Chapter Four

I have a car. Unbelievably, it’s a black Audi R8 with red Carbon Fiber Sigma sideblades . He gave me the car at the beginning of my freshman year. It was a hand-me-down. He’d bought it about three years ago because he just had to have it and then he drove it all of three times. It was just sitting in the garage. With my brothers gone, I’d need to get from one place to the other so Dex took me to the DMV and I got my license. When I got home, he congratulated me and dropped the keys into my hand. How nice of him to try and ease his guilt. But I didn’t complain. I love that car.

            The first time I’d driven to school, it put me on the social map. It got me noticed. I didn’t have time to figure out if I wanted to be popular or not. He figured it out for me when he slapped me so hard it gave me a shiner that everyone noticed, especially a certain sophomore chemistry teacher who meant well.

            I get into the car, let down the visor mirror and have a look at myself. I grab the sunglasses from their holder and check myself to see if I want to put them on or not.

            I wasn't completely oblivious to my looks. I knew I was pretty, beautiful even. It was just hard to actually feel that way. His beating me made me feel ugly. So eventually my feelings of ugliness began to compete with what I was hearing whispered in passing on the lips of everyone, so light, so harsh: She thinks she’s better; she thinks she’s prettier; if I had her looks; if I had her money; if she was my girl; I wish; if only; I wish; if only.

            Feelings of ugliness rivaled the reality of the situation.

            I put on the deep black sunglasses and smiled a bitter smile at the girl staring back at me who knew not my plight.

            I tear out of the garage, down the driveway, and past a waving Dex who’s already making himself comfortable on the porch swing. There’s nowhere I have to be so Dex has the rest of the day off.

            I head to downtown San Francisco. That city is so warped it makes for great picture taking. And I really like watching the bright red trolleys and hearing the bells that chime out like a baby bird who’s finally taken flight. There was just something so innocent about it.

            Usually it takes the average person an hour or two to get from Napa to San Francisco but because I drive like a “fool” and I have 525 horsepower under my foot, it’ll take me anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour.

            In no time, I’m pulling up in front of Still Life, moderately sized art and photo shop where I bring my work. It sells pretty well especially since they’ve named me as a local artist. Tourist dig that stuff. I’m proud of the money I make considering I’m a beginner to the art world. I’ve been on the scene for about six months but I’ve been taking photos since before I could remember.

            I walk in and immediately break out in smile. Will comes to mind and I realize I do smile for a select few.

            Mr. and Mrs. James stop what they’re doing and come to hug me. They show me a lot of love and affection because they know there’s a problem but they don’t press me. They just make themselves available. I appreciate it but I don’t plan on ever telling them or anyone else for that matter.

            “What have you brought us this time, girlie?” Mr. James asks.

            I smile sideways at the nickname and remove the enlarged photo from the hollow cylinder in my hand. I lay it across the counter.

            “My word,” Mrs. James sighs.

            It’s the photo Will, but I, initially, chose.

            I’d gotten permission from my study hall teacher to go to the art room and then permission from that teacher to use the darkroom.

            I wait as they examine it, Mrs. James with her hands clasped together under her chin, her lips pursed and Mr. James with his Santa Claus red face, smoothing out his salt and pepper mustache.

            This is one of my better pictures. It took me about an hour and a half to get it because I had to keep setting the camera on self-timer and rush to get into position. It was tiresome but worth it.

            I was in a pool with my shoulders just out of the water. The word “Drowning…” tattooed on my back between my shoulders right under my neck, hovered out of the water. Ripples going out from my shivering body, the bruises obvious on my shoulders and back. My dark brown hair, black in the picture, was soaked and combed back so that it stuck to my back and a trail of water drizzled through the tattoo. There is nothing but clear skies in front of me.

            The night before, I’d taken one of the worst ever. I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to think about it. This picture is the only good thing that came of it. One of his worst beatings gave me one of my best photos. Ironic. Thanks, Dad.

            I blew it up so now its thirty inches wide by fifteen inches long.

            Mr. James is deep in thought when the bell over the door jingles.

