CHAPTER TWO • • •
I stood in the kitchen, my head in the refigerator. I heard nothing other than the ticking of the timer and the hum of the fridge. I sighed as I brought out the juices that we drink. Grape, orange, apple, fruit punch, and grapefruit. Cira and Clara drink grape. Cira only drinks white, but Clara only drinks red. Wyatt drinks orange juice at every meal but breakfast, of which he drinks milk. Harlem drinks apple, Vince drinks grapefruit, and I the fruit punch. I got out the glasses and started pouring the liquid into them.
It was after I had screwed the cap onto the grapefruit juice that I saw Harlem helping pour the drinks. I smiled at him and gave him a nod of thanks. I finished pouring the next glass when the timer buzzed, making Harlem jump. I chuckled as I placed the juice on the counter and grabbing an oven mitt. I opened the oven door and blinked as the heat rushed out at me. I reached in to grab the pan of chicken and pulled it out when I realized it was gone. I felt a slight draft and looked over to Harlem, who was leaning against the counter, grinning. I rolled my eyes as I turned around again. The chicken was on the stove top. I shrugged and grabbed the various bowls that littered the counter. I looked at the blonde boy behind me.
"Oh, good," I stated, feigening enthusiasm. "Since you're here you get to help me set the table!"
"Jee, that sounds fantastic," he said dryly, walking to the cabinet and taking the plate down.
I laughed as I took two bowls into the dining room. I put them on to the middle of the table and fixed the place mats. They were one of the only things that weren't customized in the house. I walked back into the kitchen only to almost run into Harlem, who was walking out with plates, forks, and knives. There was one spoon and I smiled to myself as I walked around. I was the only one who had to eat my vegetables with a spoon. I can't eat them with a fork. I grabbed the last big bowl and turned around . . .
Just to see it get pulled from my hands.
"Hey!" I exclaimed, looking the theif in the face.
"Hay is for horses," Vince said, turning around and walking away with the bowl.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed for the chicken, which was taken from me also. Harlem smiled at me timidly and walked out. Vince put him up to it. I know he did. I gathered the drinks and walked carefully into the dining room again. I set the drinks in a line on the table and walked away. I stepped through the kitchen and into the living room, where the television was flickering images to its viewers.
"Wyatt, Cira, Clara?" I asked, and they glanced at me. "Dinner's ready."
I stepped away from the door as they rushed through it. They wanted to claim their seats. No one wanted to sit by me today. They knew what was coming. I walked slowly behind them until I came into the dining room again. My glass was sitting between Vince and Wyatt, at the head of the table. I slid into my chair as everyone's eyes were rivited to the floor, trying to avoid my hazel eyes. Vince chuckled and reached for the food, breaking off some of the tension. His plate was full when Harlem reached for the spoon for the vegetables. Wyatt beat him to it and the twins started giggling. I rolled my eyes as they fought each other for the serving utensils. They've always been like this. We've know each other for a little over six years, no matter how ironic it sounds.
Everyone finished serving themselves and I finally piled the food on my plate. I over serve myself a little so I don't have to worry about reaching across the table again. I heard Harlem flirting again, but Clara was talking with Vince across the table. I ate quietly, as I usually did. I chewed thoughtfully as I watched their conversations with amusement. Wyatt was shaking his fork at Harlem and Clara was batting her eyelashes and twirling her. hair. She really didn't have that much education in the flirting department, but I'm not that skilled either, so I just chuckled softly into my carrots. I picked at my food and watched as everyone went for seconds. Vince glanced at me and shook his head, laughing.
"What?" I said as I arched an eyebrow.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," he answered.
I rolled my eyes for the seventh time that night as I went back to my food. I'm not that great of a cook, just one of the only one of us that could. That I know of. Everyone else usually locks themselves in their rooms when it's time to start cooking. I played with my food with my fork as I put it on the side and picked up my spoon. I ate a couple bites of my vegetables as everyone's plates were cleaned again. They were finished and waiting. Harlem, Cira, Clara, and Wyatt glanced at me, seemingly happy that I was a slow eater. I cleaned my plate eventually and looked up. Everything got quiet, and fast. I folded my hands and sighed closing my eyes. This was my least favorite part. Besides, it felt weird repremanding someone that was older than I was.
"Who wants to explain why you were running around, when I've repeatedly told you not to?" I asked calmly.
Harlem coughed and I opened my eyes, directing their gaze on him. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a small squeak. I shook my head at him, but he was brave enough to almost speak up. I turned my gaze to Wyatt.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself? Or for all four of you?" I asked icily.
"We got bored and wanted to play tag," he stated bluntly.
"And you were playing inside because?" I asked.
"It was raining," Cira cut in, whining.
"And since when do you not like rain? There is another house that you could've went to. remember your little 'playhouse' across the yard? I know you could've made a protective dome around y'all, Clara. Then there are things called umbrellas by the front door. This is our last house, guys. They won't give us another one if we mess it up!" I said, waiting as paitiently as possible.
"We just wanted to play a game, Heather. Calm down," said Clara quietly.
Everyone was quiet. No one really spoke up to me like that. I sighed. Without thinking, my hand went up and pinched the bridge of my nose. The air quivered, but it wasn't because of Harlem. I opened my eyes, sat back, and laughed. I snort when I laugh, so when I laugh, no one can help but laugh along with me.
"Thank you, Clara, for speaking up," I breathed between guffaws. "That is why you guys are off the hook, but just this time around. Don't expect it to happen again. Wyatt, you're on dishes. Vince, help him clear the table. Everyone else takes their own plates, or dishes and laundry for a week."
I stood, taking my plate and utensils with me. I placed them in the sink and walked away. My room was calling me. More specificly, my pencil, paper, and instruments.
