The Boy Next Door (Crewt)

new family on the block

Idek what tense I'm using and not used to first person...pls forgive. A lot of editing needed here ♡

My name is Newt and I've lived in this town on this street since birth. Most families in my towm have lived here for generations, so all the kids on my street were pretty excited when a new family moved in.

The Barebones. Odd name, I thought. But then again, so is Scamander.

The Barebones live next door to me, and there's boy in the family who's probably my age. He's subdued, slouched and disturbingly handsome (in my eyes). Of course, nobody knows that I see him this way. Most think his dark austere is frightening. Most think the Barebones are a bit weird...or at least, the mother is. She doesn't greet people on the street, and that doesn't really gel with our community. The three children are fine, but I get the gist that the mother's pretty strict and the kids are just plain shy.

A week after the Barebones had moved in next door I'd heard a rumour that they were American, and that added fact made me obsess over the boy next door even more. A foreigner? I could tell him all about Britain! Yet, despite my eagerness to know the middle child in the Barebone family, it took an obscenely long time for us to talk. But it finally happened on a Christmas day.

I'd gotten the mountain bike I'd wanted and the neighbour had gotten a BMX bike that looked second hand. It didn't look like it suited him. We were both testing out our new wheels on the sun-speckled street, me trying to work up the nerve to say hi. I was passing the dark-haired stranger when I spotted a massive, purpling bruise spread on his thigh. I'd never seen a bruise like that before, and I suppose I thought it was pretty cool. Seizing the topic of discusion, I called out as I passed,

'Hey!'

My neighbour pulled his bike to a stop and slowly turned around, and for the first time I got a good look at him. He had sad but sharp eyes. Strikingly so. I tried not to stare at those deep eyes as I said,

'I'm Newt, from next door,' mustering a smile. I debated whether or not to hold out my hand to shake, but made a quick decision not to; I neither had the confidence nor did he seem to be the type to shake hands. The guy was looking at me with an expression close to surprise as he answered steadily,

'I'm Credence.'

I nodded, then pointed at the bruise on his leg, trying to get a conversation going,

'What's that?' I posed. He didn't even look at it.

'A bruise.'

'How'd you get it?'

'My mum got angry,' he said shortly.

At the time, I hadn't registered the note of anxiety in Credence's voice. I was so stupidly oblivious... and I was about to blatantly ask what he meant by his mum getting angry when he mounted his bike and just rode away.

I stood there for a moment, then decided to ride directly home, unperturbed by Credence Barebone's snub.
I animatedly told my dad about how the boy next door had a massive bruise on his leg. I couldn't understand why my dad -who was usually entertained by any old story I told him- was unresponsive.

*

Wednesday night, two weeks after the Barebones had moved in. It was ten o'clock and I should have been in bed, but I couldn't sleep. So I got up, threw on a coat and walked my neighbourhood instead.

The moon was a sliver, and the dark suburban streets were completely quiet, without a car in sight. Street lamps cast eerie orange spots onto the black bitumen. I shoved by hands in my coat and tugged my beanie over my cold ears. I thought of unseen eyes on my back and shivered, picking up my pace until I reached the local skate park, which was nice and well-lit in the pitch blackness.