            I’m busy watching Mr. James’ face but Mrs. James breaks away.

            “Hello again, Ms. Campbell,” I hear her say.

            “Hello, Mrs. James,” says a soft but rough voice. It’s the kind of voice I’m working on, very Sophia Bush.

            “What can I do for you?”

            “I know I left my card with you but I decided to stop in. Has any more work come in from the young photographer?”

            “Umm-

            “I take that as a yes,” she chimes anxiously.

            “One has but it’s not ready yet.”

            This intrigues me so I turn to see the woman. She’s about five foot nine, black hair cut into one of those fashionable bobs. Her face is naturally light and welcoming with laugh lines that don’t take away from her beauty; Autumn brown eyes and a Crest white smile. Her clothes complete the picture. White pencil skirt and a loose, sleeveless white blouse.

            I absentmindedly grab the camera around my neck and shoot a few shots. With the way the sun’s pooling in through the window and playing around with colors, the shots turn out really well.

            She notices me and smiles.

            “How do they look?”

            She walks over and points at my camera. I go through the pictures and she likes them quite a bit. This is when Mr. James decides he’s ready to come out of his stupor.

            “I like it.”

            We all turn.

            “Wow,” Ms. Campbell breathes.

            “Let me pay this time,” I say.

            “No,” Mr. and Mrs. James reply firmly.

            I’ve learned never to argue with them. I just flip the picture, pull out my pen, and sign the back.

            "You're Cadent Karrell?”

            I look at Ms. Campbell and nod, “Yeah.”

            “I’ve bought most of your photos. I’m a big fan.”

            “Whoa. I have a fan,” I say with a dopey smile.

            I let this sink in.

            “Okay. Thanks you guys. I gotta go.”

            I grab my hollow cylinder and head for the door.

            “See ya’ later.”

            I’m opening the passenger door and placing the cylinder in the net that hangs behind the seats when I notice a kid, like four or five years-old, standing over a daffodil that’s growing through the cement.

            “I love this city.”

            I get a couple of good ones but then I’m bored. I get the kid to crouch in front of the flower, shadow over it, then no shadow; touching the flower; looking at the camera, great eyes. My final shot is of him picking it.

            Mommy finally arrives and I tell her I got some good shots of the kid and give her my card.

            I’m getting in my car when-

            “Cadent?!”

            “Ms. Campbell?”

            “This is your…,”she asks indicating the car.

            “It’s mine.”

            “Okay. Here.”

            I look at her sideways because she’s holding out money.

            “I bought the picture. They say it’s your cut.”

            I count it. “It’s too much.”

            “I really like the picture.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Wait.”

            I’m a little annoyed now.

            “I work for a non-profit organization called Young San Francisco. It’s meant to help children and teens who are abused by parents, siblings, boyfriends, anyone.”

            Oh, crap.

            “Okay.”

            “Who is this girl?”

            I think about the story I told Will. It might not work on her because she’s seen real bruises up close. She specializes in it. It was a good story but her knowledge of my talents probably won’t allow any ignorance of real abuse.

            “It’s me.”

            “Really?” She sounded very sympathetic and she looked so serious.

            I did not want pity.

            “It’s not what you think.”

            “Hmm?”

            “It’s Photoshopped.”

            “I find that a little hard to believe.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Most natural photographers don’t ‘touch up’ their photos. They leave them as is. They take the picture due to the natural beauty. This moment happened on its own and wasn’t staged. It won’t ever happen again.”

            I doubt that, I think.

            “Like that picture in your hand?” I say.

            “Those bruises weren’t staged. Nature inspires you. I have a lot of your work. None of them are touched…including this one.”

            “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m glad you like my stuff but there’s nothing here.”

            “At least give me a chance to help this girl…or you.”

            She’s offering me a card.

            I put on my sunglasses which I hadn’t noticed that I’d taken off.

            “No one needs your help.”

            “What about the pictures you took of me? Don’t I get a card?”

            I pull one from my back pocket and hand it to her over my open car door.

