"Have you ever done something crazy?" The voice, so soft and sweet, tickles my ears until they perk to life. I look over at her, only seeing straight brown hair and the outline of a button nose in profile. She has to be smiling, though, because the cigarette burns in her hand and not in her mouth. "Like, so crazy your mother doesn't recognize you after?"
I inhale sharply, intoxicated by the smell of her, smoke and rose water, and shake my head - fast. Excitement burns under my skin and I find myself scratching at my leg in nervousness. When she gets that tone, mischievous and smirking, I always have to stop myself from scratching a tear in my pants. "You know I haven't." I smile still, moving to put my arm around her slim shoulders. She underestimates the mild face I wear and the mild role I play in the every day happenings in Palm Brook. She also has a habit of underestimating the spell she's out me under and the things that I would do for her. Crazy. If she wanted me to do something crazy I would. But right now I can hold her against me like this and look up at the sky until she pushes me away and bounds on to the next adventure.
She doesn't shrug me off; more often than not she does, so it's a treat to get to hold her against me. "Someday you will, Nate. Someday." It's a promise, excited and sincere. And I believe her. I know I'll follow her into this someday; know that I'll follow her anywhere. Her with her ashy stare and snarky words; me with my solitary thoughts and my natural silence. I'll follow her; because that's the way we are.
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"MR. ROGERS' SISTER IS HERE!" Sticky lips press to my ear and my little sister screams to ensure I hear her, her small fingers clutching my shoulder.
My head smacks the low eave of the ceiling as I jump up in bed, the "bang" loud enough to cause Megan to jump back. Rubbing my head, I look over at her and see her staring at me while trying not to giggle, one hand clasped over her mouth. "Sorry, Nathaniel." A giggle escapes.
"Mhm." I grunt and swing my legs off the side of the bed. "Wait. Who's here?" My eyes flit down to my polka dot boxers and I'm sure I smell awful, haven't had a chance to shower since I was just so rudely woken up. The back of my neck burns red and I scratch my thigh, I feel bad for whoever it is that's downstairs.
Megan giggles again. "Not in the house, you goof." She crawls up onto my bed, hugging her knees to her chest. "Dad says that they arrived last night. Mom wants us to go over and say hi." Her eyes are large, brown and sweet, and the sun kissed skin of her face is a wrinkle of excitement as she beams at me.
"Us?" I scratch my face, scratching at the stubble growing, while also still scratching.
"Caleb, you, me, and her." My sister nods and hops up from the bed, clearly finished with her announcement. "She says shower. You have a half hour to get ready." With that she skips out of the room, yelling for our brother to make sure he's awake as well.
My hands rake through my hair, catching slight knots from what must have been a restless night, as I sit and blink. Before my sister had came barging in, charming as always, I'd been caught up in a dream of a brunette stranger who was causing a hell of a lot of anxiety. She'd asked, this girl who I couldn't identify, if I had ever done anything crazy. I snort as I stand up, replaying her words in my head, and make my way to my bathroom.
In the mirror I see eyes similar to my sister's, still worrying over the unusual dream from last night. I don't remember my dreams often, there's usually too much going on in my mind for it to be worth the space they take up; but something about the dream must have been important. Must have...I shake my head against the thoughts and turn on the faucet to brush my teeth. While I brush, I also examine the stubble on my face and the bags under my eyes. Unhappiness bids behind the worry and every move of my sore muscles, having been beaten last night at practice, makes the worry abide. There's more important things to deal with than some weird dream.
YOU ARE READING
Fighting for Amely | Ongoing
Teen Fiction"My mom's dead, my dad's dead, give me one reason why I shouldn't be dead?" Amely snaps in my direction, her fingers massaging the neck of the beer bottle in her hand. I watch the condensation drip down her fingers, imaging how the wetness would fee...
