Ivy

Chapter 2

"Mom, Dad, I'm home."

"What the hell is your problem! I can't even believe you!"

"You're my problem! I hate you! Get the fuck out of my house! Now!

I sigh, slipping past my arguing parents to the kitchen and grab myself an apple out of the fruit  basket.

"Buster. Buster, c'mon," I whisper patting my leg for the poor whimpering German shepherd mix to follow me up the creaky wooden stairs to my bedroom.

I grab my textbooks and plop onto my comforter, propping my elbow up on my knee and taking a bite out of my apple. It took me about an hour to write my English essay on Tom Sawyer. He had it pretty great I decided. Running off to Jackson's Island to play Indians one day, treasure hunting in dank, forgotten caves the next. After studying for my Calculus exam for an excruciatingly long hour and forty-five minutes, I decide that it's time to practice for the most necessary and important test I would have to take this week.

I pull on a pair of aquamarine shorts and slip an old white volleyball t-shirt over my head. Before my parents had started their now daily arguments, I used to play volleyball with high hopes of being able to play at BYU some day. But as time went on and money became more of a daydream than an actual reality, I had to give up the costly sport of volleyball for something that better suited my family's price restrictions. After finishing lacing up my shoes, I give my dog a pat on the head and stand to make my way to the window, grabbing my phone and earbuds on the way. "I'll be back soon, Buster. Okay?" He follows me and sits on my rug by the window, his tongue lolling lazily but happily out the side of his mouth. I pull back the curtain and undo the latch, pushing the window up and open. As I stick one leg out the frame, buster lets out a whine and puts his paw on my leg that's still on the floor of my bedroom. "Hey it's alright," I say, reaching over to pet him one last time. "I'll be back soon... I promise." His eyes were full of sadness. I smile at him and sling my other foot out the window. Despite having a room on the second-story, it was actually very easy to sneak out because my room was near the front of the house and from the window on the side I was able to reach the faded white post, that held the porch cover up, and slide down it like a fire pole. By the front door, I can hear the yelling and shattering of objects as swears are exchanged and items are flung across the room from inside. I hit go on my playlist and shove my headphones into my ears allowing the soft piano to calm my nerves. I set my timer and take a breath, trying to figure out which course to take. I finally decide on the one I normally took on days before a stressful exam or event. I need it today, I tell myself. With a last glance at the house and my bedroom window, I take my first steps, slowly building speed as I settle into a comfortable pace for my run.

My brown ponytail whips back and forth in the wind. The sun's just beginning to set, and the breeze is starting to pick up, but the warm California air keeps the night at a comfortable temperature just perfect for being outside. The concrete below my feet begins to give way to gravel and cobblestone while the houses turn into trees that tower above me in a green wall, blocking out any sight of the starry night sky that I knew loomed above. The birds chirp above the violin that sings out Bach's Chaconne, creating a terrible symphony of awkward mismatched sounds. I turn up the volume, drowning the birds out to where I can hear only the music playing. As the final notes subside, I brake out of the mass of trees and soon reach the pavement again. The woods are my favorite route. They're peaceful and away from everything that isn't. It's nice knowing that not everywhere in the world is wrecked by chaos and ruin. Poor Buster, he was probably hiding out in my room while all hell broke loose underneath him. I pick up the pace a little, eager to see him, to comfort him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay.

I had a little under two miles left so I pushed it and was panting before I finally made it back inside my bedroom window. "Buster I'm home. I beat my fastest by a minute-thirty this time." Instead of hearing the usual bark of delight that normally greets me after a run, I don't hear anything but the shouts coming from downstairs. "Buster?" I turn around but can't see Buster anywhere "Buster, where are you?" The yelling downstairs seems to become even louder. "Buster!" I yell, running for the stairs.