            “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

            I get in the car and speed away to the disdain of some unfortunate pedestrians. I’m very grateful for the acceleration this car is capable of. I’m not so grateful that she’s got my info. I shouldn’t have taken those pictures but that’s what I do. When I see something I like I automatically start snapping.

            Like I would spill my guts to this stranger so that she could figure out that it wasn’t my nonexistent boyfriend but my father, my parent, that was hurting me. I’d never allow her to send him to jail because she struck me as the go-all-out type; all or nothing. I wasn’t going to let her take him away from me. But I had a weird feeling that she wouldn’t give up.

            I’m thinking about what I should do when my phone rings and Cherish is crooning about emotional revenge.

            “Yeah, Julian.”

            “You’re doing it again. You’re giving me that bored uninterested voice.”

            “Well, maybe it’s because-

            “It can’t be. I’ve said like four sentences to you.”

            “Four too many.”

            “Why do you act like that?”

            “Why do you act like I don’t act like this toward you?”

            “You still have my number in your phone. That’s saying something.”

            “Yeah. It’s saying, ‘Ignore this phone number’. But apparently, my ignoring you doesn’t faze you.”

            “No because I miss you and us.”

            “There was never an us.”

            “Ken-

            “What do you want, Julian?”

            “I want to see you.”

            “You will at school. I do still go there, ya’ know.”

            “I never see your car.”

            “I doubt you’re actually looking for it but I don’t drive to school anymore. Not that you would know.”

            “How many times do I have to apologize?”

            “Until I care. So you might as well stop.”

            I hang up.

            He’ll be at my locker and outside my classes as much as possible tomorrow.

            I’m heading home when I decide I don’t really want to be there so I head to Stone’s Bar and Grill. Elliott is an old guy who owns the place but recently, he’s gotten really sick so his son, Elliott Jr., is running the place. He’s twenty-two and gorgeous: well-tanned, long black hair that he wears pulled back in a ponytail, the sideburns-goatee combination, killer smile, nice body. He’s a package.

            I park right under the camera because I love my father’s hand-me-down. I get out and walk past a few smokers outside who look at me seductive but otherwise know better.

            Stone (Elliott Jr.) is behind the bar with a backwards Bar and Grill hat on and he’s looking intently at some papers.

            “Hi,” I say.

            “ID, please.”

            “Stone?”

“What? Are you trying to get me shutdown?”

“It’s getting old, Junior.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why? Is it getting old?” I ask smartly.

He smiles and I smile back. Twice today Will has proven me wrong.

“What’s going on? You look bothered?”

“Nothing to worry about. It’s just that I’m still getting these numbers down and figuring out what a lot of it means.”

“I’m getting an A in Calculus. Need some help?”

“Nah. You just worry about your grades so you can follow your brothers to Chicago. I know you miss them.”

“I do.”

“Next time you talk to them, tell them I said, “What’s up?’”

“Will do.”

I turn and head for a closed off booth in the back that’s reserved specifically for me, considering I’m underage and all. Even though it’s also a place to eat, the Elliotts are especially careful.  This business is their baby.

I step up into the booth and click on the light on the far wall. It’s about five foot by five. It’s big enough for me to have room and get my homework done with a little something to eat. I like coming here. It’s like my own personal little space for me and only me. I know that when I need it it’s here because Stone never lets anyone besides me use it. It belonged to my brothers and me before they left. It was cramp with two football players and small me in here but I didn’t mind. I love brothers and the cramp made us closer.

I dump the contents of my back pack onto the table and spread it out. What do I want to do first? The teachers sure laid it on thick for it to be the first day. I’m complaining but it won’t take much time to do the work. 

I scowl when my arm runs across the Romeo and Juliet book and then swipe at it. I must have hit it harder than I meant because it flies from the booth and I hear it hit the floor. I shrug. Out there at least I won’t see it. I’ll do that stupid assignment last.

I can hear Stone mumbling along with someone else which means he’s talking to someone. I don’t concern myself. It’s probably one of the guys and he’s telling them to come and see if I want something to eat, which I do.

