismissed me with a wave and turned her attention to the clean up at hand.
“He’s a kid and a boy! You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve found in your brother’s pockets. It’s nothing.”
Despite her lack of concern, something still didn’t feel right with me. I wasn’t ready to drop the conversation just yet, but my phone began vibrating in my pocket. Relief surged through me when the words “Chris calling” flashed on the screen.
Finally!
Sprinting out of the room, I ran upstairs and answered the call.
“Where have you been?” were the first words out of my mouth. Well there goes the cool girlfriend I had been telling myself I’d be. Chris’s voice came over the line, filled with apology.
“I’m so sorry. My phone died last night and I didn’t have a charger on me. Then we decided to stay over at George’s… I only just got back and called you right away.”
In the three years we’d had been together, Chris had never lied to me and I trusted him completely, so I didn’t question his explanation however, I still couldn’t stop the wave of jealousy that ate at me.
“I saw the pictures on your timeline. Looked like you were having fun.” I wasn’t able to keep the bitterness out of my voice either.
“I was, but it would’ve been so much better if you were there. Wasn’t the same without you.” His voice was nothing but sincere. Some of the bitterness faded.
“Bet Nessa doesn’t think so though. Looks like she couldn’t wait to take my place.” Shoot, where did that come from? I could barely recognize myself anymore. Suddenly Chris laughed.
“Wait… are you jealous? Of Nessa?” He laughed so hard, I felt stupid.
“Well she was there, hanging onto you…”
“Oh babe, I love you only. I did notice she was trying to get next to me the whole time, and it was beginning to tick me off, so I told George and he blocked her for the rest of the night. She got so mad, she left soon after the bowling.”
“So she didn’t stay at George’s?” I asked, hating how pathetic my voice was beginning to sound.
“Of course not. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re the only one for me and you know it.”
He was so sure of himself that I felt dumb for ever doubting him.
“Yeah. Yeah I do,” I said, smiling.
8
Invite
The next day, we found ourselves back in boringville.
My parents had taken off for work/interviews, and Mark and I were watching some kid show on TV, but neither of us were into it. He fidgeted beside me and tugged on my sleeve, antsy.
“I’m bored, can we do something else?” he asked, looking up at me.
“Like what?” I said.
“I don’t know, you’re the one in charge. Can’t you think of something?”
It was the billion dollar question that struck fear into every teenage babysitter. My mind wandered back to the boy next door. I kinda wanted to check on him. And suddenly, I knew.
“Let’s go see if Lucas wants to play with you.”
My suggestion was met with unexpected excitement.
“I’ll go get my car!”
Moments later, we trudged over to the neighbor’s house. It was the first time I had seen it up close. I took in the peeling paint and cracked wood panels. A few baskets hung from the porch but the flowers had long died, leaving behind withering, decaying husks.
I reached for the doorbell and pressed it. It was so stiff, I almost broke a nail. I heard the chime go off inside, a distorted sound, like the battery was running out. We waited, Mark puffing out his cheeks with excitement. I guess he really liked Lucas despite having only met him the day before. I was struck by how easy it was for kids to make friends. Nothing seemed to be happening and we were just about to give up and go home, when I heard noises behind the door and suddenly it was yanked open.
A man came to the door. This must be Stan. He was dressed in a stained wife-beater and jogging pants and he stared bleary-eyed at us, blinking. It looked like he’d just woken up, even though it was almost noon, and he really didn’t seem like he was happy about it. For some reason, I found myself deliberately placing my body between him and Mark.
“What?” He growled out.
My mouth had fallen dry, and it was all I could do not to lick my lips. Somehow, I didn’t want him to see how nervous he was making me.
“We came to invite Lucas over, see if he wanted to play with Mark,” I said, keeping my voice as wobble-free as I could. As I spoke, I caught sight of Lucas standing by a doorway behind him. In a pair of oversized pyjamas, he seemed even smaller this morning. Stan didn’t immediately answer, but just stood there glaring at me, which made me more nervous so I found myself blabbing to fill in the gap.
“He seemed to have a good time at the party yesterday, so I thought he might want to come round again…” I trailed off, not sure what else I could say, but at the anger that suddenly radiated from him, I knew I had already said too much.
“Well, he’s not here.” Stan barked, slamming the door on my face. I flinched, and felt Mark jump behind me. Then I heard his footsteps stomping away from the door, and Stan shouting words I could not make out.
Horrified, I grabbed Mark’s hand and tugged him back to our house. He looked at me, scared.
