My Brother's Band

chapter one: you live on an island?

When my brother left, he was leaving a nice, white two story house.  He was leaving a wide front yard and a white picket fence.  He was leaving a mini van, and two brand new mountain bikes.  He was leaving a puppy, named Billy.  And of course, he was leaving a small eight year old blonde girl in pig tails, but, of course, that fact was irrelevant.

What was relevant was the fact that he left with a little band of four guys, with no money, and no reputation except with the girls of our first highschool. 

So, when we pulled up in front of the huge run down warehouse on the edge of a marina, it was safe to say I was not surprised.  I waited the designated few moments for the car to come to a complete stop before slowly grasping the latch, planning to open the door.  This was it; the moment I opened this wooden pannelled interior door, I would never be back. 

With a heavy sigh, I slammed the door open in one angry, fluid moment; effortlessly ignoring the protests that fell from my 'drivers' lips.  She sighed softly, and bent over to pop open the trunk of the flashy red car.  I was already ready and waiting with my luggage in my hands when she rounded the end of the car, and spun on my heal as she moved to say something more.  The smell in the air was admittedly refreshing from the smoggy, polluted air that surrounded me on a daily basis back in my last home.  Last home.  Well, that thought was slightly depressing.

That didn't mean that it didn't smell like poo though.  Literally.

The scent was a mix of rotting vegetables, salty air, and gasoline, and it only got worse as I neared the large steel doors of the warehouse.  What kind of person lived in a warehouse?  Rob and the band must have seriously gone down hill since they left me.

"Where are you going?"  Pat's miffed voice echoed throughout the apparently empty marina, and fell on deaf ears.  I continued to stomp away, my footsteps pounding on the damp, cracked pavement. 

"Where else am I supposed to go?" I called back once I didn't hear her following me.  I turned to see her standing closer to the edge of the pier, right next to a large brown wooden dock.  She was speaking to a rather tall man clad in a yellow rain coat, and large black rubber boots.  Yay.  I'm being evicted, and she choses to go chat up a fisherman.

"How about on the boat lassy!"  The gruff man yelled, seemingly cutting Pat off to beckon me over.  Pat's stance changed to one of arrogance as a smirk crossed her face; she was happy to be right, for once in her life.  I huffed, fluffing out my now drenched blonde hair and marching over in his direction.  I was convinced that my eyes were decieving me when I saw the large, at least twenty foot white speed boat floating alongside the deck.  The 'fisherman' as I had dubbed him nodded his scraggley head at me, clearing his throat before taking my bags and tossing them onto the boat.  He reached over to shake Pat's hand, before silently making his way to the wheel of the speed boat.  I slowly followed suit, treading carefully along the shaking wooden dock.  If I had to spend an hour on this thing, I would throw up.  I was feeling queasy just crossing the dock, and this thing was fixt on both ends. 

"Keep in touch!" Pat called, but by the tone of her voice, I knew she was really using this as a formality.  She didn't want to hear from me; none of them ever did.

"Put on the life jacket," 'fisherman' ordered, tossing a bright orange piece of styrofoam at my head.  I wasn't even on the boat, and he was already throwing stuff at me?  This was going to be brutal. I grasped both sides of the ladder that spiraled down from the edge of the boat, attempting to hold it in place -which much to my chargin, did not work whatsoever.  It would seem that the water was stronger than I was.  This was not fair.

Trying to mimick what I had seen the fisherman do, I slipped one foot into the rope ladder, and moved to slide the other one when a monstorsity hit the boat and sent it reeling foreward. 

"What was that?" I cried, struggling to keep from falling into the water.  I could hear the fisherman bustling around on the deck, and suddenly his weathered face appeared over the side.

"A wave," he stated dryly, before reaching over and unwrapping a piece of rope from a post that was right beside me.  When that dropped onto the dock, he turned and walked away.  What? No help?  Could he not see I was struggling? 

"Help?" I giggled, as another wave struck the side of the boat and I went sliding sideways.  This was actually kind of fun.  Miraculously, the fisherman reached down and wrapped one rough hand around my wrist.  With one firm tug, he yanked me up over the edge of the boat.  I had to give it to him, for such an old looking man, he sure was strong.  "I am Francais, and I drive the boat," he stated, turning on his heel and heading for the only covered section of the boat.  I assumed that was where the contraptions that started the boat were.  Slipping the orange styrofoam over my head, I plodded over to a seat on the far side of the boat.  Luckily, I managed to sit myself down before Francais hit the throttle and took off. 

Who owned this boat, I wondered, surveying the pristine white paint and oak trim; it probably costed a fortune to run, if not to buy in the first place.  Judging by the fact that I was apparently being dropped off with Rob, common sense would say that he owned this boat.  Common sense would also say that the only way he could own something this nice would be by stealing it.  Unless I wasn't being dropped off with Rob after all, and this was just some elaborate ruse for Pat to get rid of me.

Poop.

I was gonna die.

"Robert expects us to arrive by dinner.  He forwarded instructions that I allow you to chose your own room, and get settled before I direct you to your room," Francais stated, with a seemingly mocking tone.  It would seem that he was not particularly enjoying himself, toting around little old me. 

Wait.

Robert?

So I wasn't going to die?  I grinned wildly, and pushed my wind blown blonde tresses out of my face.  Robert owned this boat eh?  I bet this was the best thing he owned.  He probably blew all his money on this, and lives in a little run down shack. 

Why was I even in his boat in the first place?

"Mr. Francais, why am I in a boat?" I asked, coming to the realisation that most normal people did, in fact, live on land.  Not in the middle of a large body of salt water.

"Because I didn't expect you would wish to swim." Ha.  Old man had sarcasm.

"Where does 'Robert' live?" I reiterated, using finger quotations around his name.  Francais remained where he stood, staring straight in front of him.

"I would presume this is almost the only way to get to an island," he said.  I stared at his brightly coloured raincoat with disbelieving eyes.

My brother lived on an island?

Yeah.  Right.