I’m diving into the numbers of my Cal homework when I hear the shoes approaching. I even see the shoes out of my peripheral but I’m concentrating on the numbers. 

Whoever it is picks up my book and knocks.

“Yeah?”

“You dropped something, Kendall.”

“Leave it.”

I hear the book smack against the floor and the flap that conceals me is pushed aside.

“Is there something I can get you, Stone’s Little Sister?”

“A club sandwich on wheat with extra bacon, like, seriously, and no tomato, and…you know what? Just tell Dig that it’s Kendall’s club. He knows how I like it. Oh, and a strawberry lemonade, no lemon.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Can I get some eye contact?”

“Marcus, please.”

“Not Marcus.”

I look up into the depths of Will’s rich brown eyes.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I like to work. Make my own money to do with what I please.”

“Oh.”

“Elliott hired me. I was actually on my way out considering it’s Monday and very empty but he told me to do this one last thing.”

“Well, can you go do it? I’m hungry,” I say jokingly.

“There is a goof in there, huh?” he says letting the flap go.

He’s gone but I look after him. I haven’t really had a friend in a while. Besides the people I already know. I really want this to work. I’m really going to try. He seems genuine. I’m taking a leap of faith and assuming he won’t hurt me although we’re only friends.

About twenty minutes later, he comes back with my stuff and his back pack.

“Can I join you?”

“I thought you were on your way home.”

“Only because there’s nothing to do around here.”

“Oh. Well, by all means. Have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

He ducks his head and slides in. In the enclosed space, I can smell his reapplied cologne. For me or because he’d been cleaning?

“Ms. 4.0. Maybe you can help me with some of this stuff.”

“Using me already, huh?”

“I’m glad you see it my way,” he chuckles.

He looks down at my homework and I swear he goes temporarily crossed eyed.

“What. Is. That?” he asks.

“Calculus. It’s pretty soft. I think I’ll take honors Calculus next semester. I didn’t wanna rush it but this regular Calculus is looking like addition and this is only the first day.”

“You need more of a challenge, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Here. You can do mine, too.”

“Then however will you get smarter?”

“I’ll manage,” he says leaning back.

I smile just enough for him to notice and make a fuss.

“Aaaaaah, there it iiiiiiiis,” he yells exaggerating the sounds and words.

“Shut up.”

I was already comfortable with him. He was so easy going and his face was so inviting.

He opens his book bag, still excited, and pulls out his work.

“So your school is no joke. It’s the first day and this is a load and a half.”

“A load and a half?” I ask.

“It just means a whole lot.”

“Alright, SoHo.”

“Please, don’t call me that. Devin’s already got that covered.”

“Of course, he does. Will it is. And fyi, it’s your school now, too.”

“I stand corrected.”

He’s smiling directly at me and I don’t know why.

“So, have you decided what you’re going to say to the class regarding Romeo and Juliet?”

“Yeah. I’ve always been quite opinionated on this play. I’ve known how I felt about it since I read it. I just never shared it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like attention. It’s bad enough that I get it without even trying. I don’t need any more than I already have by default.”

“I don’t understand. You’re gorgeous. You do your own thing from what I can see. You’re smart. You got style. You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who has self-esteem issues. And you’re creative. What’s the problem?”

I hated Will. His delving questions and his discernment were always right on point. His ability to see by my tough girl exterior was going to be annoying and challenging. He never missed a beat. Whenever I shared what I thought he got the message that I wanted to send and made about two or three other assumptions with at least one of them being correct. And he made quick work of it.

What would I do with this boy whose power of perception was more than likely sharp enough to maneuver my ambiguous answers? Did I want him to read me? Did I want him to be the one to see through my Stockholm syndrome like protection for my father and save the girl who wouldn’t save herself? Is that why I’m making excuses to be friends with him? So that he could save me?

“Kendall?”

I must have spaced while I was thinking.

“Where do you go?”

