The Boy from the Treehouse | ✓

Chapter One

The treehouse was the last part of the Grodberg’s new home that Angela explored, although it was the first thing she had noticed upon arriving. She had always wanted a treehouse. It was one of her childish whims -- for at the worldly age of twelve, Angela did not consider herself a child any longer. Her parents had neglected to tell her there would be one, in much the same way they had neglected to consult her about their move across Louisiana into the bayous.

She was determinedly not speaking to them. Angela was quite proud of herself for only saying a handful of words in the course of the week. She limited to herself to “Yes,” “No,” and “Okay.” After spending the first few days imploring her to speak or demanding she get over it, her parents gave up and didn't make any effort to talk to Angela either.

She was already hating it here. There was a muggy sort of heat pervading the air, and it made everything on Angela -- her clothes, her hair, her leather friendship bracelet from Chloe -- stick to her sweaty skin. The first day she had stayed in her new bedroom, unpacking and avoiding her parents, but the old home they had bought had an air conditioner from the 1980s. Although it struggled valiantly to cool the house, it could do little against the persistent heat.

The second day Angela decided that even her formidable pride wasn't worth confining herself to one stuffy room, so she started to explore her new place of residence. She resolved not to call it a home.

She hadn't even seen anything but her own room and the kitchen. When her parents had looked at this place two months earlier while on a trip to Baton Rouge, they had fallen in love with the layout and design. It had been built back in the 1920s, and apparently emulated a “Colonial Revivalist Style.” The Grodbergs were both real estate agents, and they tossed these terms around like Angela had been born knowing what they meant. She still couldn't believe they had moved. It wasn’t fair to Angela, who had friends, clubs, and a life in their old town. For the Grodbergs, though, property was one of the things they highly valued. They kept saying how buying this old house was a good investment. Really, Angela knew they were tired of the big city life in Shreveport.

She slammed the back door just thinking about it. The screen rattled as she did. Angela wasn't tired of Shreveport, but no one cared about that. She loved her life there, but no cared about that. Now she was stuck in this small town that had a population just under 1,000. She probably knew more people than that back in Shreveport.

The whole car ride down Interstate 49 she had fumed, absolutely furious with her parents for being so selfish. They could drive to Lafayette in twenty-one minutes for their jobs, but Angela was stuck in the little town of Grand Couteau, going to an all-girls Catholic school. She would probably have to wear a uniform and everything, although she had stopped speaking to her parents before she could ask.

Angela sometimes forgot she was a Catholic, and now she would be going to a school where Catholicism was stressed in the extreme. She couldn't believe it.

Until then, though, she had a whole summer with absolutely nothing to do, no friends, and way to make any. Since she was planning on giving her parents the silent treatment until she moved out, it looked like it would be a very lonely summer vacation.

The Grodberg’s new home sat on a comfortable 5 acres. There was no fence to separate their land from the next house, which Angela thought looked nicer than their own. She expected she would be subjected to a summer of home repairs as well. The lawn needed a good mowing, and there were several large, mature oaks scattered around. It was unlike Angela’s old home, where there was just room for one tree in the front and one tree in the back. Even being bigger, she thought this place looked terrible. It was too run-down.

Her destination was a small treehouse nestled in the thick branches of one of the massive trees. Angela tramped across the yard, the high grasses tickling the bare skin of her legs. She tried to stay in the shady areas offered by the overhanging foliage, but the hot summer sun already caused a damp line of perspiration to break out across her forehead. By the time she stood in front of the tree, she was ready to go back inside.