The Summer They Really Lived

Materialism

Delilah

Charlie keeps me hugged tight to his chest as we both mull over the surprising contents left in the letter left by Martha. The only reason her words hurt is because I know they are true. Charlie and I have always depended on each other, whether it be for the answers on tests and homework, to get out of trouble, soothe the pain of our parents' issues, or even get each other the gifts our families are too cheap to provide. Speaking of families.

"Hey, you need to go, De. You know my folks don't exactly like you," he worries when he hears the growl of their planet-raping dick mobile, a sparkly blue Chevy Bel Air, pulling into the driveway.

"Don't sugarcoat it," I grumble. I give him one last squeeze before reluctantly pulling away, gathering up my backpack and discretely shoving the letter into the front pocket. It won't be missed. At least I hope. Charlie ushers me over his window and tugs it open, letting in the humid air. "See ya later." I give him a two fingered salute and slide out the window into his backyard, throwing my backpack over myself while I run over to hop the wooden fence with a practiced ease developed from years of practice. No matter how many times I move, I know Charlie will always be in the same place. I look over my shoulder at the slowly closing window and Charlie waves slightly. I'm about to wave back when his eyes widen with shock and the window snaps shut as he spins around, greeting his parents with what I know is an easy smile. As much as he hates lying, I know he would protect me over "sinning." Besides, he has confessional every Sunday anyways. I finish climbing the fence, watching for splinters, and run out onto the street, towards my car.

~~~~~   ~~~~~   ~~~~~   ~~~~~   ~~~~~

"So how we're the Addams family?" I ask through the phone, bouncing a tennis ball on the mirror across from my bed.

"Shut up," he laughs. "They're not as bad as you think."

"Because they're lying to you, Chuck," I joke. "They're probably just werewolves of London, ready to turn you at any moment!"

"You're probably right. I can feel it happening now!" I hear a strangling noise on the other line.

God, what a dork. That'll never change. "Very funny. Your mom didn't find out about me being there right?"

"Has she ever?" I can practically hear the prideful smirk plastered on his face.

"Don't get too cocky or soon- aw shit." Well Lana has said I shouldn't hit the mirror with the ball before.

"What now?" Already tired of me.

"I cracked the mirror," I mutter, walking over to it to inspect the thin but long crack, obscuring my reflection like a ripple in a pool of water. Smaller cracks branch out from the main one in a spider web covering a big portion of the top left corner. "Oops. Lana and David are going to kill me. I'm about to be in a whole lotta hurt."

"Let me guess, with the tennis ball?"

"Ding ding ding!" I try to cover the crack, draping one of my leather jacket over it. I used to be scared of mirrors when I was a kid so maybe I could pass it off as that.

"C'mon, I've told you literally a thousand times not to do that!" I hear the light slap of his palm against his face.

"Look, I'll be fine. Well, maybe not at first," I trail off.

"Delilah-"

"Gotta go!" Lana is going to be home soon anyways. I hang up the prohibited phone and toss it into the shoe box near my the foot of my bed, not interested in dealing with his concerns. I close the top and shove it all the way under with my foot, smiling when I hear it smack the wall. I resume my position on the bed, arms over my head and tennis ball safely tucked away under my blankets. I sigh, internally comparing my room to Charlie's. Our beds are in generally the same spot, tucked away in the far right corner but from then on, the similarities stop.