I am Number Twelve

8

8

What a stupid uneventful trip it has been to Alabama. 3 days stuck in a truck with Lola. 

We pass several signs stating where we are, what the population is, how far to the next town. So on and so forth. It's not until we get to a sign that says:

 'Welcome to Grove Hill, Alabama, Population-1438 people'

that I read it. I look around. Some shops, not too many houses, and I see a school, Clarke County High. Lola turns down a street, and pulls up outside a white house. It's a small house, with a wooden door, its got two windows in the front, and up in what looks like the attic, is a stained glass window. It has a porch out the front and a small drive way. Next door, is another white house, and a teal house on the other side.

I have neighbors. Neighbors! 

'Zeda, open the boot and get your stuff, I'm going to the real estate agents' Lola says, pulling into the drive way. Shes probably going to buy the house. It explains all the phone calls she made on the way down.

I pop the boot, and get out my one  bag. I step up onto the creaky steps and onto the porch. Twisting the squeaking door knob slowly, I step inside, and survey the room.

Its a lounge, dining room and kitchen, all connected in one flowing room. The walls are wallpapered, and not very well. Its peeling and the glue has seeped through. The floors are wooden, and polished, probably a thousand years ago. A few paintings hang around, one of a black cat, with a collar and a name tag bearing the word 'Legacy' and around the fabric of the collar 'Senora Ricardio', and a few paintings of landscape, one of which has a boat called 'Loraine'. Just a dingy, and 'Loraine' isn't even spelled the way I would spell it, but I still feel a tad nostalgic looking at it. If anything, skeptical. Legacy and Loraine? That's no coincidence.

Paintings aside, I move out of the room and down the hall. I walk to the bottom, and find a bathroom, mouldy. I turn to go back up, and I stop halfway. I enter the bedroom on the left, a faded yellow room with a high bay window. I have to jump to get up, and I'm not a short person.

I reach into my bag, standing in the middle of what is now my room, and pull out the black cube. I hold it to my head and I feel the familiar heat. I put it down, and reach into my bag again. I grab the bed, the three foam mattresses, sheets, and the duvet still remain on it. The tiny pillows are at the bottom of the bag. I hold the bed on the palm of my hand, and think 'big'. The bed grows larger and larger, until its so big, I have to put it down. Still touching it, I don't take my hand off until it grows to its normal size.

+++

When I finish re-sizing my bedroom, I decide that because it's only just lunch time, and Lola is still out, I'll go out to a cafe or something and get a coffee. I vacate the premises and start off towards the main road. I kick the pebbles that sit along the foot path, and as I pass the high school, I notice students leaving to go for lunch. Its a non-uniform school so they're just wearing normal clothes. I find myself on a street lined with a few shops, a bank and thankfully, a cafe. I head in the direction of the cafe, and on the way up the ramp to the door, I look at my reflection in the glass.

My hair, wavy, and golden brown, is long and reaches to halfway down my fore arms with my hands at my sides. My legs, olive skin and rough, scarred knees, are long and skinny. My waist is thin, and I have slight hips. My indigo-blue eyes shine in the sun. I feel out of place, but I push on and into the cafe.

I go to the counter, pull a credit card (Lola's) out of my pocket, and order a caramel latte. I choose a table by the window, overlooking the main street.

I sip away happily at my coffee, a little bitter, but coffee all the same, and think about all the horrible ways I would like to kill the Zentolions. Burning to death, stabbed, strangled, drowned, tortured.

I am just getting into the nitty-gritty of torture in my head when the door opens, a breeze blows my coffee over, and two people walk inside, a boy my age, and a woman. As they see what happened to my coffee, the woman rushes over, and whips some napkins out of her pocket. She rambles apologies mindlessly as we sop up the spilt coffee with napkins. When we are finished, she stands up strait, the same height as me, but older. I see her wrinkles, her short fluffy brown hair, her brown eyes. She's familiar. She holds her hand out and introduces herself as Catherine. The familiarity stops there. She calls over what I assume is her son, the boy who walked in with her. 

He's about 5 inches taller than me, with short, dark brown hair, and striking green eyes the colour of unpolished emerald. He holds out his hands, they're bigger than mine, quite broad, like his shoulders, and introduces himself as Jake.  He's buff. But not body-builder bulky. He is less familiar, but I still have that niggling feeling. 

'So, you know our names, what is yours hun?' Says Catherine, very chirpy, but not in an I'm an obnoxious bitch way. 'I'm Twel- uh, Zeda' I say, and smile. I've been caught up, I nearly said Twelve. I need to be careful. Jake smiles sweetly, and turns on the spot. I notice he has a small tattoo behind his ear. A black swirl with a vertical line through it. 

Weird. That too, amongst other things, is familiar. We sit and Catherine buys me a coffee. We chat about random things, me having to lie most of the time. She tells me they just moved here yesterday. I tell her I moved here today.

Jake looks at me, with something similar to longing on his face. I don't know why, but I feel drawn to him as well. My fantasy crashes when I remember I'm supposed to lie low, and not make myself known. 

'Well Zeda, Jake and I had better get going. I do hope we see each other around and about.' Catherine sings, making me hope just as much. We all stand and head out the door. We walk down the ramp and say goodbye. They head straight, but I head down the road, and turn right to my street which I now see is called Kirkland street. walking ahead, I see Catherine and Jake. They must have come down the street parallel to the main one, and turned on to Kirkland street . They turn into a white house, number 34, and I realize that mine and Lola's house is number 36.

 Joy.