“Did we get Lucas in trouble?” he asked.
I didn’t answer but I knew we had. Big trouble.
And I was sickened by it.
We hurried back inside the safety of our own house, where I turned on the Wii and had Mark playing Super Mario Galaxy — his favorite game. He soon forget Lucas’s problems, chasing cute alien creatures as a racoon-suit wearing Italian plumber, but I was torment by what I had done.
How could I be so stupid? As if that poor kid didn’t have it bad enough…
I had just made his life, ten times worse.
9
Fragile
My eyes flew open but there was nothing but suffocating blackness.
I gasped aloud, my voice sounding unfamiliar in the dark.
It wasn’t until I sat up that I re
alized I was in bed, in my new home. My legs were tangled up in the sheets. My hair was damp around my face, and I could feel a sheen of sweat around the back of my neck.
What had woken me?
I reached over and turned on the lamp. My pillow lay on the ground, a foot or two away, but everything else seemed in place.
Must’ve been a nightmare.
Strange I couldn’t remember it though.
There was a weariness in me that I couldn’t ever remember feeling prior to moving here. It hovered over me like a heavy stone. I wanted nothing more than to sink back into a cloud of sleep, but I was too wired and my throat felt parched.
A floorboard creaked downstairs.
I frowned. Someone else was awake? Swinging my legs out of the bed and shivering from the cold I found there, I got up and fumbled my way to the stairs in the dark. Glancing at my folks’ room, I saw through the door they had left ajar that they were both asleep. And Mark, he had left his wide open, still afraid of the dark. I could see the warm orange glow of the nightlight in his room illuminating his sleeping form. I frowned, feeling puzzled, convinced I had heard something.
And then the floorboard creaked again!
I froze, eyes widening. I listened for it again, for any sound from downstairs. Past articles I’d read on Austin’s criminal history flooded my mind. Impossible though it seemed, were we being robbed? I stood there, straining my ears, ready to rush into my parent’s room at the next sound.
But it never came.
Feeling stupid but still being cautious, I edged down the stairs slowly, careful not to make a sound, silently shooting a prayer of thanks for my slight weight. I popped my head into the front reception room. I watched the windows from the doorway, ready to sound the alarm if I saw the curtains move — either from a breeze caused by an open or broken window or a person hiding behind them — but all was as it should be. It was the same with the living room.
Moving to the kitchen, I checked every corner and place where someone could be, but there was nothing.
Old houses make noises. Guess I would have to get used to that.
Feeling foolish, I had a glass under the tap before I noticed the lights were on next door. The curtains were closed, but someone hadn’t drawn them properly as there was a small gap that I could see straight through into.
I moved to the patio door and saw their lounge, not dissimilar to our own. The wallpaper had seen better days but wasn’t an eyesore. Furniture was basic but solid looking. Lucas sat on a couch next to a fragile-looking woman. Must be Janet, I thought to myself. She shared the same delicate features and mousy brown hair.
They sat close together but weren’t speaking. They weren’t watching TV either — the television was at the end of the room and I could see very clearly that it was off. Stan paced in front of them, agitated. He was tense, as if preparing for a fight, and he raged back and forth. Whatever he said had Lucas’s mom flinching. Lucas opened his mouth to speak, to explain himself which is when Stan raised his arm to strike him! Lucas shrank back into his seat, and his mom moved herself between him and Stan, steeling her shoulders instead to accept the blow.
The world slowed as blood rushed into my ears.
I watched, rooted to the spot, waiting for the inevitable, unable to believe what I was witnessing. Stan lunged forward and I inhaled sharply…
But then he smiled.
A hard, nasty smile, and lowered his arm. Neither Lucas nor his mom moved. Not even when her husband left the room, seemingly pleased with the fear he had just instilled in them.
They sat silently. Finally Janet stood up, and said something to Lucas as she stroked his hair. Then she crept timidly from the room.
I stood, watching until Lucas eventually left as well.
There was a dull ache in my heart. My hands were gripped around the glass so tightly, it was a miracle it didn’t shatter. That poor kid. Whatever was going on in that house wasn’t good. Suddenly wanting nothing more than to be in my bed, I gulped down the water and hurried back to my room.
Exhaustion crept up on me, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while. What I had seen would haunt me. Needing a distraction, my eyes found their way to the floorboard hiding the secret tin. Fishing it out, I flicked through the next notes until I found another mention of the house next door, and what I read, chilled me to the core.
