The Odd One
The girl had short, carrot colored hair and freckles. Her legs were long and wiry, scabby from falling off of bicycles, and blindingly pale despite hours spent in the sun. If you were to ask her mother, she'd tell you that "that child" was crazy, too busy day dreaming and tripping over her on flailing limbs to get anywhere, or pull anything other than a C average on her report cards.
The girl's name was Gwen Rivers, and she was the biggest mess on the block.
"GWEEEEEN!" My little brother's voice rattled the window panes of our tiny suburban home, his feet audibly pounding along the hallways on the main floor as he searched for me. I groaned, dropping my head onto the desk beside my bed and resigning myself to my fate before I stood and opened the door to my room.
"COMING, CHARLIE!" I yelled, clomping down the stairs and into the living room.
"INSIDE VOICES!" Mom bellowed.
Charlie, my kid brother, was the most adorable human I've ever seen, and at seven years old his puppy eyes were as lethal as an injection of rat poison. Whereas I was pasty and awkward, with limbs constantly swinging out of their own accord to smack vases and pictures off of tables, little Charlie was as compact as a makeup kit, with raven black hair and the largest brown eyes the world will ever see. He was also a total stinker, and the bane of my existence.
His tiny arms wrapped around me from behind, and I twisted to look at him, where his head was resting under my elbow. "Can I come, Gwen? Can I please? I promise to be good and to mind my manners and to not play Not It in the house and to do your laundry and to-"
I laughed and extricated myself from his grip, swinging him up in my arms and carrying him toward the kitchen.
"Charlie," I told him, shaking my head, "It's called tag. And you never mind your manners. And you don't know how to do the laundry. Plus it's only three days, so it's not like we'll have to wash our clothes anyways."
He pouted and folded his arms across his chest, a couple of dark curls falling into his eyes. "But I want to come."
"And I want you to come. But it's mom's choice, and she says-"
"No," mom cut in, ducking to peer into the fridge, "It's too long for you to go kid, and besides, with your dad on business I need you here."
"I'm seven!" Charlie protested.
"They grow up so fast," I sniffed, pretending to blink away tears.
She stood, kicking the fridge closed and carrying a carton of eggs to the counter. Mom was perfect, her red hair more reminiscent of a flame than of a bunch of carrots, and always perfectly in place and put together. Just like her. She was the version of me that I was supposed to be, her tall thin frame making her look graceful while mine was more akin to that of a clumsy giant. And she knew it too, often shaking her head when she looked at me, or sighing and wringing her hands in her apron. Her eyes were soft and blue while mine were overlarge and dark green, but where mine were often widened in surprise due to some self-induced catastrophe, hers were lined at the edge from worry and time.
I walked over to mom, allowing Charlie to slide out of my arms as I leaned over to stick my face in front of hers.
"I'm going out!" I announced. She threw up her hands in mock praise, and set the carton of eggs on the counter before setting her hands firmly on her hips and narrowing her eyes at me.
"Pajamas," she said.
"Got 'em," I sighed.
She tilted her head. "Socks?"
"Way ahead of you." How long was this going to take?
"Toothpaste." Her fingers tapped out a steady beat on the counter.
"In my bag." What was that look? Did I miss something?
"Extra t-shirts." No mom, I thought I'd just go nude for three days.
"Already in the car." Unless they've moved in the last twenty three minutes.
Mom nodded, turning back to the counter and reaching for the egg carton as I lifted my backpack from a chair at the kitchen table.
"Yeah, so, I'm off then," I informed her, shuffling toward the door.
"Have fun!" she called, already immersed in whatever she was baking.
"Gwen, can't I come?" Charlie was standing in front of the door, his lower lip protruding and trembling slightly. I smiled and ruffled his messy black hair with one hand, then poked his lower lip with my pointer finger.
"Put that thing away, kid. Bird's gonna shit on your lip." He reached up and wrapped his arms around my waist again, burying his face in my ribcage.
I smiled and ruffled his hair again, then leaned down and whispered in his ear.
"Three days, kid. Three days and I'm home. For good this time."
Charlie mumbled something against my stomach.
"What was that?" I asked.
Finally he peeled himself off of me and looked up, his mouth screwing up as he thought. "Could you bring me something home? Like a horse? Or a brownie?"
I grabbed his sticky hand as I walked to the front door. "Of course I will, you know me. If I happen to see any fine stallions in Damon's Grandparent's home, I promise to pick out the best, most troublesome one, tie it to the hood of the minivan, and bring it home to you myself. Deal?"
"His name will be Wonder Wing," Charlie told me solemnly.
"Right," I agreed, and shoved open the front door, promptly screaming and slamming it shut again.
"What?" Charlie asked, tugging my hand and trying to peek through the crack between the door and the wall. "What's out there? What did you see?"
"A terrifying monster," I whispered.
I could hear mom snort in the kitchen, so I shot a glare her way before turning to Charlie and trying to arrange my features into the most pathetic, horror struck expression I could muster.
"How terrifying? What did it look like?"
"He was, uh, big. And purple. And extremely hairy, with fangs the size of your arm." I grabbed his skinny forearm and shook it for emphasis.
"I'll kill the bastard," Charlie whispered, and before I could be shocked that he even knew the word, he had whipped open the door, stepping out onto the front steps and directly into the arms of the terrifying monster, who grabbed little Charlie and ran around the front yard with him, whooping and hollering as he swung my brother around and around, generally wreaking havoc as he scared the crap out of some pigeons on the sidewalk.
"HEY, BUB! PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE!" I yelled, grabbing a Nerf gun off of the lawn and aiming a few shots at the terrible beast. "Don't worry Charlie! I'll save you!"
Charlie ignored me, instead continuing to wriggle and squeal as he fought against his captor.
