Only Differently Designed // ODD

8. Only Scarlet's House (Part 1)

I press the doorbell. A car screeches behind me. I assume it's my mom driving away. I fight the urge to chase after her, as I would rather be cuddling my pillows in bed cradling good old book than standing on Scarlet's front porch on a Saturday morning, only a doorbell away from an entire day of school work and socializing.

I press the doorbell again.

When time stretches out, I begin to fear this may not be the right house after all. It might as well belong to a serial killer, or worse, a pervert. And the only thing standing between me and this criminal I conjured up is a door.

The door in question swings open.

Fortunately, the person who appears looks far from being a criminal – a lanky pimple-crowded adolescent dressed in pink pajamas and fluffy bunny slippers. But then again, do criminals share a particular age, look or style of clothing? For all I knew this may be the latest trend in Felon's Weekly magazine.

Pop!

I jump. The teenager, probably a couple of years older than I, slurps a deflated bubble gum back into her mouth, and then once again she blows, causing it to swell for a moment only to pop again. I never really understood the art of chewing gum. What is the use, really, of putting so much effort into chewing a substance if it isn't meant to be swallowed?

The girl aims a remote control at my nose. Am I supposed to raise my hands in the air? She presses a button on the remote. I hold my breath. I imagine the button would activate a flap door in the ground, one right underneath me, which would unexpectedly open up and suck me in. But even after a few seconds, nothing happens.

"You gonna, like, stand there forever?" she asks, still in the process of chewing. "You're another one of Scarlet's bothersome chums aren'tcha? Ya'll come right when I'm watching my fav' show. Next time I ain't even getting the door."

The girl returns into the house, still grumbling about people ruining her show. I shuffle in and close the door behind me. I follow my hospitable escort (sarcasm intended) into a cozy living room with a television glowing in the corner. The latter throws herself on a couch and increases the television's volume.

"What?" the girl demands. "You gonna watch the show with me? Just so you know my folks don't pay their electricity bills so parasites like you can watch off my tellie. Get your own tellie."

I scratch the back of my ear, feeling offended.

"Scarlet's room is over there," she limply waves her hand. "Go on, shoo."

I walk away as instructed and into the corridor, relieved to be away from that bundle of bad grammar and pimples. I find Scarlet's name pinned on one of the doors. I slowly slip in between the space left ajar, hoping an intruder alarm won't start blaring.

I spy with my little eye...

A yellow bed occupied by a few soft toys. An organized desk with a few cardboards, markers and highlighters on display. A shelf here, a beanbag there. Plain beige wallpaper and curtains sprinkled with cartoon high heels. A typical room, that is, except for the two girls – two of Scarlet's friends, I realize – seated on the carpet, hands tied behind their backs, mouths sealed with tape.

So this house really is criminal-friendly after all?

"Mmmmhmmm!" Laura says.

"Mmhm-mmhm!" Jenna adds.

Before I get the chance to decipher their words, I am tackled from behind. I drop onto my belly and feel my arms being wrapped tightly with cloth. Despite my wrists being tied, I manage to flip onto my back and meet my ambusher. She's no older than nine or ten years old, and judging by her black hair and small build, I'm guessing she's Scarlet's sister – her evil sister, to be exact.

Evil or not, I refuse to be defeated by a brat!

I lock my legs around her, seizing her arms and waist. Behind me I hear Laura and Jenna cheering me on through their muffled mouths. Or at least I assume its cheering by the tone of it. After a long struggle, the rascal wriggles her arms free and reveals a roll of scotch tape. She attempts to tape my mouth, but I dodge the sticky substance by ducking my head right and left. Finally, I snatch the entire roll of tape with my teeth. My opponent squeals in frustration.

One nil.

During the next few seconds she and I roll around the room like two dogs wrestling for a bone. My jaws start to ache from clamping down on the scotch tape and I can almost feel my drool dripping. The rolling comes to a halt when we hit the side of Scarlet's bed. I flick my head back as far as possible from the child's reach and tighten my grasp on her waist. I repress the urge to let go of the weapon between my teeth, but unfortunately, the tape involuntary drops out of my mouth when I spot the item under Scarlet's bed.

A book.

Its cover is visible, even under the bed. Just to make sure, I let go of my opponent and use one of my legs to drag the book away from its hideout and into the light. I don't take my eyes off it. Somewhere in the background I hear the sound of my classmates' muffled boos, I feel my mouth being enclosed with tape and I smell my foe's victory in the air.

But none of it matters, because the book before me isn't just any book. It's the book I've been eager to borrow from the library. The book that wasn't returned in due time. The book that has been missing for nearly a month.

The book I've been craving to read for so long.

All this time, it has been under Scarlet's bed.