Fragments

Secrets

When I wrote this, my mind was fuzzy with so many ideas and so many lines I wanted to write down before I forgot them, I put down the first working title I thought of. It was fjdslk jfdsklfjdsj flkajslfk;d. Or, something like that. 

So, I decided to just rename it Secrets and leave it at that. It's plain, not really intriguing, but . . . eh. 

Enjoy!

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The house next door had been sold several times in the years my family had lived in Lennox Creek. That, though unusual to newcomers, had slowly faded to a series of events that repeated over and over again. A new owner would move in, Mom would send cookies, the owner would put the house on sale, and the property would be snatched up in a week. It had been that way for thirteen summers, before it all ended. Before my hopeful light, which had somehow stayed with me as I grew up, dissipated into ashes.

On summer mornings, especially in the weeks counting down to the first day of school, I had a habit of rising at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise. My mother, now a housewife, was once an aspiring artist with a love for the colors of the sun and sky. I suppose that love transferred to me when she gave up her dreams to become a full-time mother. At least, that's what I told myself then.

I sat on the porch swing, a mug of tea warming my hands. I lifted the cup to my nose, the sweet aroma flooding my nostrils as I gazed lazily at the world in front of me. I never actually drank the tea, just allowed myself to inhale the pleasant smell and relax in the perfect weather.

Lennox Creek, though abundant with quaint little shops and elite private schools, was quite small in comparison to neighboring towns. Any news, whether it be celebrity gossip or suburban scandals, spread like wildfire. It became, either through birth or residential longevity, an instinct to immediately open your mouth at the mere sight of change. Which was why my first reflex when the van pulled up into the driveway of the house next door was to bellow out that a sudden alteration had come over the neighborhood.

I jumped up, spilling some tea in the process. There it was, a vehicle black as my mother's onyx necklace, the engine humming through the early morning silence. The back doors slid open and out came the four of them. There were three boys and one girl, each carrying a duffel bag and a backpack, like they were about to be shipped off to sleepaway camp.

The driver, their identity still hidden from me, barked an order to the kids and the car screeched away. I followed it with my eyes, down the street and around the corner. Then my attention flew back to the kids, mysteriously left by themselves.

Maybe this is some kind of quest, thought my naive mind, musing of various instances I'd read about in fantasy novels. Maybe I'll be part of it and we'll go on some sort of adventure!

The new neighbors slammed the front door shut, waking me out of my reverie. I set my the mug down on the swing and went to get the cookies.

~

There were no cookies left in the cabinet (the last owner had had a soft spot for chocolate chip and with my brother Henry's summer baseball games, Mom hadn't had time to bake more). I considered calling my best friend Leila McKinley, who's nanny had some serious baking skills, but decided against it. If I was going to get into trouble for disturbing the new neighbors at seven in the morning, there was no way I'd drag her into it as well.

In the end, I pulled out some leftovers and put them in the microwave. While the plate spun around and around, I questioned myself, as I often did, on whether or not this was a good idea. Mom was always telling me to set an ideal example for Grace and Henry, always scolding me with the words 'be a role model for your siblings.' But no matter how many times the angel part of me said to wait until a reasonable hour (I had nowhere to go anyways), the devil (who wasn't much of a delinquent) prevailed. The three boys and one girl, appearing so suddenly in my life, had won over my curiosity. I was going to walk up their porch steps with a plate of meatloaf and mac and cheese, and there was nothing to stop me.

There was only a hedge separating the two houses, regularly trimmed by my father. I crossed the lawn, around so that I was stepping on the sidewalk, and took the long way (as I had been taught) up to the front door.

The wood displayed several scratches and the paint around it was peeling. I shifted the plate to my left hand nervously. Was I out of my mind?

Yes, came Leila's voice, laced with annoyance. I rolled my eyes. My best friend, even when she was all the way across town and probably sleeping in her queen-sized bed, would always be a reminder that these crazy impulses, which I could never resist, were crazy.

Still, I ignored the voice, raised my hand in a fist, and knocked on the door. There were a few murmurings, the thud of someone skipping the bottom step, the door finally flung open by the girl, who looked about my age.

She was lanky, with long, dark brown waves and murky brown eyes. Her skin was pale and flawless, much to my burning envy (I was suffering from a wave of pimples and greasy skin). I could imagine the boys at school whistling appreciatively. She could have won them all over with her beauty, had she not greeted what seemed like everyone in the world outside and me with a scowl upon opening the door.

There was a moment of intimidating silence before the girl cleared her throat, crossed her arms, and just plain glared at me. Eternity must have passed until I'd found my voice.

"Um, I'm Kat Inworth - your next door neighbor - and uh, um, I brought some food to a, welcome you to the neighborhood," I managed to stutter out.

The girl raised her eyebrows. She put her hand around the knob, making me wonder if she was about to slam the door. Instead, the girl said, "I'm Cleo."

She offered no last name, just something to call her instead of 'the girl.' I handed her the plate of leftovers and stood there for a second. My eyes searched frantically for something to talk about while my mind went into overdrive thinking about interesting conversation starters.

After the longest time, I spotted the gold locket around Cleo's neck. Mustering all of my courage, I asked, "Where did you get that locket? It's really pretty."

Oh, great. Now I sound shallow. Good job to me!

But Cleo simply glanced down at the pendant and looked back up at me. For the slightest moment, I could see her guard drop, see a swirl of pain and joy and anger. She opened her mouth, closed it, then replied, so softly I could hardly hear it, "I'd rather keep that a secret."