sparks | henry creel

003

It's the next day and I have an awful hangover.
Just kidding, Steve wouldn't let us drink.

I don't drink, anyways. My father died of alcoholism and I promised on his deathbed that I'd never drink a sip of alcohol. I didn't want to drink anyways, I think it's a waste of time and only people who have something to hide drink it. I don't have anything to hide, so why should I drink, you know?

I actually did wake up with a headache, though. Whether it be from all the reading I did yesterday or the fact I watched a two hour along movie straight after that on a gigantic projector screen, I end up with a headache. I hear my grandma come walking up the stairs. Before she can come into my bedroom and banter on about how I need to wake up and be productive so I don't end up like my mother, who, is currently living in Forest Hill trailer park, where, all the druggies and criminals live. My mom lives there, and currently Max lives there, too. Only difference is, Max's mom actually cares for her, and has a job. My mom crashes on a couch and the next day move on to the next trailer park. Suprisingly, though, she's been living there for a month.

"I'm up, grandma," I groan, stuffing the pillow onto my face. It is Thursday, and I do not want to get out of bed. "Honey you have to get up and get ready for school." Grandma yells before the steps recede backwards, meaning she couldn't even get to the top of the stairs.

I hear my walkie-talkie go off, and it's Dustin. He's actually my neighbor, so he's pretty much the only person who can reach me. "Hey Heather, can you uh, maybe come over? Over." He asks. He doesn't even sound tired, like he's been up for an hour already.

"Dustin it's seven in the morning what do you want?" I groan, forgetting the over part. "Over."

"Wow, I've been up for like..." Break. He's probably looking at his watch. "Two hours and three minutes. Anyways, come over! Over and out." He switches off. I groan, getting up. I walk over to my dresser and get into dark blue sweatpants and a white tanktop. I'll brush my teeth and all that stuff after I see what the hell Dustin wants. I climb out my window, that, I can easily access because I built a steady ladder.

I don't sneak out much. But sometimes I do to go over to Dustin's house, like right now, for example.

"This better be good," I groan, seeing him in a difference. He's actually standing in front of his tree house. My eyebrows furrow as I get closer.

"Hey." His eyes light up once he sees me. "I tried reaching Lucas and Mike with my super-walkie-talkie but I guess they aren't home." He waves me over, as if wanting me to go even more faster, as if I didn't wake up only five minutes ago. "Yeah, get to the point." I snap my fingers. Not in a snarky way, but in a 'hurry on with the point' way. "Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He utters.

"See that?" He points into the tree house. "Yes, it's your tree house."
"Yes, it's my tree house, except for it isn't. There's a sleeping bag in there that isn't mine and more I'm just too scared to go in there." He puts his hands on his hips. "Um, have you told your mom about this?" I ask. "No, are you kidding me? She'd freak out and call the cops and I'd be on house arrest by her for days. You know how over protective she is of me," he replies. "Maybe she should. You know, call the cops. Their may be some homeless man in there for all we know." I shrug my shoulders. Just a idea.

"Well I'm assuming it's something like that. I don't really wanna... You know... Go in there." He looks back to the treehouse. "I'll go." I walk over to the ladder of the treehouse. He grabs by wrist. "Heather," he looks me in the eye. "Yes?" I raise an eye. "Be careful," he says after a minute.

I nod, climbing up the ladder shortly after. I lean down and enter through the door.

There's a sleeping bag like Dustin was talking about, along with a Hawkins High School schoolbook, and a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the floor. Gross.

There's also a couple candy wrappers on the floor.

"Heather?" Dustin calls a few seconds after I'm in. "Yeah," I climb back out, hopping down from the ladder. "What'd you find?" He asks. "You're playing a joke on me, aren't you, Henderson?" I sigh.

It's a Thursday morning in December and he's playing a joke on me like it's April fool's.

"What?" He asks. "It's your stuff. There's a Hawkins High notebook with candy you have stuffed away in your house because I've seen it, and a peanut butter and jelly sand-"

"No no, I'm not pranking you. I promise. I don't even eat peanut butter and jelly, I'm allergic. Ask anyone in the group." He shakes his head more than once, looking around my head inside of the tree house. "I guess there's a kid crashing in my house." He sighs, a worried look plastered all over his face. "Hey, don't get ahead too much," I say. "Why not, Heather? You didn't complain whenever we discussed their being a homeless adult living in there. Why get hesitant when I mention the possibility of a teenager living in there?" He defends himself to a extent I didn't even know was possible. "Woah, Dustin, calm down." I sigh. "I think we should discuss it after school today with everyone. See what they all think. What do you think about that?" I cross my arms. "Okay, yeah, that sounds like a nice idea."