Living With Jared Padalecki

23/ never grow up

     Saturday night comes quickly, and before I know it, I am packing an overnight bag and sneaking quietly out the door, double checking to make sure that Jared and Gen are occupied with something else.

     Marianne gave me the address; since I don't have my truck here, I am relieved that it is within walking distance of the Padalecki residence. I easily get there in twenty minutes, stepping into the small house just before six thirty. Compared to Jared and Gen's, it's tiny, like the one my mom and I lived in back home.

     "He's already eaten dinner," Marianne explains, rushing to get together the rest of her things. She scrambles for something in her coat pocket, a folded up yellow slip of paper. "I made a list," she says as she hands the paper to me, and I open it, glancing at what's written on it. "It's stuff that he likes to do, movies he likes, and foods he prefers. If you go by that, you should really have no trouble. Oh, and he likes it when someone reads to him right before he goes to bed." She talks fast, and as I try to keep up with it, I notice Peter sitting on the floor in front of the television in the living room, watching Hotel Transylvania.

     "I should be back tomorrow night around seven," Marianne continues, "I put my cell phone number on the fridge, in case anything comes up." I nod, already knowing that I most certainly will not call her. Peter seems like a good kid, and he'll probably be fun to babysit.

     After Marianne leaves, adding that I can borrow her car if I want to take Peter out for ice cream or something, I sit on the couch behind Peter. He seems very absorbed in what he's doing, spelling out words with blocks that have colorful letters on them. Watching, I remember doing that exact same thing when I was a kid. I would sit on the floor for hours, getting caught up in how much fun I got out of it as my mom watched every now and then.

     Knowing how much he is probably interested in it as someone who is autistic, I leave him be, watching the movie that's on and glancing down at him every now and then to make sure he's not breaking any of his toys.

     When the movie is over, I take Peter upstairs to his room, which he has to point out to me. It's your average boy's room, one with blue walls, a Star Wars bedspread, and toys scattered all around the floor.

     I tuck him in and get ready to leave, but he stops me and holds a book out, a Magic Tree House, Ghost Town At Sundown. I remember reading those kinds of books when I was little, too.

      After only five and a half pages, Peter is already nodding off, his eyes drooping until they eventually close and he starts snoring quietly. I smile softly at the sight and close the book, placing it on the nightstand by his bed. Freezing, I notice the scab on his elbow, my stomach twisting as I remember when that bully shoved him. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to forget about it right now. Getting upset about that will do me no good.

     I shut off Peter's light and exit the room, leaving his door open a little bit as I go downstairs and find my overnight bag.

     After taking a quick shower, I put on my pajama pants and Avengers t-shirt, and I decide to sleep downstairs on the couch. I haven't ate yet tonight, so I pop a bag of popcorn and put a movie in.

     My phone rings. I scramble through my bag, trying to find it before it stops ringing. As I finally feel it, I pull it out and answer it, too occupied with the movie and my drowsiness to read the name on the caller ID.

     "Hello?" I answer, my voice clearly showing off how sleepy I am.

     "Hey, where are you?" I furrow my eyebrows as Jared's voice comes through the other end, and wonder why he's calling me at half past ten. I was hoping I could slip away without them knowing about my absence.