Marney in the Middle

Chapter 18: Rule Two

I contemplate going through the back door, but decide I don't want to pass by the boys, who either still might be fighting or try to stop me. My mind is already flustered enough; anyone else tries to dissuade me, it'll likely work. So I use the double doors in their parents' room. The lawn is empty, but voices and other noises drift out from the garage to greet me. Taking a deep breath and pretending I have a plan – and that it's a really good one – I walk straight up to the garage's side door and knock twice.

No answer. Voices and noises are consistent, though. Maybe they didn't hear.

I knock again, only this time louder and four times.

The hiss of someone shooshing others precedes Donny opening the door. He presses his face out of the small opening and squints at me. My heart flips as I try to force what I hope is a cute, unassuming smile. I push some of my hair behind my ear to expose my neck (another one courtesy of Toria Dillon). He seems to notice, his face relaxing out of its glare a little as he tilts his head to the side,

"You need something?"

Crap, my mind is a total blank canvas. Why didn't I think of anything?! Clearing my throat, I smile, "How's, uh, how's it going?"

"Fine," he says, a little bit of his squint returning.

"That's good."

We share a stiff couple of seconds as my mind's gears turn.

"No one else has arrived yet," I say with a little nod toward the house. We both glance in that direction. Malcolm and Reese are caught up in an animated argument, arms swung up into the air and mouths moving swiftly. I grimace; bad timing.

"Guess it ain't much of a party," Donny offers after a second.

"Guess not." I let a giggle slip out that's more real than forced. My mouth moves faster than my mind, "So—"

"Mary, is it?"

"Marney."

"Right; unusual."

"That's what they tell me," I say with a mental eye roll.

He smirks with the left side of his mouth, his gaze flickering across my bare chest, arms and shoulders. I gulp and try to look nonchalant. I really must become more comfortable with this whole blatant being checked out thing. My self-consciousness asks why, telling me there's no point because it won't last, but I ignore it. There's time to beat myself down later.

"You want a drink?"

"Huh?" A mental kick. "I mean, yeah—yes, sure."

Donny opens the door a few inches more to hold up his hand and put up a finger. I get a glimpse of inside. Though I haven't actually seen it before, it looks far different than I expect. Mono-colored tubs, tubes and beakers, trays and guy's donning safety goggles. Like an actual science lab set-up right there in the Wilkerson's backyard. I wonder if Malcolm has ever gone this large-scale with one of his experiments.

The door shuts before I can take in more of whatever their up to. I wander back to the picnic table and rest on the seat; it's wobbly with a mushy surface that's been dampened and left to air-dry far too many times, so I switch to rest on the table portion. Smoothing my charcoal grey dress to remain between me and the stained wood. Not great but better.

Puffy blue and grey clouds roam by above my head, the sky already darkening with nightfall. I shiver more out of habit than actual chill. Nights in California are nowhere near as cold as Washington, but my mind tells me they are. My shoulders slouch a little at the thought of home. Of rain and the ocean. Of course, there's ocean here, too, but this ocean is different. Tourist traps with politer beaches and sunny weather. Home boasts oceans with rocky shores and a persistent cool breeze from sun-up to sun-down.