Author's Note: Please note that this story will be a mix of "Back to Nature" and "Harvest Moon 64". Thanks, and enjoy!
The Herald.
Chapter One.
"Elli!" There is a pause.
Thank God. Maybe if I ignore him long enough, he'll just go away.
Or, best-case scenario, he could fall of the face of the earth.
"Elli Mae Whittaker, gosh darn it!"
Nope, he is feeling persistent today, or maybe just lucky. And I'd had my hopes up too. I roll my eyes into the back of my head, annoyed, and spin in the swivel chair to face my orange haired gnome of a boss. A maroon vein is bulging out of his pencil thin neck. I stifle a smirk.
"What is it, Rick?" I ask the paranoid little weasel.
He clears his throat in that superior manner of his and looks pointedly at the speakers adorning my head. I groan and slip my headphones down the back of my neck, reluctantly tearing myself from the wail of the guitar and pulse of the bass.
This had better be good.
"Have you edited and laid out Basil's article on the history of the Flower Festival?" Rick's frantic voice squeaks with stress.
"Yes, Rick. I'm putting the final touches on it now," I respond in a voice just dripping with irritation. A wave of relief washes over his face, and he removes his glasses from their perch on his face to wipe beads of sweat off of his forehead. I smile despite my frustrated annoyance. He is such a dork. "Rick, dude, just chill. We'll have this edition out on time, just like all the others." He blinks, looking somewhat satisfied, and scurries out of the room into his office. I push the clacky headphones back up over my messy mop of chestnut hair and turn back to the computer monitor.
Welcome to the cramped, slightly chaotic office of the Flowerbud Herald, the weekly paper published by and for the islanders in our town. The paper is a small but satisfying read for the residents—that's the candy-coated explanation, at least. Today is a typical day in the office, and what you've just witnessed is typical dialogue between Rick and I.
Being the slightly scatter brained, slightly obsessive-compulsive editor that he is, Rick's scampering nervously about the office, mumbling about making our deadline, and screaming at me (when he needs someone to alleviate stress on) has become routine in my eyes. I work primarily with layout and design, and I suppose it's my 'job' to help collect articles from the writers, edit, and format them. I'd originally applied to the paper last year for a summer internship as a journalist because I love writing. But, unfortunately for me, Rick wasn't a fan of that idea. I was too young, and there wasn't enough room for another article in the paper anyway, he'd said. Plus, he needed an assistant, and seeing as I was more computer-competent than others…
Carrying a chin-high stack of manila folders, Rick reenters the room and clumsily hands me the top one. I sigh and open the folder, sifting through the materials until I find what I need. Rick is making copies on the Xerox machine when a deep, sultry woman's voice sounds from the opposite end of the tiny room.
"Rick, baby." A scantily dressed Karen appears in the doorway of the office, ornamented in expensive jewelry and thick eye makeup. Rick responds in a breathy, gruff voice, and the two fall into each other's arms for a heated kiss more appropriate for the bedroom. "Mmm," Karen murmurs licentiously, allowing Rick's hands to run down her curvy, artificially tanned figure.
I am tempted to vomit all over Karen's designer leather boots.
"Ah-HEM."
I clear my throat in an obvious manner, hoping they'll remember that—hello—there is an unwilling observer in the room, and that they need to take their passion elsewhere.
It is in mid-kiss that Karen notices a third person's presence in the room. "Oh, hi Elli," Karen says in that synthetically sweet voice she uses on puppies, little babies and Elli Whittaker, completely unashamed of the little lust fest I'd just witnessed.
She detaches herself from Rick and saunters over to me.
I gag inwardly.
"Here's my article," she says, dropping a coffee stained, slightly crumpled piece of filler paper into my lap. I stare at the poor excuse of an article. It is a measly three hundred words scrawled out in barely legible writing, which I'll most likely end up rewriting completely.
I want to burst out laughing in her face. I choke out a "thank you" instead.
Karen and Rick disappear into his office, as they do every time she stops in. I tap my pen against the cold metal desk and skim over Karen's article. It's littered with spelling errors and run-ons. I debate asking Rick to just scrap Karen's article, but decide against it.
Rick obviously knows Karen can't write to save her life (and I'm pretty sure she's aware of that fact too), but he can't just say no to his girlfriend. He's got to play his cards right with the girl if he wants to keep her, and obviously she enjoys the perks of making money for turning in sloppy articles like these. What are the odds that a dork like Rick ends up with a loose, exotic beauty like Karen anyway? The fact that he's one of the wealthiest eligible bachelors in Flowerbud might have something to do with it.
But what do I know? I'm just a naïve seventeen-year-old girl who has much to learn about this world, or so Rick tells me. Who am I to make judgments about the relationship about two mature, very in love twenty-one-year-old quoteunquote "adults"?