Those questions. He obviously was aware that nothing I did was without meaning. He already picked up on my “issue” and now he also noticed that I escaped into my thoughts. I could pretend that I didn’t understand what he was talking about. That worked in the lunch room. But what would be the point? We’re friends, right?

“My safe place.”

His left eyebrow goes up like mine does when I’m puzzled. I know he wants to ask more, but thankfully, he doesn’t. I don’t care to let him in anymore today. “My safe place” said a ton. The fact that I even have a safe place at all said a ton. What would he deduce from those three words? That I was tortured? That I lived with a secret that would possibly be my end? I’m giving him too much credit. No one’s that good. There’s no way he could figure out my life story from such a small statement.

However, I could tell he wanted to drill me for all the info he could. He wanted to know me to the very depths of my soul. I was an undiscovered grotto full of unheard treasures and things that would boggle the mind and excite society. The only problem with unearthed treasures is that they’re mysterious. And I fear that the thing that excites Will most about me will hurt him and me both.

He can never understand without my telling him why I’m so jaded. It’ll trouble him until he gets his way which will never happen in this situation. I liked the thought of a friendship with Will but I don’t know if it’s the best thing. My solitude fancied me just right and now I had this extra body to take into consideration. Maybe my self-proclaimed destitution was for the better of everyone around me. Being unaccompanied also rescued me from being internally damaged away from home.

“So,-

He’s interrupted by Brandy and Ray J singing about how they can’t live without the other and my face lights up. I don’t have to see the name. I know who’s on the other side.

“Boys!” I say snatching up the phone.

“You’re younger than us,” they say together.

“Hey, Donny. Hey, Derrick.”

“What’s up, little sis.”

I’m on speaker phone so they both can talk to me at the same time. It used to piss me off but now I can’t really think why it should.

“Nothing. First day of school. The usual.”

“Did you drive yourself?” Donny asks.

“Did you make any friends?” Derrick shouts from a distance.

“I didn’t drive and it’s funny you should ask, Ricky. Say hello, Will.”

He’s caught off guard but he manages to get out a salvageable greeting.

“Who’s that?”

I can tell that whatever they were doing has ceased and they’re right next to the phone. Their voices are louder and they have that semi-hushed tone they get when they’re being nosy.

“Will moved from SoHo New York and he started today.”

“He must have some mad skills because we all know you’re antisocial. How’d he make that happen? I want to meet this Will,” Derrick says both impressed and defensive.

“When, or should I say if, you come home for Thanksgiving break.”

“No ‘if’ about it. We can’t stay away from out baby sister that long. We will be home for sure. Don’t you worry about it,” Donny says with all the confidence of a QB.

“I’ll hold you to it, Don.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“We know you’re doing your homework right now and you have boy company so we’ll let you go so we can do our homework, too.”

“Party!” I hear Donny cough.

He chuckles afterward so I’m pretty sure Derrick took a swing at him.

“Talk to you later, Kenny. Be good. I mean it,” Derrick threatens me affectionately.

"You be good, Ricky.”

“We love you, Kenny,” they declare simultaneously.

“I love you guys, too. Talk to you later.”

And just like that, the phone call is over. I’m feeling very nostalgic now. I know what Donny said about coming home but with football starting about the same time, they might not get here until Christmas. I love when they’re home because it’s like just their presence alone is a cloak over me. My father loves me when they’re home. He doesn’t drink. He’s the man I know him to be underneath his loathing for me. Or rather, for me and these eyes of my mother’s staring back at him while he’s attacking me.

“You and your brothers seem close.”

I realize I’m still smiling despite the dark path my thoughts had begun to take.

“We couldn’t be any closer. They are my essence, the epitome of me. No one in this world loves anyone more than I love my brothers.”

“I can see. You smiled during the entire conversation. “

“They do that to me.”

“Make you someone you’re not?”

I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to dupe me into saying that who I am with my brothers is who I really am. He wants me to “admit” that I don’t like being cross and bitter and alone.  I can’t do that. I am two different people. I am who I am with my brothers and I am who I am with everyone else. I guess, except Will.