Turns out, Stan likes to drink. Mom heard he messed up at work because of it, that’s probably around the time when the arguments started happening. No wonder Lucas is so quiet now. I asked Mom to talk to Janet or something, but she said we have enough on our plate without taking on their problems. I guess she’s right. It has been getting pretty tense at home.
I hate that I did this to them. — A
I kept reading but I couldn’t find any more mentions. The writing wasn’t as neat as in the first notes now, the strokes uneven as if written by a trembling hand. “A” must have been pretty upset when she wrote this.
They never have a kind word to say to each other. I don’t even recognize them anymore. Mom has all these frown lines on her face, while Dad is drinking more and more. Every night, he just sits in his chair, until he’s fallen into a stupor. At first, Mom would try to get him into bed, now she just leaves him.
And you know, I never saw any of this coming. I can’t even remember when they fought for real. Of course they’ve argued before, but it was over small things, like who’s turn to do the dishes it was, or Dad’s habit of leaving his clothes on the floor (that really drives Mom mad). Nothing that they wouldn’t laugh over. They definitely never went to bed angry.
Happiness is as fragile as a blade of grass. All it takes is one big problem before you find yourself with the whole sky falling down around you. — A
I stopped, thinking over what I had just read.
“A’s” words troubling me greatly.
10
Trouble
Breakfast was a sombre affair.
I came down, haunted by the night before, determined to talk to Mom about it all once I could get her alone. Black circles ringed my eyes, but I hid them under concealer.
The air felt heavy with tension. Mom was at the sink, dressed in her work uniform, her back to us, but something about the way she was standing, the way she didn’t say anything, spoke volumes.
I looked over at my dad, nursing a bowl of cereal while his eyes scanned the job listings. He ate robotically, with no enjoyment. I know he always preferred a hot breakfast, but even this lack of enthusiasm seemed extreme for him. The only person oblivious to anything was Mark, inhaling a pop tart like his life depended on it. I came into the room and poured myself a glass of OJ.
“So…” I began tentatively, desperate to break the ice. “What’s up?”
Like the floodgates had opened, Mom set down the mug she was scrubbing and sighed. “Your father and I are in a disagreement.”
I looked at Dad but he shook his head, lips set in a firm line. I wasn’t going to get anything out of him.
“What about?” I tried again.
“About the jobs he is going for!” Mom exclaimed. “He’s stooping for ones that are far beneath him and then being rejected for being over-qualified when they would be lucky to have someone with his experience working for them! I keep telling him to go higher, but he thinks the competition is too fierce.”
I looked at Dad again but he still refused to join in the conversation, knowing Mom was on a rampage.
“You never worried about competition before…” I said gently, hoping to coax him into saying something, but Mom finished my sentence for me.
“He never had a problem standing before, either.”
And there it was, the elephant in the room.
Since the car accident that had left Dad with mobility problems, it was an unspoken agreement between us that we would not mention it, especially as it was this accident and an unruly insurance company that had caused us to lose our beloved home in The Bluff. I knew Dad felt re
sponsible, despite how ridiculous that was — it wasn’t he who had been texting while driving. Dad had always been the best of drivers, so it was a shock when the accident happened and there was nothing he could do. It was just bad luck, really. Could have happened to anyone.
After the accident, Dad wasn’t able to do his job to his boss’s satisfaction as it involved plenty of on-site work — he was the IT director for a large car dealership of all things. And that’s basically how we ended up here which is why I tried not to be a brat in front of him. Despite how I was desperately missing Chris, I didn’t want my Dad to feel any worse.
The room fell silent.
Even Mark’s jaw froze, mid-chew. We all looked to Dad, expecting some kind of explosion. Instead, he just set down his bowl, and with his head hanging low, he left the room.
Mom must have felt stricken as her eyes suddenly gleamed with unshed tears. Throwing down the dish towel, she went after him. Moments later, we heard the front door slam. Without saying a word to each other, Mark and I went to the living room which overlooked the street. We could see Mom following Dad into the minivan, setting off to work. Guess Dad wasn’t backing down on his job-hunt however, as he had his “interview” briefcase with him. Pride surged in me. I was thankful that he wasn’t giving up, but I also realized I wouldn’t be able to speak to Mom about Lucas any time soon.
11
Doubt
As we turned away from the window, Mark bounced up and down beside me.
“Don’t forget, I have to be at Ben’s at noon — I’m sleeping over there tonight!”
I glanced at the clock. It was eight thirty in the morning. It was hard to keep from rolling my eyes.
