Since they're both very young, Kitty's a little more reckless and Jonathan's still working on getting his accent gone-gone, which is made a little difficult because EVERYONE ELSE is using it in force. As one does, y'know. So just don't mention it to him and we'll all survive this. Also, because no one's around to stop me, I'm puttin' a random song on all the chapters. Call it set dressing, whatever. This one's Blanche's 'Superstition'.
Jonathan privately considers Arlen to be the birthplace of every 'small southern town' stereotype. They're spread out, but everybody knows everybody's business, you go to church or else, and outsiders are welcomed in with wide smiles and gossiped about with wide eyes.
Well. Mostly. To a point. They've got their black side, and it's larger than one would suppose, given the size of the place. Lobotomies happen-the last one he's aware of took place when he was twelve. Too much of an outsider? You'll be run out. Nothing so blatant as burning crosses or anything, just…social ostracization is a funny thing.
Why in the world the Richardsons moved here, of all places, is a mystery. They're not churchgoers (Granny was horrified that her nearest neighbors were heathens), they're not here for the farming opportunities (such as they are)…why.
He asked, once, out of genuine curiosity. It's hot, it's sunny, it's so…small-town…it has no attraction whatsoever. Apparently Mr. Richardson was writing a book set in the area and wanted the peace. Jonathan doubts that-he was a government worker, for crying out loud-but he let it go. Selfishly, he's glad. Their presence has granted him with what he hesitantly has dubbed a friend.
Kitty Richardson is five foot nothing of big eyes and freckles and giggling that he doesn't try to understand. She is also, he has decided, fueled by sugar and Short Person Rage. Seriously, it's the easiest thing in the world to tick her off. All one has to do is use her as an armrest.
Not that he would do that sort of thing, of course.
He's read a couple of books involving multi-gendered friendships, and apart from the ridiculousness of 'everybody decides to date at the end', they also make the error of 'good girl, idiot boy'.
This is a complete lie, and if he ever writes a book like that, he's pointing that out. Kitty is always the one getting them into things. 'Haunted bridge? Come on, let's sneak out.' 'The fuck did you say about my chest, football player twice my height?'
No one believes him, because she's tiny and because she's very, very good at looking innocent and what-do-you-mean-I-didn't-break-his-nose. Maybe he's biased, but he thinks she could get away with murder, if she tried hard enough.
"Jonathan?" He blinks and looks down. "You okay?"
FINE FINE EVERYTHING'S FINE NO REASON TO DO SOMETHING STUPID.
"Just tired. Rain kept me up." She doesn't look convinced and he's quick to run damage control. "I don't think it's rained like that since y'all moved in."
He inwardly curses at the slip, but she doesn't seem to notice. Good.
"Oh, good, so it doesn't always rain like that."
"We do get tornadoes."
"What?" That was a squeak, and that was hilarious. "Tell me you're joking. Please tell me you're trying to see how much I'll believe you."
"No, we really do get tornadoes sometimes. Nothing awful, but…"
She stares at him in horror.
"I'm going to die."
He nudges that mental image aside and crams the last of his books into his backpack. There. All set for the weekend, with a bit of light reading to do besides. If he gets any time, and if Granny doesn't rifle through his backpack again.
He really, really hopes he doesn't have to spend another night out There.
"Yeah, they might have to get you out of a tree."
"I hate heights!"
"I really doubt you'd be conscious for that bit." Or alive and he'd like to change the subject now, thanks. "Come on, a tree blew down last night, we have to take the long way home."
The ground is squishy under their shoes, even after a whole day of sunshine. He wasn't so lucky as to have the chapel catch fire, but the Higginson's barn did-they barely managed to save the horse. Jonathan's glad, on the horse's behalf-it's not her fault the owners are idiots.
And burning to death sounds like a horrible way to go.
They have to pass by the property on this route, and he can see the truck's gone-probably into town proper for nails or somethin'. It could have been worse, as far as he can tell-the roof's had, but the walls are still standing.
Kitty draws a sucker from her backpack, unwraps it, and waves it in front of him.
"Lick?"
"No, thank you."
"Scared of cooties*?"
"Cooties are for children." He leans back, spine cracking. "So are those, for that matter."
"Only if you go to church." she says innocently, pursing her lips around one side of it. It takes him a minute to realize what she's implying and that mental image is going to be a bitch to get rid of. Thanks a lot.
"Kitty-!"
She cackles and promptly chokes. Serves her right.
The horse trots up to the fence. She looks none the worse for wear and she doesn't shy back when he puts his hand out.
"Are you allowed to do that?"
