My brush flew over the canvas, carefully creating the waves of the girl's hair. "Lee, are you done yet?" I grinned and shouted, "I just finished!" I carefully put down my brush and assessed my work. I looked back and forth between my painting of the girl and the photo that was given to me. My painting was flawless. I was sure that Kaydee would love it. Since I'm a Five, I have to do an art. I chose painting, so people will give me pictures of them or loved ones and I will paint it. This particular one would help to boost my fame. Madeline, the teenage girl in the picture, is the daughter of Kaydee Miller, the famous model. If Kaydee was happy with this, then it could really help me out with my career.
My mother walked in and she gasped. "Oh, Lee, it's beautiful." My mother was a singer. She was never a good artist, so she decided to perform for Twos and Threes at parties. My mother gave me a hug. "I'm so proud of you, Lee." I glanced over my shoulder at her. "Thanks, mom." She smiled and walked out. She had a lot of work to do.
As I headed out the door with my painting, I heard my brother call out to me. "Hey, Xyliah!" I rolled my eyes and glanced at him. My brother is one year younger than me, making him 17. He's also the only one on the planet to call me Xyliah. Xyliah is my real name, but no one can pronounce it, so I go by Lee. It's pronounced ZY-lee-uh. "What is it, J?" His name is Jason, but I've always called him J. "You got a letter in the mail!" He has a smirk on his face, as if he already knows what's in the letter. I turned away and started walking down the street. "I'll open it when I get home!"
I stood in front of the Miller's door. I knocked firmly and stood back as I waiting for them to open the door. The door creaked open and I saw the face of Fiona Martin, the six who live down the block. She's the Miller's maid. I grin at her. "Hello, Fiona, how you doing?" She smiled and stepped back so I could come in. "Hello, Miss Smith, it's a pleasure to see you again, and I'm doing fine, thank you." I gave her a look. "Fiona, you can drop the formality, we've been friends since we were five!" Fiona gave me an apologetic smile before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Miss, but Lady Miller insists that I am always formal with any guest of hers, no matter who it is." I rolled my eyes. "Fine, then, should I wait here, Miss Martin?" I teased her. She suppressed a laugh before nodding. "Yes, Miss Smith, I'll go tell Lady Miller you've arrived." Fiona curtsied to me before running off. I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh. Fiona had been my best friend since we first met when we were five. I remember the day clearly.
It was a dark, stormy night. It was one of the worst storms I'd ever seen. Thunder and Lightening were playing a never-ending game of tag. I ran through the streets, hugging my coat to my body. I was soaking wet, and I would be shivering all night.
A block before I reached my street, I heard a yell. "You worthless bitch!" I winced as I heard the smack that followed, and the cry of pain. "Get out of here, and don't come back!" I watched as a little girl was shoved out of her house. She collapsed on the pavement and started sobbing.
"Ah, there you are. Good to see that the youth of today still value punctuality." I looked up, snapped out of my memories and right into the beautiful face of Kaydee Miller. I stood and and smiled. "Hello, Mrs. Miller. Here is your painting." I handed over the painting of Madeline. I watched nervously as she inspected it. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she grinned. "Thank you, love. This is beautiful. Here you go," She reached over and dropped the money into my hand. I pocketed it with a grin. "Thank you, Miss Miller." I turned around and walked back out. I passed by Fiona again. "Meet you in the treehouse at six." I quickly murmured before leaving the house. I shoved my hands in my pockets and started walking home. My mind went back to the memory of when I first met Fiona.
I ran to her. She couldn't have been much older than me. She had dark skin and short, black hair that framed her face. "Hey, are you okay?" I asked her quietly. She looked up at me, and by then I already knew the answer. There was a large red mark on her cheek. She opened her mouth to respond, but al that came out was another sob. "It's okay, come on, follow me." I reached out my hand and she took it. I heaved her to her feet and led her back to my house. I knew that my parents would never let her stay with us; we barely had enough for just us, but I didn't care. I couldn't just leave her there. "Listen, you have to be quiet. My parents won't let you stay with us so I'm going to have to hide you, okay?" I murmured to her quietly. She nodded and silenced her tears.
When I got home, I immediately headed up to the treehouse. This treehouse has always been important to me. Well, both me and Fiona. This treehouse is what started it all…
When I finally reached my house, I looked around. Where could I keep her? My eyes fell on the treehouse. Bingo, I thought. I was the only one that used it. My brother was afraid of heights, and my parents didn't go up there; they wanted Jason and I to have a place that was just ours. She would be safe there.
I smiled at the memory. That night was one of the worst and best nights of my life. I remember my fear as I ran through the streets. I was afraid; I had run out of the house to get away from my father. He had come home drunk, again, but in a very pissed off mood. I had run before he could get to me, and I was terrified of what he would do to me when I got back.
One she was settled, I shrugged my coat off my arms and handed it to her. "I'm sorry that it's wet. I'll bring you some food in the morning, okay?" She just looked at me. Finally, the girl nodded. We looked at each other for a long time. "My name is Xyliah," I finally said, "my friends call me Lee." The girl smiled up at me. "My name is Fiona." I smiled at her, and she smiled back. We sat there for a long while, just smiling at each other "What happened?" I asked her softly. She looked down. "My father," she croaked out. I nodded my head; I understood what it was like. My father was always getting drunk. He wasted all of our money on alcohol, and then he would get angry about our lack of money. He accused me of being the reason they were so poor. He said that I was a waste of our food, but he never said any of that stuff to Jason, just me. No one else knew about it; dad kept it quiet. I often had to wear long sleeves in order to cover up the bruises.
That was how we had bonded. Over our messed up fathers. She got lucky, though; it didn't last long. That night, her father had a heart attack and died. She was able to go back to her mother after that. I wasn't quite as lucky. My father didn't die until three years ago, when I was 15. He still hit me, and neither my mother nor Jason knew about it. To this day, they still have no idea what a monster he was, and I'm not going to be the one to taint their image of him.
