The Apple Tree

Clashing

I'd realized just before going into the seventh-grade that girls terrified me. Or more specifically, Cindy Jones terrified me. But it all started way before then, the day after my sixth birthday to be exact. When the Jones first moved into the neighborhood.

"Who are they?" My mother asks when she sees this old pick-up truck pull up on the driveway next door.

"Our neighbors," Dad answers, barely looking up from the newspaper he'd been reading all morning. It was his Sunday routine. He'd grab a newspaper, sit on the living room recliner and sip on his Best Dad Ever mug. To this day, I still wondered who'd even given him the mug.

"We have neighbors now?" Mom asks, then she makes a face I didn't understand at the time, but when I look back at it now, it must have been that face she made when she feels threatened. Endangered. Like she was the last of her kind and somehow this new piece of information could literally make her go extinct. But man, it was only a matter of time before I found that out.

"Apparently," says Dad nonchalantly. It was the most I'd seen my parents talk on a sunday morning. Normally at this time my mother would head to the farmer's market and not come back until sundown, but for some reason she'd stayed home that day.

Anyway, it wasn't too bad to begin with. The whole Cindy situation, I mean. We started out with minimal contact when she first moved in, and I made sure to keep it that way.

It was only on occasions that we'd see each other, like when my mother made me ask them for something we needed when the other neighbors weren't around, or when Mr. Jones made Cindy fetch some car tools from Dad whenever their car broke down, which, by the look of that old thing, was oddly rare.

But when we did see each other, she'd run up to me and go like, "Hey, Bradley, wanna kick the ball outside?" I'd say yes most of the time and even though I didn't enjoy playing sports all that much, it was arguably better than being stuck at home all day listening to my sisters yap away.

Cindy was good at keeping her distance, too. She never latched onto me or tried to hold my hand or violate my personal space in any way. It was like that for most of third and fourth grade, and then fifth grade came along and she'd rally up the entire neighborhood to play outside. Then I started coming up with excuses because I'd long realized that dealing with my three sisters was still better than dealing with half the neighborhood.

Not only that, but I was too grown up for that, you know? The girl was ten years-old running around the neighborhood, and doing who knows what else. It beat me, though, because whenever she'd come around I'd have my list of excuses memorized.

Wanna play?

No, sorry, it's family night. Maybe next time.

Wanna go to the park?

Can't. I'm grounded.

Can I come in?

Not until I've finished all my chores!

By the sixth grade, Cindy and I had only science class together and she was a complete stranger. Seriously. We'd hardly interact unless Mrs. Clyde made us but even that was on rare occasion considering we sat on the opposite side of the room from each other.

Then one day, I walk into the classroom and see her sitting in the desk beside mine.

"Cindy?" I say as I sit beside her. "Isn't that Emily's desk?"

Cindy looks up to me and gives me this intense smile. Like, the I'm-Giving-You-All-My-Attention-Can-You-Tell kind of smile, you know? Then, she leans into my ear and whispers, "Gerald broke up with Emily so she asked Mrs. Clyde if she could change desks with me. Guess we're neighbors now," she winks.

It was a bit much, honestly. I mean, was the winking really necessary? Was all the smiling necessary? And neighbors? Really? Like being real-life neighbors wasn't enough, now she had to go and be my desk buddy, too? But I'd soon find out that the winking and disturbing smiles would be the last of my worries.

For the most part, Cindy was a good desk buddy. It was nothing like in Social Studies last year when she'd blurt out answers and desperately try to get the teacher's attention and talk nonstop. I thought maybe she'd grown since, but then I realized that the only reason she was so strangely silent now was because of how bad she was at science. Seriously.

The poor girl couldn't so much as list the scientific method or tell you the difference between the independent and dependent variables, so that's when I started helping her. Or helped her cheat, rather. I mean, was it really helping if I only did it because of how much her fish brain irritated me? Honestly, I must have busted a vein each time I saw her write the wrong answer on a test, which for Cindy, was like seven out of ten questions.

Anyway, I only helped her to ease my own uneasiness but sometimes she'd return the favor by helping me out with my spelling. You could call it mutual benefit at that point.

I was the total science nerd and Cindy was the genius speller. What a pair!

But then the second semester came around which meant new seating charts. And I'd be lying if I said that part of me didn't secretly hope Mrs. Clyde would seat us together again but all my hopes had gone down the toilet when she sat Cindy four rows in front of me. Then, it was back to me butchering my spelling and I couldn't help but wonder whether Cindy would pass the class or not.

Not that I really cared or anything but it was definitely something I'd think about, especially when my father brought her up this one time during dinner.

"Whatcha think about Cindy?" He'd asked.

"Cindy Jones?" I ask taken aback. Then he nods and suddenly the whole table gets quiet and everyone's looking at me. "Nothing. Why?"

"No reason," he says and goes back to picking at his untouched mashed potatoes.

I try to forget why he'd asked me the question in the first place but then I noticed the way my sisters and Mom were staring at me. I could tell from the way my sisters were smirking that they'd find a new reason to tease the hell out of me, but Mom's stare was different. She'd furrowed her eyebrows and scrunched her nose and stare at me hard. If I had to compare, it was the like the look she'd given me whenever I'd done something wrong but I couldn't think of what'd I do to get that reaction from her.

"Okay," I say.

Then, it's back to silent eating and clashing silverware noises when Mom breaks the silence with, "What about Cindy Jones, David?"

Dad doesn't answer. He doesn't even look up from his plate. The silence goes on for what seems like hours and for a moment I think World War III might just break out at the dinner table, and for what? I didn't know, but Dad certainly did, which is why he stayed quiet.

Then, he looks up to Mom.

"Just."

That's when Mom totally snaps. I mean, she goes total nuts yelling all kinds stuff and accusing him of this and that. Then my dad starts yelling back at her real hard and you could tell she didn't expect that because her eyes start getting all wide and then she starts crying. I mean, for what it's worth, even I started crying a bit.

The truth is, I'd never seen my parents fight like that. And for that matter, I'd never even seen them talk. Like, at all. I always wondered why they never spoke a word to each other. I guess now I knew why.

"Bradley, go to your room!" Dad shouts, and you'd better believe I listen and dash right into my room.

For the rest of the night, I just cry and hope that by tomorrow everything will go back to normal. Not that things were really normal around here or anything but I could really do without all the yelling and crying and accusations, and I'm sure my brother and sisters felt the same way.

I try my best to go to sleep that night but I can't help but wonder why my mother reacted the way she did and what my father had done so wrong. I didn't hear much of what they'd yelled at each other but one thing I could make out for sure was that it was all Cindy's fault.

I wasn't sure what she'd done wrong but she was the reason my parents hated each other, and that was enough reason for me to hate her too.