It was a quarter to six as I walked up the familiar flagstone steps to the Hamilton's house, and rang the doorbell. The last of the cold weather was still hanging around the neighborhood and I shivered in my coat as the late March wind swept about me. I rang the bell again, wishing Mrs. or Mr. Hamilton would answer soon and let me in from the cold. They were probably upstairs getting ready for the dinner party they were going to attend in the evening. The sound of footsteps and a shadow through the frosted window of the front door relieved my anxiousness, but when it opened to reveal a stranger I felt my heart twitch a little. Standing in front of me was a handsome, well bred young man only a few years older than myself. He was wearing black vans, black golf shorts and a white short sleeved gold shirt.
Who was this guy? I didn't knock on the wrong door… did I? A little noise escaped my throat as I thought of what to say. The strange boy must have sensed my confusion and quickly spoke;
"I'm sorry, you must be confused. I'm a friend of the Hamilton's. I'm staying over for the weekend. My name is Peter." He raised his hand in level with mine and that's when I noticed his gloves. White, pristine fingered gloves that matched his shirt. I thought it was kind of odd to be wearing gloves indoors, but knew it would be rude to ask questions so I just shook his hand instead. His grip was gentle, like his boyish voice.
"I'm Charlotte" I smiled.
"Pleased to meet your acquaintance Charlotte, why don't you come inside?" Peter smiled back at me and for the first time I met his gaze; dark eyes hiding behind his shaggy dirty blond hair.
"Thank you" I said as I stepped inside.
"Oh good you're polite."
"Pardon?" I asked as I sat down on the foyer steps to take off my shoes.
"I said that you're polite. So much of our young generation forget about the importance of manners." This guy just gets stranger and stranger… "Paul will be pleased."
"Paul?" I asked, looking up at him from the step where I was sitting.
"My brother" Peter smiled down at me, his features brightening in the mention of his brother, "Let me take your coat."
"Thanks" As he hung my coat in the closet I asked him, "So you're friends of the Hamiltons?"
Peter's voice was muffled as he answered from inside the closet, "Well my parents are."
"Oh. Where are they?"
"Pardon?"
"I asked where they are."
Peter closed the closet door and looked at me as if he was lost for words. Then he smiled and said, "They're out."
"Out?" Peter shuffled on the spot, obviously a bit uncomfortable with all the questions I was asking, but I found the whole thing kind of odd. Where were Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton? Where were the kids? Did they forget that I was supposed to be babysitting? Before Peter could answer me someone else walked into the room. It wasn't any of the Hamiltons, it was Peter's brother, Paul.