Behind the Bad Boy

Chapter One

“Hey Mom! Do want me to bring in the box with your China?” I hollered.

She appeared in the doorway, giving me a say-what-now look. “You? Plus my only China? I don’t think so!”

“Hey!”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me! With your clumsiness, you’d drop the box if you tripped over a pebble.” She told me.

“Thank you, mother, for that motivational information,” I huffed playfully.

My mom grabbed the box from the truck and carefully carried it over the threshold, disappearing into the house. Taking a break, I sat down on the still wrapped bench on the grass and observed the house. It was a spacious two-story, with a huge area around it. In front of the house was a cute yard, with a little garden and bird bath and everything. There was no fence, making the rather small yard seem green and big. It was a nice place to live, a nice place to settle down.

It was our new home.

I wasn’t particularly happy to leave our old home in Florida for a new place all the way up in Illinois. I’d heard that more than half the year it was either snowy, cold, or rainy here. It also meant leaving some of my best friends behind, including Marissa and Ben. My heart twisted at the thought of them. I missed them a lot already.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize the presence behind me until it was too late. With a loud cry, my younger brother tackled me, bowling me over and onto the grass with a thud. I let out a groan, reaching to rub my poor back.

Well shi—I mean crap, that’s gonna leave a bruise.

I shoved him off gently—Is that possible?—and got back onto my feet. Shooting him my best malicious glare, I said one word:

“Run.”

He squealed, racing away. I tore after him, determined to catch him even if running was definitely not my forte. I ran past my dad, who was the one that returned with my little brother when they went to get some food for our dinner. He glanced up as I passed.

“Don’t run too far Bianca! And hurry back because we need to get the rest of the boxes put in!” He yelled after us.

“Okay Dad!” I yelled back.

Meanwhile, my brother—Travis—had skidded around the corner. I bent around it, catching him in my sight.

As we were racing through the neighborhood, I caught glimpses of people out in their yards. Some were families, with children playing around in the garden, some were old couples, lounging in the shade. The neighborhood seemed friendly and inviting.

At one particular point—which would be about 5 minutes later—I stopped, heaving for air. Putting my hands on my knees, I gulped in huge breaths, calming my lungs and heart.

Standing up straight again, I looked around for Travis.

He was nowhere in sight. I frowned, turning in a full circle. When nothing but houses entered my vision, I started to worry.

He couldn’t be lost.  .  . Could he?

Crap, crap, and triple crap.

“Travis?” I called. “Travis!” Silence.

I muttered. “If your hiding, I swear to God. . .”

I walked quickly down the pavement, looking into bushes and trees, in peoples’ yards, on the roads. . .

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. Travis would be the one child who ran on the street for fun.

That little son of a biscuit.