“Kesha said it pretty well, ‘We are who we are’. I get the feeling you want me to be someone I’m not.”

“I’m still tryna figure out who you are. I want to make sure I get to know the right Kendall and not one of her personas.”

I feel myself blush and look down quickly to hide it.

“What about you? Any siblings?”

“Ah, yes. Patricia. She’s a junior. I love her to death but mostly because we’re siblings. She loves me a little too much. It sounds weird, I know. But she’s very protective of me and it can make her a bit of a jerk. I know the real her. Her intentions are usually good.”

I can tell by the way he talks about her and doesn’t make eye contact that he’s totally being a little brother right now. He loves her for more than simply being his older sister. All those “negative” reasons he gave are positives to him. He loves her because she loves him so much and because she’s very protective and because her intentions are good.

“Why is she so protective?”

He sighs and I find I like the way his chest rises and falls as he slowly let’s out the breath, thinking of how he wants to answer.

“I was born premature. Four months premature to be precise.”

He seems troubled by the memory. There’s a crease betweens his eyebrows as he tries to hold back a slight frown.

“It’s stupid. There’s no way she remembers and I act like I remember. It shouldn’t bother me. I’m plenty healthy. I have no reason to complain. I should be grate-

“It’s not stupid. It hurts you to think about the sadness and hard times your parents probably went through while they were stressing out about their tiny baby. You might feel like it’s your fault for putting a strain on their marriage.”

“I’m not the only perceptive one.”

“I’ve had my fair share of crappy marriage experiences. At least your parents stayed together. At least no one willingly left you.”

I don’t want to make this about me.

“So what’s your prematurity have to do with your sister?”

“My sister, although she was only one at the time, claims to remember it. She says she dreams about it more so than actually remembers it. I can always tell when she dreams about it, too. She gets really nice and she wants to be near me. I don’t know. Sometimes I just think its nonsense. I don’t know why I let it bother me.”

I want to move to be next to him. I want to hug him. His expression is so earnest and he’s not trying to hook up with me. He’s offering me some of him in exchange for some of me. I want to trust him. I want to tell him everything.  I want to be able to run to him when I’m down or after one of my dad’s outbursts. I want him to understand that it’s not my dad’s fault. But, like that woman at Still Life, he strikes me as the kind who loves so strongly that he hates just the same. Especially when it comes to someone he cares for being harmed.

“It’s not nonsense. To validate and put faith in the love someone has for you is not drivel, it’s living. It’s existing. It’s being able to accept pain because you know that while pain can hurt so deeply you want to die, it can also will you to live and enjoy doing so.”

He smiles exceptionally wider than before and I come to the conclusion that in less than a day, I’ve developed feelings for SoHo.

“I’ll never finish my homework at this rate.”

“You’re right. Let’s shut up and get it done.”

Not too long after we’ve shut up, I hear him mumbling under his breath.

“Stupid,” he whispers with his hand on his head, face down looking at his book.

I notice it’s a book on learning Italian. That must be the language course he’s taking.

“Avendo un problema?”

“Hm?” he says looking up with that eyebrow cocked.

“You’re taking an Italian course.”

“Ah, yes. I didn’t think it’d be too difficult. But it is proving rather taxing and I’m lazy minded.”

“Posso aiutarti se chiedi bene,” I say smoothly.

“I don’t know what you said. Do you think you can help me? I’d really appreciate it.”

“I just said I’ll help if you ask politely.”

“Oh.” He laughs and I secretly enjoy it. “When did you learn Italian? Last year?”

“No. We spent a summer in Spain when I was fourteen. My dad made sure I learned before we went so he got me a tutor. I’m a fast learner. When we actually got over there, I only improved and became more fluent because I was actually in an Italian environment where my knowledge of the tongue could prosper.”

“Wow. You are full of surprises. What other languages do you know?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me. I want to know. Tell me.”

I sigh, “Franҫais. Latin. Élḻines, which is Greek. Gaeilge, Irish. Nippon, Japanese. And Deutsch, German. Oh, and Spanish.”