"Probably not." he says absently, letting her blow on his palm before leaning over to pat her neck. "Hey there, big girl, you have a rough night?"
She snorts and shifts obligingly so she's parallel to the fence. Kitty takes a step back.
"Does she bite?"
"Not if you're careful. Want to pet her?"
She eyes the horse, clearly a little nervous, and finally nods before rewrapping her sucker and sticking it in her back pocket.
"If she bites me, I'm blaming you."
He grins-this old nag hardly snaps at flies, in all reality-and motions her over. The horse turns her head, mildly interested in the new small creature in the road.
"Put your hand up like this, nice and flat…easy there, big girl, we're not gonna hurt you…"
The horse bends her head down and nudges Kitty's palm. Kitty giggles, more of a surprised sound than anything.
"That tickles!"
"Uh-huh."
"She's, uh…really big."
"You're very small." he points out. She shoots him a dirty look. "I'm just saying."
The mare finally draws her head back and bends down, cropping the grass at the base of the fence. Kitty pops her sucker back in her mouth and looks at her.
"Does she have a name?"
"No idea." He shifts his backpack to his other shoulder and leans over to pat her neck again. "Good girl." There's the sound of the Higginson's truck-a rattling thing that's held together through duct tape and prayer-and he steps back. "We should go. They're…they don't like me too much."
"Does anyone?"
"No."
She loops her arm through his and he wonders why.
"That's not true."
"Mm." No, seriously, why are they now connected. "If you say so."
"My mum likes you. She says you're a good influence." That's a first, and he'll be smug about it once he solves the riddle of Why Is She Touching Him. "And I like you, even if you are a goddamn telephone pole."
Well, that's nice-wait what he's very confused.
Also, she's still touching him and yes it's nice but there's no logical reason for it. Books did not prepare him for this. Help.
"Wait. How does she like me? I haven't met her yet."
"I've told her things."
Oh god. Like what? What sort of things do normal people tell their guardians about their friends?
He's doomed.
He's not doomed, as it turns out. Mrs. Richardson is a plump woman, a little taller than Kitty (not hard), who practically wrestles him to the dining room table and informs him that he will eat something of his own violation or she will bring out the feeding tube.
"Mu-um-"
"You didn't tell me this!"
"I did, stop scaring him!"
This has never happened to him before. It's confusing and he's starting to wonder if he hit his head or something.
"Oh, Kitty, don't be dramatic. What do you want to drink, sweetie?"
"Uh, just water, I think-"
"You're sure? It's no trouble-"
No. He needs control over this situation.
"No, water'd be fine. Please." She eyes him as though he might sprout an extra head, but brings him a glass of ice water all the same. "Th-thank you, Ma'am."
"Don't you Ma'am me. Mary is fine."
That goes against everything he knows and it's just not going to work out. Sorry, Ma'am.
"Mu-um…"
"All right, all right. Behave."
And with that, she leaves the room and he's left to wonder what just happened. He thinks he might have just been Mothered, and he's not sure how to feel about it.
"Mum's…used to getting her own way."
Well. He can see where she gets it, then.
He nods, a little overwhelmed, and takes a sip of his water. It's…nice…in here. Warm. Things aren't falling apart and his usual where's Granny and how mad do her footsteps sound senses are quiet.
"Are you eating anything?"
"Motherrrr!"
"I don't hear chewing!"
Kitty buries her face in her hands and groans, "My god, she's embarrassing."
Lest she really have a feeding tube tucked away somewhere, he takes a cookie from the plate. It looks okay. It's still a little warm between his fingers, even.
Kitty hooks an ankle around a free chair and drags it over to use as a footrest.
"I'm pretty sure she doesn't have a feeding tube."
"Pretty sure?" The cookie's not bad, and he's relieved to find that it is indeed chocolate chip rather than deceitful bastard, raisin. "That's…alarming."
"She was a nurse. We may or may not have some things she borrowed from the hospital upstairs. In case of emergencies."
"Feeding tube?"
"I've never seen one."
Better be safe than sorry. He reaches for another cookie.
"I expect those cookies gone!" comes a shout from the other room. "Is that clear?"
"Watch your crap telly and stop trying to force-feed him from the living room!"
"Don't make me come in there!"
That's it. He knows what's happened. Either he's dead, or he's dying and this is some strange dream.
"We're eating, Mrs. Richardson." There. Maybe that'll placate her.
"Mary!"
Kitty plunks her head onto the table and reaches blindly for the plate.
"Kill me now."
*Kitty would more likely use the term dreaded lurgi, but we'll say she picked up the 'cooties' term recently (because the comedic flow would be jarred otherwise, so sue me).
