Burned and Scarred

Chapter 4

I'm currently waiting outside the front doors of the school, waiting for Michael to find me so we can go over to his house to work on the project. Today has been surprisingly, but thankfully, uneventful. During physics, Scar and I said "Hi" to each other but didn't talk much after that. In English, we had a reading day. Gym class was uneventful, and Jacob didn't try anything again. I guess having his life threatened shook him up a bit. During history Michael and I went to the library to do some more research, but we didn't talk much, only discussing the details of later such as where to meet up and for how long. French was just studying the vocabulary from yesterday and math was just a boring lecture. During photography I purposefully ignored Raven, who seemed to be giving me some space.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and I turn to see Michael with a bored expression on his face. He waves goodbye to his friends and starts walking, me following like a lost puppy. We get to his car. It's a silver 2009 Toyota Corolla It's not the nicest, but you can't expect a seventeen-year-old to have a really nice car. He unlocks it and I open the passenger side door. I put my seatbelt on and he does the same, starting the car and pulling out of the school.

The air is tense and awkward and the silence is thick enough to be cut by a blade as we drive to his house. He grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white and his eyes unnecessarily glued to the road. I sigh. This is gonna be a long several hours.

We pull up to a two-story white house with another car in the driveway. We both unbuckle our seatbelts and open the side doors, stepping out. I slam the passenger door shut, and Michael locks the car, walking around the car and up the cement steps up to the doorstep and I follow. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and fiddles with them, trying to find his house key. I take the hood of my dark grey hoodie down, looking around nervously, my social anxiety coming to the surface.

Finally he unlocks the door and opens it, holding it for me.

"Thanks," I mumble, only saying it to be polite.

I look around the living room. The furniture is nice, modern, but most of all expensive. It's made to look nice, but doesn't give the most homey feel to it. I look up to the ceiling, seeing a stain from a leak. They don't seem to care about the things that one might won't usually see or notice. When you first walk in, you would think that they are the perfect family. Because that's what they want you to think. They are the kind of people to sweep the dirt under the rug instead of sweeping it up to take care of it.

But, the thing is, Michael isn't like that. People learn from their parents. If they were obsessed with appearances, he would be too. But, he isn't. In fact, I don't think he even cares about how he looks or what others think of him. That means that something recently happened to make them change, the parents at least. The house and the furniture is modern, so they most likely moved because of it.

I look around for pictures and frames, but I only see one in the living room. A family photo of Michael and his parents.

"Dad! I'm home!" He shouts, and I see a middle aged man about the same height as Michael walk into the room. He's wearing a suit and has a stern yet pleasant look on his face, if that's even possible.

"Welcome home, son. You must be Aiden," He says, looking me over. As he sees my burns his jaw slightly clenches. He's probably heard about me from around town. He takes a step forward and extending his hand to me to shake. I shake his hand.

"Yes, sir. That's me," I reply, a forced smile on my face.

"Well I'll leave you two to it. Don't goof off too much, you hear?"

"Don't worry Dad, we won't," Michael says, dully. He heads up the narrow stairs and I follow him. Family photos are on the wall of the hallway we walk down, all several years old. Michael, his father, his mother, and who I assume to be his little sister. The photos are all several years old, probably from when Michael was still in middle school or was a freshman. In the photos he's shorter than he is now. The sister isn't in the family photo downstairs. Something must've happened to her.