“Wow. You are full of surprises.”

“Yeah. I like languages.”

“I’ve never known a polyglot. Latin? Really?”

“Latin is hard, which is why I like it. Anyway, let’s get down to it. What’re you having trouble with?”

After we went over his Italian, we finished the rest of our homework in a satisfied silence. I had forgotten what it was like to just be quiet with someone.

I finish my work first and then finish my food. It’s about time to go when he finishes.

“You work slow.”

“We aren’t all geniuses, Kendall.”

“You’re right. You’re right.”

“So, is the mysterious car coming to pick you up?”

“No. After school, I drive myself around.”

“Cool. Can I hitch a ride home then?”

“You’re a freeloader: my book in class, my lunch table, helping you find your way around school, my Italian intellect.”

“Fine. I’ll catch the bus.”

Once we’ve packed up our things and have stepped out of the booth, we notice that the restaurant has gotten some customers. A lot of them recognize me so they raise their glass at me or give me a head nod.

“People like you. I would never have thought.”

He nudges me with his shoulder.

“C’mon.”

Outside he looks around. “Where you at? The least I can do for a girl who won’t give me a ride home is walk her to her vehicle.”

“It’s cool. I can make it on my own.”

“What kind of gentlemen would that make me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not very gentlemen-like at all.”

I don’t want him to see the car.

“Come on, Kendall. Seriously.”

I can see he’s for real because his eyebrows are level and his mouth forms a straight line which is unlike what I’ve seen so far.

“Okay. But promise not to freak or over-react or whatever.”

“Why?”

“Promise.”

He sees that I'm serious now. “I promise.”

I unlock the car and the lights flash. He follows me until he realizes where I’m headed.

“You said you wouldn’t freak.”

“I-I-I-I’m not freaking.”

“Still want that ride home?”

“Sure.”

            We get in the car and the silence that follows isn’t quite disconcerting but it is a little awkward.

            “Nice car by the way. I forgot to say nice car.”

            “Thanks,” I say, back to my regular closed off self.

            “So, your rich dad must have-

            “It’s a hand me down.”

            “I wish.”

            I’m beginning to feel like I have to defend myself. I don’t want him to come to the conclusion that instead of jaded and secluded, I was really being snobby. It’s not like that at all. I needed that space for myself. I don’t mind that everyone else thinks I’m stuck up or above them but not my friends. And I do consider Will a friend.

            “Will, I-

            Out of the corner of my eye, I see him suppress a smile.

            “I know you must think that-

            “I don’t think anything. I accept what you tell me. I may make assessments but I never assume anything. Or at least I try not to. The fact that you have a very nice car is only the result of a wealthy father. That’s all I know. That’s all I think. Kendall, I’m not your friend to judge you. This isn’t some social experiment that Devin put me up to. I’m here with you for me.”

            I don’t know what to say to this. So I don’t say anything.

            “Turn left here.”

            His voice startles the sudden silence in the car and I turn past a mirage of something more.

            “Here I am.”

            “Nice house.”

            “Thanks for the lift.”

            Maybe he thought I was being sarcastic with my compliment.

            “My ma loves the house. She thinks it’s classic.”

            “It is.”

            “Alright, Kendall. See you tomorrow.”

            “Okay.”

            He gets out and closes the door. He stands there and I figure he’s waiting for me to drive away so I do.

 

                        I watch that awesome car, driven by that awesome girl, drive away. I have to admit, I had a hard time reading her at Stone’s. She doesn’t want to be read so I will put forth an honest effort. Even still, it’s like she was a different person; smiling and freely dropping “I love you”. She must be getting comfortable to say that in my presence or she loves her brothers more than she fears being uncomfortable. I had a lot to think about tonight and thanks to doing my homework because I just had to spend time with her, I had a lot of time, too. Thirsty. I laugh at my sudden eagerness.

            I don’t know why I’m standing in my driveway. She was out of my sight within seconds.

            “Speed demon.”

            “Will, what’re you doing? You’re late!” I hear Patricia shout.

            That gets me moving up the driveway, toward the door.

