Chapter 3
I don’t really know where I’m going as I wander around the neighborhood. I don’t want to go home. I’ve got some family issues.
I look up, realizing that I don’t know where I am. I’m one street over from my house, and one street over from Kyle’s house. I think I’ll go there.
Kyle Jameson is my best friend. We’ve known each other for, like, ever. Most of our lives. We can talk to each other about pretty much anything (well, puberty is a subject we try to avoid). He knows me better than anyone else, which means he won’t bother asking about my condition until he knows I’m ready to talk about it.
I know he will be home, since he’s homeschooled. So was I, until the economy got so bad that my mom had to work. Not that I mind. I’ve never gotten along with either of my parents very well. I hold the opinion that if my teacher had been Kyle’s mother, I would’ve enjoyed being homeschooled. Especially since she’s always baking cookies.
I can smell them three houses down. I run the remaining few yards to Kyle’s house.
“Krystal! What are you doing here, sweetie?” Mrs. Jameson calls from the open kitchen window. She wipes her flour-dusted hands on her apron. Yes, she still uses aprons, but they’re the modern kind, with geometric designs and her name on the front. She made it a few weeks ago.
I trot up the side steps, and quickly embrace her. “Had some trouble at school today” I reply. She nods, glancing at my bruise-covered forehead, and hands me a plate of steaming oatmeal cookies. See? Told you, these people know me. “Where’s Kyle?” I mumble, my mouth full of gooey goodness.
“You called?”
I jump and turn around, as Kyle fully knew I would. He, a tall, lanky boy of 15, emerges from behind the wall. His shaggy blonde hair is blown off to one side due to the kitchen fan spinning from overhead.
“Hey Kyle. No, I didn’t call, I asked. It’s not the same”, I tease him.
“Whatever. Same difference.” Kyle grabs a chair and plops into it. “Half day at school?”
“Uh, sorta.” I deliberately avoid the truth. Kyle knows how things are for me at school. He takes the hint. Without missing a beat, he burps loudly and pours me a glass of milk. “You wanna talk outside?”
“Yeah, that sounds good”. I get up and follow Kyle to the deck out back. “Thanks for the cookies, Mrs. Jameson!”
. . .
Outside, seated on a couple of wicker chairs, I relate to Kyle the events of the day.
“How the heck did you get all the way here looking like that? People should have spotted you a mile away,” he says teasingly. I knew that under the flippant façade, he was concerned. He’s just like that. He cares about everyone.
“Ky, this is serious! Some random dude is stalking me!”
He brushes crumbs from his mouth. “You want to go get some more cookies?”
Normally, I would huff and puff and whine that he wasn’t paying attention. After which he would laugh and we would both go and swipe more snacks. But the way he said it was…it was just weird. Like he knows something, but isn’t supposed to tell me.
