Just a Kiss

Part Four- What now?

"Hey, rag doll, come over here. Nice outfit... if you can call it one," joked one of the pupils who attended my school. I blatantly ignored them, as I made my way to art class. I was most certainly not in the mood to talk to anybody, especially my bullies.

Art class was always my comfort, and especially today, where I had the whole period to think about yesterday's events. After the grand tour of the Jenkins' mansion, I hurried home to find my house an utter mess. The basement had been flooded again, but this time, the beams that supported them collapsed. My mother phoned the fire department, who came an hour later. After cleaning up the mess in the basement, the officials deemed our bungalow in "unlivable" conditions. We were to find ourselves a home within the next 48 hours, or to be sent to a shelter home.

It was difficult enough for my mother to pay for this house, how were we to find one in two days? So the search begun. We went neighbour to neighbour, looking for an extra room to spare. I had Mr. Jenkins' advanced cheque, which would certainly be helpful in paying rent.

As I picked at the watercolours, a sudden thought occurred to me. What if this was the end? Would my sister and I get separated? How about my mother? I just wanted to collapse on the art floor and sob. Sobbing was just not an option, anymore. I had to ask for extra time from Mr. Jenkins. That was it.

As I packed up my art tools, I made my way to the locker. After a couple taunts, my classmates would leave me alone, so I felt reassured as I went to my locker. Unfortunately, the only good thing that happened this week was the job. 

"Hey, Haylie! Hay-lieeee. Heard your house got flooded," a girl named Brittany, taunted. "Well maybe now you can live in a nicer house. Oops, can't afford it, I see." 

As the gaggle of girls surrounding me laughed, I hardened my face and put on a blank expression, "You're right. My house flooded and it was very unfortunate. Thank you for noticing!" I said with fake gratitude. My mother always told me to not let them get to me, and it worked. 

Brittany seemed a little miffed that her teasing didn't affect me; so she thought she would raise the bar, "How come Daddy doesn't live with you, eh? Too ashamed to have a child like you?"

That did it. I closed my locker with a bang and pushed one of them aside. I ran the whole two kilometres home without looking back. 

When I got home, the house was still in the state I had left it in this morning. Fortunately, it had dried up, and that brought us a little extra time. I began to help my mother pack, side-by-side without saying a word. We used to cook like this, years after my father's death. 

After packing up most of the things we needed, we headed straight to the kitchen for dinner. Jean arrived home from school, a faint smile on her lips. I was glad that Jean didn't get bullied at school; she wouldn't be able to handle it. We all silently prepared dinner and set up the table.

"Haylie," my mother croaked. "Pass the salad, please." 

As I passed the salad without a word, I felt the tension as we ate in the living room.

"I looked for rooms today," said my mother. "Nobody could take us in at the time. All hope is lost, girls. We might have to search in another town."

I agreed, "I'll help with the search as well, Mother."

"No," she said, "I want you to work hard at the Jenkins' mansion; the supermarket is cutting their pay again. And Jean, the mailman came by; he has new job posts for paperboys."

With that, my mother rose, cleared her plate, and went back to packing up the kitchen. I stared down at the rotting salad and barely cooked potatoes.

"We'll be fine, Jean. We'll be fine, I promise."

I took a peek at my younger sister, to find tears rolling down her face. It was certainly tough to be at this age, helpless and innocent.

That night, the memories came rushing into my head, unwanted. I tried to snuggle closer to Jean, but they swirled through my head, leaving painful and haunting flashbacks:

July 27th, 2000: The day my father died. My sister was only a couple months old and I was only five. It was a normal day at the hotel, except for one odd couple. As they rang my father up for room service, he never came back down. We found out, at home, during dinner. He was usually back around that time, but my mother wasn't worried; probably something at the office. The police came in and explained to my mother, and all I could remember is my mother sobbing and crying. She didn't leave the    house for days on end.

I was not affected as much as I would have been if I were older. For weeks and weeks, I would look at the door around dinnertime, waiting for my father. After a couple months, I understood that he was never going to come back. It was the end.

Because of my father's booming business, my mother never had a job. But alas, money stopped pouring in. The cash flow just stopped, and we felt a blame towards the government. My mother was still a recluse, and refused to get a job. The government took our home, and we were forced to move out. Unable to face the pity and shame that the town, Forster had brought to us, Mother, Jean and I moved to Canterville, to start fresh. Nobody here knew my story, they just knew my name. And unfortunately, my name seemed to also mean my social status. 

 We needed to start fresh again. And this time, we would be okay. Maybe, all hope isn't lost. Just maybe.

A.N~ Hope you enjoyed the sad part near the end :(((( Or cried, either one. But get ready for the next chapter; first day of work, officially!!!!!!!

And, I feel really bad about the flood, but something had to happen? No worries, good news to come! 

I want to dedicate this chapter to the lovely: Insecure_Me, who made my wonderful story ad to the right!