My Fudged Up World

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Chapter One - 

My gran is an interesting person, to say the least. 

"Now, I'll be going out to play cards at my friends tonight, but I made you some roast chicken so you just carry on and make yourself right at home, okay?" She says as I stare out the window at the dry countryside around me, so unlike that of southern England, where I was, just under twenty four hours ago. 

I nod, but she doesn't seem to notice as she keeps talking. 

"I wan't to be clear about some things, before we arrive. You are not here for me to babysit while you mope around the house all day. I will be out every morning for work at six and I intend for you to be out and about by the time I arrive back at 11." 

I nod again, tracing the half-sleeve tattoo which I had doodled onto my arm while bored on the plane. It was faces and music notes and vines and whatever other random images I had felt like drawing all intermingled into one big picture.  One of the first things my gran had done once I'd gotten off the plane was tell me off about ink poisoning. 

"Then, there will be no drinking or late night partying without my consent. You'll be coming to church with me every Sunday morning, no matter how late you stayed up on Saturday night. And, you'll be getting a summer job, as I don't fancy housing no lazy body. Is that clear?" 

I nod, for the third time. 

"Honey?" She asks again, waiting for an answer. 

Holding back an eye roll, I answer, "Yes, Gran." 

She pats my shoulder in an odd show of affection and then switches on the radio.

Some hard rock song comes on and I turn to see my gran turn the sound up and rock slowly to the beat. 

I sigh quietly and place my combat boot-clad feet on the dashboard. She acted as though I was going to become some crazy socializing party animal. If only she knew. Sometimes I think the moment people cross that twenty-five year old barrier, they forget everything about what it was like to be a teenager. For the first time in my life, I literally couldn't wait until school started. 

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I wake up to the engine turning off. "Honey? We're home." My gran tells me as I open my eyes. 

"Yeah, home. Right." I mutter under my breath as I look at the house in front of us. 

It was a smallish, baby blue, double story beach house with white trimming around the windows and a small front porch facing the road. If I remember correctly, it has three bedrooms and an open plan downstairs, leading out onto a large back porch which faced the sea. It was the type of place you expected seeing in a cheesy beach-romance movie or something.

The Blue House by Nicholas Sparks. I nearly snort. I can already imagine the cover: Two white people leaning towards each, about to kiss as the really light background shines between them. 

"My, the last time you were here, you must of been--" 

"Nine." I interrupt. 

"Which means Macy must have been fourteen, the sweetheart." 

I nod. Yes, my older sister was fourteen that year. I remember clearly. Especially the night when I followed her as she sneaked out and saw her kiss a random guy on the beach, just so she could tell her friends at home that she'd had her first kiss with a Californian surfer dude. Sweetheart? Hardly. 

"I'll get my stuff from the boot," I mumble, changing the subject. 

"Trunk, honey. No one's going to understand you speakin' like that." My gran shouts to me as I open the boo--trunk.