Criers Mansion

Combat Boots

I'm pulled past the doorway this time to meet Clive with a warm cyan towel. I enjoy the warmth of the towel, but then I feel the warmth of Oliver's hand leave me and then the feeling is gone.

"Hey Clive, can you get Oliver a towel please." I saw him standing there shivering and his hair all matted to one side of his head, I guess I just felt bad for him.

"Anything for you Miss Criers," sarcasm filled the room as I slid a smirk.

As we make our way toward the kitchen I drop my towel and jog with my hair still damp and muddy over to one of the kitchen counters which are lined with stools that spin on there hinges. I started spinning and spinning and spinning not caring if I looked like a five year old. I saw threw the blur that Oliver had sat down on a stool next to me making sure not to interrupt my dizzy fun.

When I finally finish spinning, a mug of hot cocoa slides in front of me. I look over and see Clive sliding one over to Oliver. I look down in my cocoa and I see three fluffy, pink marshmallows float around on the surface of my cinnamon cocoa.

"So, would you want a tour." those words made me thrust my head in his direction and look at him with an abashed expression.

"A tour?"

"A tour," he had backbone along with this statement.

"So where do you suppose we go?" I'm not gonna lie I really do want to learn more about this place. Its just he seems so calm and comfy here, almost as if he's lived here. He looked at me with this sort of maleficent stare, but since we're friends all of a sudden I'm going to trust him.

"The Greenhouse," I knew I was going to like this.

I flit to the door and slid into my combat boots, all though they did feel more roomy on the inside then they did twenty minutes ago.

"Ugh! I can't get my foot in." I turn my head and look at him struggle to put on a pair of combat boots. I walk over to him but then a jolt of pain hits me in the shoulder as I lay face down on the floor. I look up aching and squinting and as everything comes into focus I see the size on Oliver's boots and they are the same size as the ones I usually where. I adjust myself into a sitting position on the ground and rip the boots I was wearing off.

"Size seven." I was confused, they look exactly like the ones I wear.

In a grungy voice I hear Oliver

Moan.

"Those are mine," he is struggling to get my boot off of his foot. I snicker as he gives me a pissed off look.

I scoot over to were he is sitting and grab the boot with both hands, all of a sudden I remember early today my incident with my backpacks. I start to pull on the combat boot as Oliver pushes at the ankle of it. Then, almost like a cartoon you here a pop and a thunk of me pulling the boot off and hitting the ground behind me. All at once our laughs fill the entire room echoing threw the house.

I don't know how in such a short amount of time me and Oliver are already bonding over the stupidest things like combat boots. And as my mom used to say, "if he wears the same shoes as you, he's a keeper."