ḾṎᕍ⁅ᖇṈ ℄Ṏv⁅ | The Lost Boys

ᏨᏲᾀᑬt⁅ᖇ ⁅ḭgᏲt

Michael was acting weird. Well, he was always weird, but this was different. Mikey slept all day and woke up with the sunset. Then, he'd on his bike and drive away—presumably to the boardwalk.

Mom was pretty pissed about him leaving me behind the other night. She's ranted about it to me the following day—but ultimately ended the conversation saying she was glad I was safe. She'd wanted to talk with Michael about it, but Michael slipped out before she had the chance.

The next night, the boys came to the house. They didn't come inside—no, they tore up the driveway, purposefully being as loud as they possibly could, engines revving up a storm. Mom caught Michael before he went out, encouraging him to invite the boys inside.

"They might like a nice, home-cooked meal," she said, peeking at them through the curtains.

"Maybe next time," was his reply. There was no next time.

I did everything in my power to avoid seeing them whenever they came around. Ever since that dream, I felt weird about the boys. The sound of their bikes coming up drive was enough to make my heart skip a beat.

Sometimes—and I was reluctant to admit this—but sometimes, I placed myself in an area where I could see them. Where they could see me. It was stupid. I didn't understand why I did it. Those guys were strange, not to mention dangerous. I shouldn't want anything to do with them.

But that didn't stop me.

Another odd occurrence—though nowhere near the level of Mikey's pissy attitude—was the objects that started appearing on my window. Random things. The first one I noticed was a shell. It was beautiful—one of those shells you'd buy in tourist shops and can't find on the beach. I assumed a bird had put it there, deciding it's was unfit for their nest, and I brought it inside.

The next day, there was a couple of dandelions. The day after that, a flat stone with a hole wore down in the center. And on and on, the little gifts came.

Strangely, they kept appearing, but I didn't put too much thought into it. I was too busy with Michael, his new friends, and his piss-poor attitude.

Michael was ... easily agitated. His jokes were more like petty jabs. At me. At Sam. At Grandpa. At Mom.

I stood in the kitchen, helping mom with dinner when Michael came stomping down the stairs, sunglasses tucked into his white top. His friends would be here any moment.

"Michael, do you want to take a night off and have a family dinner?" said Mom, "We haven't eaten together in a while. Might be nice."

He snorted. "Yeah, right."

He spun into his heel and stalked to the door. Motorcycles could be heard revving up the drive, and yet their voices raised above the raucous, clear as day.

Mom shriveled the tiniest bit. My nostrils flared. I sat down a little too hard and exuded yourself, storming after him.

I caught his arm as he was out the door, pulling him to an abrupt halt.

"Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, but it doesn't give you the right to be an ass to mom."

He raised his eyebrows, amused. "But I can to you, right?"

The headlights of four motorcycles pulled into the driveway. Michael tried to join them, but I held firm, nails biting into the soft leather of his jacket.

He looked back at me exasperated, and, for a moment, I shriveled under his gaze. Sure, the two of us fought. A lot. But he'd never looked at me with such hatred before.

"Why are you acting like this?" I whispered.

"Look, unlike you, I've got friends waiting for me." Michael jerked his head towards the boys, who, as far as I could tell, were enjoying this moment of discord. "How about you make some of your own and stop bugging me. A word of advice, guys, don't like clingy girls."

Tears burned the backs of my eyes, but my anger burned brighter. I released his arm with a push, causing him to stumble down the stairs.

"Well," I sniffed, "at least I'm not a fake."

It seemed my words hit their mark. Michael flinched, shying away from me. He opened his mouth to speak, and yet no words came out. Perhaps it was better that way, I thought. If I said any more, there would be irreparable damage done to both parties.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I shook my head—we both need time to mellow. Tomorrow things would be different. Or not. These days, I wasn't so sure what to expect from him.

Suddenly, the boys all began to shout for Michael. Their voices clamored over one another and coupled with their revving engines, it was starting to give me a headache.

Michael looked over at them, and, just like that, all traces of regret vanished. He was back to the insufferable asshole. He jogged down the stairs, heading for his bike. I rolled my eyes.

"Hey, baby!" Paul shouted, "Don't you wanna come party with us?!"

There was a chorus of laughter and more engines revving. I flipped them off as I headed back inside.