not like you → c . barton

[1]

One of the best parts of living on a farm is that you have lots of open land. And with that open land, your dad decides that you can swim in the lake during the summer, and that you can skate on it in the winter, since he could always check on me. Well, it's late spring now, like May spring, and I was in the lake. It was a Saturday, and most of my teachers didn't give homework on Fridays. So, the weekend was as it should be: my time. Being the oldest of four, I really needed the peace and quiet out by the water. With two toddlers and a noisy baby named after the man who saved my dad's life from an evil robot, the house was overly loud. I had my own room and everything, but damn were those kids noisy. I climbed out of the water and sat on the edge so I could grab my towel, and I saw some kids across the field. Now, when I say this, I want you to think very hard about your experience. Middle school boys are the dumbest creatures on this planet. They think they're the coolest people in the world, and the wittiest. Let me assure you, they are not. Anyways, I saw these three boys across the field, and they had a habit of coming over here. They tell me I have 'big tits', and because we're in eighth grade, and we get sex ed in that year, they ask to 'check my boobs for cancer'. In case you're wondering, yes, I have punched two out of the three, and no, they haven't touched my chest, nor will they ever. Back to the matter at hand. So, I saw them, they saw me, and they immediately started to come over.

"Oh damn," I muttered, and I stood on the edge of the lake. I'm well aware of the fact that these three individuals were never named, so I'll tell you who they are. You have your average cocky lacrosse player, named Brian. He was the one who, before he had health class (sex ed), he made the comment about 'popping the cherry.' Then there was Patrick, that kid who thinks he's the class clown, but gets burned when the quiet kid (aka moi) sends a zinger his way. Finally, we had the classic 'I'm the bad boy but I'll get my mommy if you get dust on my new shoes' kid, named Ryan. Now, they were on their way over to me, and my bottom half was dry. So, I slipped my shorts back on, put on my sneakers, and I bent to grab my top. Big mistake.

"Hey! Alex! Need a checkup?" Brian called out, and I felt my face burning with both anger and embarrassment. I snatched my top and my towel before booking it across the field, back to the farm house. I could hear those douchebags laughing from behind me, and angry tears filled my eyes. To this day, I will never understand how I let them get away with something like that. And I never told my parents what was going on, either, until that afternoon. Please note that this had been going on since I hit puberty, which was back in grade six.

"Honey, what's wrong?" my mother asked me, but I just went directly to my room and shut the door. I tossed my clothes into the hamper in the corner of my room and went to grab a change of clothes from my closet. I heard the front door open and close, and then I could hear the pounding of shoes against wooden floors, signaling my brother and sister running downstairs to greet dad. I changed out of my swimsuit and stayed in my room. I sat on my window sill and pulled my knees up to my chest, looking outside, through my white curtains. I could hear footsteps coming up the wooden stairs, and the door to my room creaked open. I didn't look over to see who it was, but the person came nearer and nearer.

"What? No hug for your old man?" my dad asked, and I looked up at him. I was unaware of the fact that I had been crying until his expression, which was originally a smile, turned into a frown.

"Alex? What's wrong?" he asked, and I shrugged. I scooted down the sill, giving him more room to sit if he pleased, which he did. He set his hand on my shoulder, and I again looked at him."Why're you crying?" he asked me softly, and I shook my head. Did I want to tell him about the boys? Yes. Did I want to be crying over it? No. Absolutely not. His arm was around my shoulders, and he pulled me to his side. By this point, I was completely in tears, and he was rubbing my back and kissing my hair. Mom had come up the stairs, and she was in my room and at my other side faster than I could say....really anything.

"Baby, what's wrong?" she asked me, and she shared a look with dad. So, there I was, a fourteen year old crybaby being cradled by her parents. Out of nowhere, I found my voice again, and I calmed myself down.

"T-There are these b-boys. And they tease me, and they tell me I have big tits, and they want to feel them and check them for b-breast cancer," I sniffled, and I felt them both tense up. Hey, I had just said tits to my parents. I coulda used boobs, or breasts, but hey, if I was gonna tell them the problem, I had to use the exact words they did, right?

"When was this?" dad asked, and I wiped my eyes.

"The past year," I muttered, and he jumped up. Before mom or I could grab his shirt or hand, he was out of my room, muttering about arrows through eye sockets. I wiped my face and watched as my mom went after him, and I looked outside. The sun was setting, and the golden sunshine was lighting up my curtains. Remember, they're white. I sat back on the sill and stared outside at the trees. The green leaves were blowing in the breeze, and I sighed. I was labeled as a moody teenager, and these were the reasons why. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and I looked to see my dad in the hall. He came back into my room and shut the door behind him. I sighed and went back to staring outside, and he sat across from me.

"Your mom's making dinner. Stew, your favorite," he said softly, gently pushing my bent knee. I looked at him and sighed softly, my brain getting the best of me. My dad gently wrapped his hand around my forearm and pulled me into a hug, which I greatly appreciated. I set my head on his chest, and he rubbed my back, gently.

"I'm sorry I overreacted. I just don't like hearing boys talk about my little girl like that," he whispered, and I nodded.

"Dinner!" mom called from the bottom of the stairs, and we looked at each other.

"Race you to the bottom?" dad asked, and I jumped up.

"You're on," I laughed, and we both ran out of my room and tried to get down the stairs faster than the other one.

***

After dinner, I was back up in my room, in my PJs. My room was dark, and the moon was almost full. I had my curtains pulled back, and I was back on the sill. I could see the shadow of my dad by the barn, and I could make him out to be taking out his targets. Sighing, I pulled myself from the window and flopped onto my bed. I was seriously hoping that he wasn't using those as practice for Brian, Patrick, and Ryan. I crawled under my covers and stared at my ceiling, the sound of owls hooting keeping me up. I didn't want to go back to school, I didn't want to face those boys again, but, dear reader of my life, this is only chapter one of all of the crazy stuff that happens to the daughter of an Avenger.