"I'M GONNA EAT YA," the monster roared.
"Not my brother, you rodent!" This time I actually took aim before I shot the Nerf gun. Sometimes I forget what a good shot I am.
The bright, Cheeto-orange bullet sailed across the lawn and thwacked Charlie's captor directly between the eyes. He let out a garbled yelp of surprise and lost his footing, tumbling down. Lucky for Charlie, the monster had the presence of mind to twist as he fell so as to not crush the small child held caged in his arms.
"Oof!" Even from where I stood, I could hear the wind leave his lungs when he hit the ground. I winced, and jogged across the lawn.
Charlie, who was still wrapped up in the larger boy's arms, looked up at me and blinked a few times rapidly, apparently dazed. "Did I kill him?"
Damon, the monster, groaned. "Yeah, kid. I'm definitely dead."
I nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you got him alright."
Damon reached up and tugged the Nerf bullet off of his forehead. It made a tiny suction sound and left a little red circle between his eyes as it left his skin. He examined it blearily, releasing Charlie from his grip.
"I didn't know they still made suction-cup bullets," he noted.
"I don't think they do," I allowed. "Which is a shame, really. They're so much better when they stick."
Charlie grabbed my shin to help himself up, then looked down at Damon. He kicked him in the ribs with his small sock-clad foot. "I thought you were dead, creature."
Damon grabbed Charlie's foot as he sat up, causing the small boy to have to cling to me for balance. "I am. You are truly a warrior to be reckoned with."
Charlie grinned at him and pulled his foot loose. "Thank you. You were a scary beast." Then he turned his head to me, cupping his hand around his mouth. "Reckoned?"
"He thinks you should be feared." I stage whispered.
His grin widened. "Everyone reckons me," he announced happily, "I am a warrior. And Wonder Wing is my best friend." With that he turned and walked back into the house.
"Wonder Wing?" Damon asked, looking puzzled.
"It's the horse we're going to get him from your grandma's house," I explained, examining one of the straps on my backpack.
"Ah," he said, nodding as if Wonder Wing was the only sensible thing a person could ever name a horse. "Wonder Wing."
The sky was a steely grey, rumbling with thunder while the rain poured down. I leaned my head against the passenger side window, my breath fogging up the glass as I watched the water sloshing across the windshield, flung by the frantic waving of the windshield wipers. Outside of the small car, the downpour was such that visibility was horrible- even with the headlights on, it was impossible to make out road sighs. All that I was sure of was that we were entirely surrounded by trees.
Not for the first time, I turned to face the driver, raising my voice to be heard over the din of the storm. "Maybe we should pull over until the storm calms down."
Damon pursed his lips and squinted as though it would make it easier to see through the sheets of rain. "No. No, I think we must be close now. What time is it?"
I glance at my watch, "Seven fifty."
"There, see? We're probably just about there now. Trust me."
"Thunder boomed, emphasizing my skeptical snort. Damon shook his fist at the sky in mock indignation. "Do you doubt me, ye olden gods of thunder? Bringeth your wrath upon me, I can take it! Do your worst, you-"
"Damon," I interrupted, "Be serious. We were supposed to be at your grandparent's house an hour ago. When was the last time you saw a road sign?"
He shrugged, unconcerned. "I'm sure we've passed some, don't worry about it."
"Do you even know where we are?"
Damon glanced at me, a sheepish look on his face. "I mean, I'd say that I have a pretty solid idea."
"Pretty solid?" I demanded. "How solid, Damon?"
He fidgeted anxiously. "Um, maybe sixty percent. Don't worry, though. That's more sure than I am about a lot of things."
I swore. "Pull over."
Damon shook his head. "I've got this, Gwen. Don't worry. I can do this."
I ignored him. "I'm going to call my dad."
Damon looked over at me, his forehead wrinkled in concern. He opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to change his mind. As he turned back to the road, I unclipped my seatbelt.
Unfolding my legs from where they were tucked under me, I bent down and ripped open the side pocket on my backpack. I rifled through its contents, spilling pens and gum wrappers onto the pristine floor of Damon's car until my fingers closed around my phone.
Damon drummed on the steering wheel, whistling a nervous tune as he tried to navigate the car through the storm. Normally I wouldn't mind- Damon was by far the best whistler I had ever encountered, surpassing even my own skill- but in that moment it grated on my already fraying nerves. What an idiot. Why couldn't he just admit that we were lost?
I snarled and grumbled to myself as I jabbed the screen of my phone with my index finger, shooting Damon a testy glare when I raised the phone to my hear. He glanced over just in time to see it and shrugged again, smiling apologetically.
"Gwen!" I started at the sound of my dad's enthusiastic voice. "How's the trip going, love?"
I massaged my left temple with the tips of my fingers. "Oh, you know. It's fine. I just- well. Look dad, we're lost."
"Lost?" His voice was doubtful. "Gwen honey, I'm sure you're not lost. Damon is driving, right?"
I looked over at my best friend and gritted my teeth. "Yes dad. Damon is driving."
"Excellent! That boy just got his Eagle Scout, Gwen. You're not lost."
"That's not how it works," I protested.
"Gwen, you're fine. Pull out a map if you need to, okay? Don't worry so much."
"Dad-"
"Shit!" Damon yelled.
I instinctively clutched my arm rest, my gaze flying up to the windshield in time to see the deer that stood directly in the path of the car. Even through the rain, it was obvious that it wasn't going to move.
Damon slammed on the brake and yanked the steering wheel hard to the left.
As the car spun out, I screamed.
Off the road. Shattered glass. Cold, cold grass, icy rain on my cheek. A distant voice – dad? - coming from the phone.
"Gwen! Gwen, honey!"
As the world tilted and spun away from me, the last thing I saw was a deer, fleeing into the forest.
The storm raged on.