The Mormon Renegade

Chapter 6

Mmmm

Mornings after uninterrupted sleep are officially the best thing in the world. Pleasant wafting scents of sugary goodness flood my nostrils.

"Morning Roomie." Scout singsongs from the kitchen less than two sneezes away. It's been three glorious days of bliss in this tiny, claustrophobic household... and I love every single second!

"Whatcha cooking?" I croak mid stretch and yawn. Her sweats are the most comfortable clothes I've worn since birth, I'm sure.

"My Sunday morning specialty, stacked waffles and pancakes with maple syrup, banana topping and chocolate drizzle." I'm salivating already. Cracking my spine I climb out of our bed shuffling lazily to the kitchen bench top which doubles as a counter.

Immediately I snap awake when she slides a tower of succulent food toward me on a platter. Scout has fed me better over the last three days than my parents did for the last seventeen years.

Surely we're splitting this? "All yours, moron." She winks.

Moron is Scout's pet name she bestowed on me prior to her leaving our community four years ago. We remained in long distance contact ever since. "You have no idea how much I love you, do you?" It felt strange to say aloud, had my parents heard they'd call it blasphemy, suggesting I am gay.

"I have an idea." She hands me a clean fork, eyes growing wider to take in my woofing down the food in record time. Belch. "S'cuse me." I say red faced.

Scout burps louder and twice as long. "No need for manners in this house." We smile. My face has to adjust to the excessive cheek muscle use, unaccustomed to smiling for such extending durations.

"Mmm. Before I forget," she gestures using her fork, digging into her own plate, "thought you might wanna know, a few blocks down there's an outdoor basketball court you can use to pass time or exercise, whatever you want." She speaks through mouthfuls of syrupy waffles.

Whatever I want? The concept seems foreign to me. "I mean, only if you want to." I offer, shrugging.

Gulping the food, she skulls half a glass of orange juice before replying. "Tris, you don't need to ask my permission for everything. I'm not you're parents, you're entitled to free will." It's strange because I've never been given the privilege.

"M'kay."

*

Scout lends me a pair of grey sport leggings and her own basketball jersey supporting our favourite NBA team, Indiana Pacers. "Noice."

She flawlessly sports basic black shorts and sleeveless hoodie all in black. My hair is still slightly damp from this mornings shower but a half hour session under the exposed sun should do the trick.

It takes five minutes from our door to reach the discoloured lime court, leaving enough time to update her on my progress as a self taught Mechanic. "One day you can service a soon-to-be-mine Bugatti Veyron super sport once you become a certified Mechanic, deal?"

"Deal." I chuckle at the super descriptive scenario, secretly hoping I can successfully pursue the career.

"Here it is, basking in the almighty sun." The nape of my neck is already partially sweaty, yet the familiarity of it is comforting.

"Hey, moron!" I return to reality, capturing a basketball en route to my face.

"Show me your mad skills, dog." She yells pretending to be gangster. "Don't you dare go easy on me."

We sweat out a solid forty five minute session of drills and suicides, or what Scout calls them, "Satan's favourite exercise."

I wasn't the best player on my home team but the other teens were an unskilled bunch devastatingly worse than me. Scout was one up on them, blocking many of my attempted shots and succeeding in scoring numerous three pointers.

"Show off!" She booms whenever I score over dramatizing taking offence when I stick my tongue at her. She knocks the ball from my grip mid jump, intercepting what would've been a successful point.

On the opposite court end the Wilson's ball revolves to an abrupt stop, wedged beneath a black boot. Crouching to remove the sphere I pause, following identical coloured denim legs past a blue vest of the same material. "I take it this ball's yours?" His voice is stronger than I anticipated fuelling more heat to my beetroot cheeks.

I struggle to form words as his ice blue irises scrutinize my actions, successfully prying the ball from his foot. I probably resemble the rear end of a horse. Scout's jersey clings to my sweaty torso, highlighting the area and curve of my figure.

I pull the fabric away, inspecting his inked arm sleeves in awe of the black swirly lines. "Tryna steal my roommate, Andy?" Scout wraps her arm across my shoulders applying a reassuring squeeze.

"Roommate, huh?" This piques his interest, unashamed eyes racking my appearance up and down like a barcode scanner slowing at my chest to hips section. I fold my arms trying to miniaturise my frame under his gaze overcome with insecurity.

"Thas right, Biersack. Problem?" Scout's muscles tense against me clearly agitated, clenching her fists.

"This is a public court I can be here anytime I want to." He responds with the same tenacity, cocking a challenging eyebrow. I maintain silence as Scout scoops the ball from between my elbow and oblique.

"Sounds good to me cos if I play my cards right then basketball injuries can be fatal." She smirks wickedly. I'd hate to be on the receiving end of her sharpened pitchfork.

Andy watches her ponytail sway as she hastily retreats to the other basket while I stand unsure what to do or say in the deafening quiet. Whatever is happening, I should stay out of it.

He cracks obedient knuckles. "Sorry." I mumble earning an intense unreadable stare while I inspect his polished nose ring.

Rotating on my heels I catch a rogue basketball square in the sternum, grunting at the blunt force. "Damn it Tris! That was meant for Andy!"