An hour flies by. 3:00 PM, and I am itching to leave. I scribble a note to Rick, letting him know that issue is done and ready to head straight to the printers after one final edit tomorrow morning. I don't mention my omission of Karen's article in the layout.
She'll get over it.
Shutting down the computers, I stuff an array of papers and CD player into my old beat up messenger bag. I exit the office and swing the bag over my shoulder, slamming the door behind me. Ah, fresh air and the reassurance of another issue well done. It's pure bliss.
The Herald office is located in Kai's dumpy shack of a house—right on the waterfront. He's only in town for the summer, so we pay to rent the downstairs while his bedroom is located upstairs. It's tight, but air-conditioned, so there are no complaints from my end.
As I begin my trek home, I can faintly hear the high-pitched wail of a girl.
"Elli! Elli!"
Good gosh. No. Please no.
But the voice persists, getting closer. "Elli! Elli, wait up!"
I do not halt, but rather, quicken my pace.
Please don't bother me, kid. Not today.
"ELLI!" the voice screams. I halt in my tracks and spin around ever so slowly.
"Gosh, Elli, I thought you'd never hear me," comes the syrupy voice.
"Hi, Popuri," I mutter through clenched teeth.
She grins at me, pink curls bouncing. I force a smile through irritation.
I am just too nice.
As annoying as Popuri can be, she is as lovable as a saucer-eyed, tail-wagging puppy. She's fourteen and has this unhealthy obsession of tagging along with the older girls of the village. I usually try to avoid her, but when she does catch me, I put up with it only for the sole purpose that I can set a better example than Karen ever could.
"Have you heard the news?" she asks, eyes sparkling.
"Uhm, news?" I start walking towards the town square, and she falls into step beside me.
"You mean, you haven't heard? Ooh, Elli, it's so exciting!"
"What is it?" Despite my obvious annoyance, I'm curious. Maybe the Flower Shop her mother and father own is getting new carpeting in or something equally unimportant.
"The new farmer is arriving today!" she shouts, practically blasting out my eardrums with that high-pitched voice of hers. One may think that Popuri is overreacting just a tad, but this is exciting news. New villagers don't surface often around here. In fact, the last person to buy land in this town and settle down was Rick, and just look what a thrill he turned out to be.
My face must reflect the enthusiasm I see in Popuri's, because she continues. "Mr. Greene is throwing a huge party for his arrival at the Inn. Everyone in the village is invited!"
"Wow. That sounds like fun," I put in genuinely.
We pass the church and Karen's parent's grocery store. Next to Rick, Karen's family is the richest on the island. It's been the only place the villagers could buy food for the past three years while there was a vacancy at the farm. And of course, Karen's parents, being the greedy morons that they are, hiked up prices and monopolized while they could.
Me, bitter? Oh, no, honey. I am past that.
"Anyway, I heard his name is Liam." Popuri pipes.
"Who?"
"The new farmer, duh! He's the grandson of Pappy—just graduated from high school, so I guess that makes him around your age, right Elli? Rumor says…" Popuri continues to babble on beside me, but I am oblivious to everything she's saying, caught up in my own thoughts about the new farmer.
We finally reach my house, and, being the idiot I am, I feel around in my pocket only to realize I'd left my key on the kitchen table this morning. I rap my knuckles a few times against the green, wooden door that nicely compliments the red brick of my grandma's split-level home. Upon the opening of the door, Popuri scampers inside, nearly knocking my poor Grandmother off her feet. Grandma shoots me a smile. I roll my eyes.
Among Popuri's other obsessions, animals happen to be another. Every time she comes over, she insists on seeing my dog. Not that I blame her. Reese is pretty cute.
"Reesypuppy!" Popuri cries, and drops to her knees. Reese runs to her, excited, and bathes her in kisses with his wet tongue. Traitor.
Stu is home too. I find him in his room, sitting on the floor.
"H-h-hi Elli," he says, glancing up at me with huge, innocent eyes through his mop of jet black hair.
"Hello, Stu!" I exclaim. "What have you got there?" I ask, squatting down to the seven-year-old's level.
"Blocks," my brother says simply, placing one in my hand.
I feel my eyes crinkle with a smile. "Thank you, Stu."
I place a kiss on the autistic child's forehead. It's little moments like this with Stu that mean the world to me.
Grandma appears at the doorway. "You kids ready for dinner?"
"Sure," I say, picking up Stu and swinging him into my arms. He giggles.
"Popuri, you want to stay for chicken and potatoes?" Grandma asks.
"Yeah!" she exclaims from the other room. She enters Stu's room a second later, Reese trailing at her feet. "As long as I can be done by six. That's when the new farmer's ferry is scheduled to arrive."