            “It’s called a job. You should try it sometime.”

            “Manuel labor? Ew. No thanks.”

            “Then don’t worry about it.”

            I step pass her into the house, continue up the stairs and on to my room, the second door on  the left; the black one. I’m just noticing that Trish is still behind me.

            I sigh heavily, “What?”

            “Who was that who dropped you off?”

            “A friend.”

            She must have been waiting for me if she knew that I got a lift home.

            “A friend? We just started. It’s too soon to have friends.”

            “It’s too soon for you to have friends.”

            “Who was it? What is this ‘friend’s’ name?”

            I’m not too sure about dropping Kendall’s name considering how private she is. Then again, Trish will see us together eventually.

            I’m about to say Kendall’s name when Trish says, “Fine. Keep your little secret. But I can make friends, too and I’ll find out who this person is.”

            She turns and heads toward the door.

            “Thanks for making that decision for me.”

            I salute her as she completely leaves.

            I dread her finding out about Kendall. Her being overprotective was not an understatement. When she finds out who Kendall is, she’ll go to any lengths to keep her away from me. I had to protect Kendall from a sister who was trying to protect me. Drama much? Kendall just wanted to be left alone. She certainly wouldn’t be once Trish got wind of this info. I could just ask what she thinks. She is part of this now. It would affect her. I’d only be fair to ask her opinion. I’d decided then. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Now for sleep.

 

            I walk into an empty house. He more than likely will be working late tonight so I might actually be able sleep. I sleep pretty light when he’s around to stay somewhat alert. But I think my subconscious can sense when he’s not in the vicinity because I tend to sleep hard on those nights. I smile a little. I was beginning to think he would never work late again. I need this sleep. I’ve been feeling exhausted and this sleep is sorely needed and welcomed.

            In my room, I stripe down to nothing and snatch the blanket off my mirror. I have to brace myself before I take in the state of my body. I sigh. It’s like this situation was made to break a girl who would have been otherwise prosperous. I have the looks. I have the figure. I had the personality. I’m athletic. I’m smart. I’m someone my father should be proud of. I could be just as successful as my brothers. 

            Instead he’s turned me into a stand-offish self afflicting recluse. He’s turned me into someone he can hate. Even still, I am loveable; someone worth loving. Right? I look at the deep purple, almost black, bruise on my left shoulder and the softer purple bruise on my chest where he kicked me. The others from previous encounters are practically gone. Whenever they begin to disappear, he offers brand new ones.

            I’m determined not to hate myself like I want to. This isn’t my fault. It’s hers. Why did she have to bestow her looks upon me? Okay, maybe it’s not her fault that I got her looks, but it’s her fault for leaving me. You don’t save yourself and sacrifice your children. It’s much easier and fulfilling to hate her instead of myself. I toss the sheet back over the mirror and put on jogging pants and a t-shirt. Sleep.

            I fall asleep almost right away. Last I checked it was seven o’clock which is late for me to be walking in the house on a school night. The first face I see is hers after I’ve peacefully slept for who knows how long. The thing is, I see her face from a distance and on an angle. I’m looking up at her. I realize I’m a kid in this dream. She and my father are arguing. They did a lot of that around the time she left us.

            “Kenny?”

            I turn to see my brother, Derrick.

            “You don’t need to be listening to this.”

            “But-

            Then we hear a noise that sounds like a slap. But when I turn to look no one’s acting as though there was any physical altercation.

            “Let’s go play a game or something.”

            I turn back to him and he looks troubled but he smiles for me. Back when I was eight, I didn’t understand what really happened. I understand it just dandy now.

Reviews

[shelbylugal]

My sister, although she was only one at the time, clams to remember it.- Claims

AHHHHHHH Get out the next chapter!! I must read more. I've put off my homework to read this. I see a really big hit here. You have a total fan here. I've subscribed and everything! You really have a talent here, please, never stop writing.

[Deanna Ballard]

Thanks for the boost of confidence. Tonight I'll post all the chapters I have for my one fan/subscriber.