Fifteen Feet Ahead

Chapter III

Hey guys, well I guess here's part III. It's a lot of back stories/ flashbacks if you like all the kind of jazz. I really liked this chapter because you learn what Miranda and Duncan come home to everyday. I think a lot of books on Wattpad always forget to mention this 'little' detail, but to be honest TO UNDERSTAND WHY A CHARACTER ACTS THE WAY THEY DO YOU HAVE TO WRITE ABOUT THEIR HOME LIVES, duh.

Anyways, I should shut up. Enjoy.
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Chapter III
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I always admired Duncan's mom. Mrs. Arnolds was a special woman. Even back when I was in elementary, whenever my teacher would give the typical 'Who is Your Hero?' assignment, I always chose Duncan's mom. She was almost like another mother to me. Ever since I was an infant, she was always there.

I admired her for three reasons.
1.) She was probably the most talented cook I knew. Every thanksgiving, Duncan and her would come over to my house and spend the holiday with my family. Her turkey was to die for, her mashed potatoes and stuffing had the most perfect texture, and don't even get me started on her Apple pie.
2.) Mrs. Arnolds worked two jobs. One at an office, where she always dealt with the most ridiculous people, and one part-time with paperwork at a hospital. On Thursdays, she didn't get home until almost three in the morning.
3.) Being Duncan's friend was already a hard enough job. I can't even imagine raising him as a single mom, living with him, cleaning up after him.

Duncan's Dad left when we were only toddlers. I don't remember him. Duncan claims he does, says they used to play basketball together, says he's who inspired him to keep playing. I let Duncan believe in his little fictional memories, but I know that Mr. Arnolds didn't care about his son. He didn't care about anyone. He didn't care about anything except himself and a few bottles of whiskey. He cared so little that one day they woke up, and he was gone.

I always wondered why someone like Mrs. Arnolds would ever marry someone like him.
"People change Miranda, people change," I remember my mom telling me. And I guess that he wasn't always who ended up being. Apparently he was quite charming, loving, a handsome and intelligent young man. Duncan tells me it was the alcohol, and maybe that was a part of it. But even then I knew, I knew that it takes more than alcohol to completely change a man. Something had to of led him to all the whiskey. Or I guess some people just change, like the leaves turn red in autumn, it's natural, it just happens.

Now Mrs. Arnolds, the woman I admired, who I looked up to my entire life had to listen to our explanation for her son's newly fractured leg. I'm sure it was the first the thing she wished to hear after a long and stressful day at work.

"You were what?!" Her voice echoed throughout the entire house. As much as I did love her, she was intimidating and even terrifying, especially when she was angry. Oh and by the way, since she knows me almost like a daughter, she could scream at me like I was her daughter.

"Yes, out for a bike ride," Duncan had said it like it was a causal ride through the park.

"In the hurricane?!" Mrs. Arnolds threw her arms up in complete disbelief. "Why did you ever think that was a safe idea?...And Miranda you approved of this? I thought you were supposed to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. You were supposed to me the smart one here?!"

I stared right into her green eyes. I was so ashamed, so embarrassed to be standing in front of the person who I wanted to please most. I was barely able to make out my choked up, "I'm sorry."

"I'm calling your mother! You're headed straight home--,"

"Mom, it was all my idea, I swear. I was stupid, she told me to slow down and I didn't listen. If I had, then I wouldn't be sitting here like this. She helped me get home. She--,"

"Duncan Joesph Arnolds I'll deal with you later!" She snapped, picking up the phone.
As she began to dial the number, Duncan and I stared at each other in complete silence. It was the silence of shame. We used to have these all the time when we were younger.

He was slumped on the couch with his injured leg elevated on the arm, and I was on the opposite sofa. He let out a long sigh and shook his head. Here we were again.

Less than fifteen minutes later I sat in my mother's car, dramatically staring out the window, watching the drops of rain fall down the glass. Most kids used to pretend the droplets were racing, but not me. To me, it was a game of survival. The droplets didn't want to fall, they didn't want to grow bigger. That's how you die. I focused on one drop as it slowly rolled down the window, fighting for its life, hanging on as it grew heavier and heavier. But still it fell, and as soon as it reached the bottom, I considered it dead. Another one falls. Another one dead.

My little brother Gabe was sitting in the back seat, playing with some game on his iPod. He was ten at the time. My mom was focused on the road, and her unusual silence let me know that she too was pissed with me.

She didn't speak for the 5 minute car ride home. (Duncan and I lived pretty close to each other then). It was when she pulled into our driveway when it all came out, "Miranda, I'm extremely disappointed in you, and you killed a lot of my trust for you today."

Gabe looked up from his device. He was always interested when I was in trouble.

She continued, "You're lucky I'm not planning on telling your father, but you have to stay home for the remainder of summer break."

I let out a sigh of relief. If Dad had known what I did today, all hell would break loose. Besides, staying home for the five last days was probably good for me. No distractions, so I could get my summer reading done.

As anyone could observe, my mom was a lot different than Duncan's. She hardly ever yelled because that was what my Dad did. And she preferred just to talk because she said I would feel like I could tell her anything.

Truth is, I just couldn't tell my mom anything and everything.

When I got inside, I took my two summer reading books up the stairs and straight into my bedroom. My room was the smallest in the house, but it was cozy. Tons of band posters covered my walls. A Jonas Brothers one still hung above my bed. It had been there for almost 7 years now. For some reason I had never gotten around to removing it, and I don't think that I ever would. My newest poster, The Neighbourhood, had to be stuck on the ceiling because my walls were now completely covered.

I had a frog named Louie, and he lived in a small cage on my desk. Duncan got me Louie a few years ago for my birthday. I remember the one day last summer when my friend Lucile was over, and we thought Louie had escaped. We tore apart my entire bedroom, to later find that Duncan had without my permission borrowed him for a day.

Finally, I decided to read for the hour I had before dinner. Slumped on my blue bean bag, I also decided to flip back to page one. Maybe now I could focus and actually understand what I was reading.
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