Hello, I Love You

Hello, I Love You (Chapter Eight)

Fan, vote, comment! (: (I spiced it up a bit. ;))

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CHAPTER EIGHT:

As we arrived home in the Reynolds' worn out vehicle, I ushered the children out the doors. Maybe aiding Mrs. Reynolds with her children would put me back on her good side...

"Cora, no!" Mrs. Reynolds scolded. She shook her head in outrage and seized Myla's small wrist. "The car hadn't halted into a complete and total stop! Do you realize that Myla had the chance of stumbling over this," - she gestured to a piece of firewood on the opposite side of the garage - "and possibly falling under the automobile?"

Okay, this woman was officially psychotic. "But it's on the other side of the garage," I retorted, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "That would take a lot of - " I cut myself off mid-sentence because of two factors. One, if Aunt Belle received notice about unacceptable behavior on my part, I'd be grounded for eternity; two, it appeared as if steam would spurt out of Mrs. Reynolds's ears any moment, like in cartoons, due to anger.

"Mommy, can we go inside?" Myla whined, glimpsing at her mother hopefully.

The corner of my lips twitched upwards slightly. "I'll take them inside," I offered, reaching for Myla's hand.

"No!" Mrs. Reynolds insisted, clenching her fist in anger. "Let's try this again," she suggested - well, demanded - more calmly. She gently picked up Myla and placed her in the car, chanting to herself, "Calm, cool, and collect. Calm, cool, and collect."

I almost erupted into laughter, but I forced myself to be silent. I clambered back into the car and all the Reynolds children were glaring at me, as if this was my fault. I ignored their stares and focused my eyes out the clear window.

Mrs. Reynolds put the car in reverse and pulled out of the garage. She maneuvered to about halfway down the driveway, and parked again in the garage.

"Waste of gas," I scoffed under my breath, tapping my fingers on the window.

"Now you all may get out of the car," Mrs. Reynolds instructed. She opened the driver's seat door gently, as if a bomb was waiting to be triggered. I shook my head pathetically at her insanity and pried open the door nearest to me as quickly as possible.

Before Mrs. Reynolds could point out anything else wrong with my actions, I sprinted into their house. It was just as I rememered it to be. The family room was coated in beige - the wall paint, the carpeting, the furniture, everything. A book on the study of philosophy was sprawled on the tan rug in the middle of the floor. Why they placed a rug on carpeting still fails to make sense to me.

"Cora?" an utterly shocked voice echoed, and footsteps clattered down the stairwell shortly after.

Twisting around, I distinguished Quentin's silhouette. I braced myself to see his large-rimmed glasses, buzz cut, and his height below my forehead. As his shadow came into view, I took a few steps back and blinked a couple times.

"Quentin?" I uttered, my mouth gaping open. He had changed drastically in the past two years since I had seen him. Of course, I'd catch a glimpse of him every so often, but ever since I traumatized him, we'd never seen each other face-to-face.

Quentin no longer had a buzz cut; instead, he grew his locks out into natural brown layers. There was a hint of rebellion in the smirk he allowed me as he descended the metallic stairwell. The glint in his baby blues eyes danced michieviously in the sunlight, and his bony fingers carressed the railing gently.

He chuckled, his tone low, yet quite loud. "It's been quite a while, no? I hardly had the chance to speak to you last night."

One thing's for sure that his speaking manner hadn't altered. Always the same, proper phrases all the Reynolds acquired since I've known them... which was all my life, basically.

"Yeah," I agreed, awkwardly rubbing my arm.

There was a loud crash and the hollering of Mrs. Reynolds's voice in the garage as the little children's screams reverberated. One of the Reynolds kids must have knocked something over.

"Well, I should probably assist Mother..." Quentin gestured to the doorway. I nodded feebly and stomped up the stairs a little too loudly to the guest room. That'll get Mr. Reynolds peeved without getting me in trouble.

As I turned the knob of the guest room door, I quickly shut it and locked it. I leaned against the wall and slid down, burying my face in my knees. Yesterday, since I had been cooped up in here, I hadn't even caught a glance of the Reynolds, apart from Mrs. Reynolds. None of them had changed, really... apart from Quentin.

It seemed as if I'd need to get to know Quentin a lot better if I wanted to cast the spell on him. It would definitely cause Brittany to envy me... and maybe Arden would be jealous.

No, that was impossible. He never liked me in the first place, he only pretended to for Josh. Oh, how that scheme had backfired unexpectedly. Serves both of them right.

"Cora?" a squeaky, female voice hummed outside my door. A soft knock followed shortly after.

I creaked open the door and saw Daylan standing behind it. She reminded me of Raggedy Ann; her red and curly braided ponytails and rosy cheeks definitely attributed to the similarities.

"Will you play with me, please?" she asked, her cheeks burning up in embarrassment. How could I say no?

"Sure." I nodded my head, and her dark blue eyes lit up.

"Really? We can play Connect Four, but only with Mommy and Daddy's supervision, or - "

"You need supervision to play Connect Four?" I choked out, on the verge of a round of hysterics.

"Well, yeah, Mommy says we might accidently swallow the pieces..."

"You're kidding me," I accused, eyeing her warily.

Daylan shook her head. "No."

"That's ridiculous!" I exclaimed, before giggles protruded from my mouth. A good minute passed before my chuckles ceased. My stomach held pain from my sudden outburst, and I clutched it firmly. Daylan stared at me like I was insane. "Come on," I gasped, grasping her warm hand, "let's have some real fun."

"Unapproved fun?" a low voice rumbled behind us. "That's not a term I'd ever mention here."

"Go away, Quentin," I sighed, shooing him away with my hand.

"I happen to acquire the knowledge of some 'fun' that'll keep us out of trouble," Quentin hinted, clutching something in his left hand.

I rolled my eyes. "What? An unsupervised game of Duck, Duck, Goose? Rollerskating without kneepads or state-approved body armor?"

Quentin chortled. "No. I've changed since we've last been in one another's prescense, Cora," he hinted. "Right now, though, you have a phone call." He handed me the pallid, cordless phone in his left hand.

I covered the receiver. "Who is it?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"It's - "

"Nevermind," I hissed, waving him off and pressing the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Cora? It's Arden."

My blood ran cold, and my smirk dropped. Quentin glimpsed at me curiously, and Daylan tugged at my hand. Arden then spoke the four words no girl ever wants to hear.

"We need to talk."