We filter into the kitchen. "Oh yeah, Grandma. Is it okay if I go meet the farmer at six? And then there's this party afterward at the inn for—"
"Elli," Grandma says, voice stern. "You know I have therapy at the hot spring with the Doctor every Wednesday night. You have to stay home with Stu."
Crap. I'd forgotten all about that. I take a seat and help Stu into his chair. "Well, what if I take him with me?" I plead.
"You know how Stu is with large crowds," Grandma says, voice softening, but growing all the more stern.
I sigh and try once more. "Grandma. These things only happen once in a blue moon. Please, could you cancel with the Doctor? We could all go—as a family," I beg.
My Grandmother has already made up her mind. "No, Elli. I cannot cancel on Peter now. The matter is settled."
"Fine," I say, agitated. Stu can sense the displeasure in my voice, instinctively looking up at me with those big, questioning eyes. I feel tears form in my own eyes. I'm angry, but I can't blame Stu. "It's not his fault", I repeat over in my head, biting on my lower lip to hold back the tears. Grandma spoons a glob of mashed potatoes onto my plate. Popuri prattles on about the new farmer.
"It's not Stu's fault that I can't have a life of my own."
Three hours later and Grandma has left for therapy. Popuri is long gone, anxiously waiting the arrival of the new farmer with the rest of the village. I scrub dishes extra hard, releasing anger, while Stu is preoccupied with his blocks again in the living room. Reese is dozing at my feet on the tiled kitchen floor.
I finish the last plate and glance out the window. With all my anger evaporated, I'm in a wonderful mood. "Stu, it's beautiful out tonight, don't you think?" He gets up from his place on the floor and joins me at the window. I take his hand. "Wanna go outside?" I ask. He nods eagerly, and after slathering both Stu and myself in bug spray, we head out the door and into the front yard. Before leaving the house, though, I run down the hall and snag my guitar from the bedroom I share with my grandmother.
The air outside is thick with humidity. The streetlight drones on warmly, illuminating our small, bodied, picket fenced yard. Stu chases after lightening bugs, Reese frolicking at his feet. I giggle and strum out a few chords on the guitar.
It's not long before I'm lost in the music, singing at random a song I wrote for Stu. He recognizes it as 'his song' and draws near to stand next to me, completely forgetting about the lightening bugs. Stu loves it when I play guitar--he says it reminds him of our mother. I glance down at the beautiful hand painted instrument that was once my mom's. She'd asked Grandma to pass it down to me if anything ever happened to her.
I gulp back memories and focus on Stu, emphasizing certain parts of the song with my voice, attempting to make Stu smile. He laughs wildly at my Elvis-voice impersonation at the chorus, grows quiet when I grow loud and passionate on the bridge. It's through the last refrain that Reese interrupts my song with his ferocious bark.
Stu looks as puzzled as I feel. "What is it, Reese? What is it, boy…?" I trail off, realizing what—or who—my dog is growling at. A teenaged boy about my age is standing at the fence, perfect, white-toothed smile plastered on his perfect, well-defined face. He stands there in all of his tanned, chiseled glory.
I've seen boys like this before. They're those boys on WB dramas who drive gas guzzling Hummers, laugh at the mentally disabled and elderly, and sleep with a new girl each weekend—girls like Karen. They're those guys who think they're the center of the universe and can have whatever they want handed over to them on a silver platter.
I want nothing to do with these types of guys.
It's been two minutes of silence and speculation, and he is still grinning at me. His god-like smile mocks my stupid little song.
"Excuse me," I say, agitated. "Can I help you?"
"Your playing—it was amazing," he says, almost passionately.
Ahh, so he's an actor too.
"Uh-huh. I'm sure that's what you tell every girl you meet," I respond coldly, standing up.
The smile disappears from his face. "No, actually, girls where I come from aren't so musically inclined," he responds, throwing a bit of attitude back in my face. "But at least they know how to take a compliment."
I'm pretty good at attempting to care, but I'm already halfway to the house with Stu and Reese ahead of me. We've got better things to do then eavesdropped on by some stranger.
Wait a second.
I spin around. "You're not Liam, the new farmer, are you?" I ask.
He smirks. "And you must be that angry Elli girl who threw a fit when she couldn't come to my party tonight. Am I right?"
I am going to kill Popuri. "Why aren't you at the party?"
"Eh, I needed some fresh air. The people in there were a little—"
"Overbearing?" I cut him off.
"Yeah, something like that."
I hear Stu making a racket inside the house.
"I really have to get going. You have a nice night," I smirk.
"You too," he sneers, pivoting on his heel and walking away from my picket fence.