Authors Note: You had some good guesses at who it's going to be . . . so read on to see if you were right. Oh, and, happy Easter!
Chapter Three
- Trash Talk -
With a lightening fast precision I whirled around on my heel, swinging my hand up and grabbing a fistful of cloth that was, upon closer inspection, actually the collar on a shirt. The person who wore the article of clothing began tugging uselessly on my hand, trying to escape my grip.
"Let me go!" They wailed, sounding close to tears.
"Who are you? And why are you snooping around the dumpsters so late at night?" I demanded, narrowing my eyes and examining the culprit before me.
It was boy . . . a young boy, maybe only eight or nine at the most. He wore torn and dirt encrusted jeans, making me think he had been in some sort of scuffle. His shirt, previously a light blue color, had turned a brown-ish shade in some spots, like he had been rolling around in the dirt somewhere. His light blonde hair was plastered to his head with sweat, while other locks were being flung haywire in the slight breeze. His eyes were wide with fear, tears beginning to form over his blue eyes.
I loosened my grip a bit, moving my hand so that I held him by the forearm. He visibly relaxed, seeing that my expression had changed from hostile to a slight tenderness that emanted from my features. It was only a kid, after all.
"What's your name?" I asked gruffly.
"A-Arthur . . . but everybody c-calls me Ari. It's my nickname," he said meekly.
"And why is a kid like yourself out so late?" I inquired, still not letting go of his arm for fear of him running away.
"I'm not a kid!" he exlcaimed pompously. "I'll have you know I'm nine years old. That's close to being a teenager!"
I couldn't help but laugh at how defensive he got.
"You didn't tell me your name," he pointed out after I was done chuckling to myself.
"Yeah, well you didn't answer my question," I retaliated.
"I'll answer when you tell me your name," he insisted.
I had to give the kid some respect. He was acting a lot more like me than I would have expected. Most kids his age wouldn't dare to make negotiations with a big, bad sixteen year old.
"Fair enough," I conceded. "I'm Max."
"Max . . . that's a cool name! I wish my name was Max . . ." he stated, grinning from ear to ear.
"Well I guess only some of us get to be a special as I am," I replied before going on to say, "Now what are you doing out here in the middle of the night, with no supervision, looking like that?"
He shuffled his feet nervously, looking anywhere but at me.
"Oh God, please tell me you're not a runaway!?" I cried.
He looked up sharply, shaking his head back and forth. "Of course not . . . I live a few blocks away."
"Then why aren't you there, asleep in your bed? These streets aren't safe enough for a nine year old boy to be wandering aimlessly about. Haven't you learned that bad people come out a night?" I demanded.
"Are you a bad person?" he asked, his voice cracking as he began to take a step backward.
"I guess it's your lucky day, because I happen to not be one of those people. I just moved into that house right there. My Mom made me take out the trash," I informed him, indicating the shadowed doorway of our house.
"No wonder I haven't seen you around anywhere."
He was stalling . . . it was obvious. I couldn't actually fathom a reason why though. I mean, could the highlight of his day really be talking to me beside the dumpsters? Could his home life be that bad?
"Enough chit chat. It's time for you to get home, Ari. Your parents are probably worried sick about you," I insisted.
His face turned solemn and he said in a blank monotone, "I don't have any parents."
I didn't know what to say to that. I had a feeling that giving him my condolences at his misfortune wouldn't really register. It seemed to me that he had already gotten used to the fact that his parents were gone.
"I live in an orphanage . . . but I don't like it there, so I leave sometimes."
"You could get in serious trouble for that!" I exclaimed.
"They don't ever notice. No one really cares about me," he replied.
"Surely you have some friends there."
"No," he said simply, and I could sense that he really wanted to drop the subject completely. For the time being I could respect that.
"Well, now you don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm your friend," I told him proudly, giving him a wide smile.
I swear I've never seen someone so happy.
Ari let out a whoop of joy, grinning from ear to ear. He pumped his fist in the air, jumping up and down in excitement, finally dislodging himself from my grip. I expected him to turn and run then, but he stayed put, still smiling like the Cheshire cat himself.
"Really? You mean it!?"
"Of course," I said with a nod. "But only if you go home now."
"Okay . . ." he said sadly, "but only if you promise to visit me all the time!"
I hesitated. The last thing I needed was to make promises, especially to this innocent kid. There were times when I rarely followed through with what I said . . . Could this be one of them? I hated to get Ari's hopes up, just to crush them . . . He was just a child, after all . . . A lonely, parentless child with no friends but me now. After knowing that, it was impossible for me to say no.
"I promise," I replied, shaking his hand to make it official.
He dashed off into the night, scurrying between two buildings and disappearing from sight. Soon he was too far away for me to even hear his footfalls as he ran towards his home. I sincerely hoped nothing happened to him on the way there . . . maybe I should have gone with him, to make sure he got home safely . . . Then a thought struck me that made acid churn in the pit of my stomach . . .
I had just attached myself to someone in New York.
- }{ -
I lay awake in my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Flashes of images were rebounding around in my mind. Little snippets of Arizona and what I had seen of New York combined. A city street full of honking cars. A piece of clear blue sky. I wanted to sleep, but my head was abuzz with these kinds of thoughts, making reaching such a state impossible.
I heard movement out in the hallway; the creak of a door and the soft padding of feet across the plush carpet. I counted the footsteps until I could hear no more. At that very moment my door was pushed softly open, and Ella's face came into view, peeking around the edge.
"Max, are you awake?" she whispered, not daring to come any closer.
"Yeah, I'm up," I replied softly, lifting myself up onto my elbows to get a closer look.
"Can I come in?" she asked hesitantly, still not moving from the doorway. In the dim lighting I could see her knuckles turning white as she held onto the door frame as tightly as possible.
"Sure," I said with a nod.
She stepped into the room slowly, closing the door without so much as a creak or thump. The only sound that could be heard was the faintest click as the mechanism snapped into place. She turned just as cautiously, tip-toing over to my side. In the vague moonlight streaming in through the single window on the same wall as my bed I saw that her face was streaked with red, and her eyes were slightly puffy.
She had been crying.
"Ella, what's wrong?" I asked in concern, sitting up straight and making some room for her to sit as well.
She sniffled a bit, rubbing her eyes before saying; "I . . . I miss home."
I was stunned, to say the least. Ella had been so excited about living in New York just a scant half hour ago . . . and now she's bawling her eyes out, wanting to go back home? The shock must have shown on my face, because she hurriedly went on.
"I mean, I still love it here, and I'm still glad we came . . . it's just . . . different," she admitted, fingering the edge of her t-shirt as her shoulders began quivering once more.
"Oh Ella," I murmured softly, pulling her into an embrace. She wrapped her skinny arms around my waist, laying her head on my shoulder. I gently stroked her hair, frantically searching in my mind for the correct words to say.
"Of course it's different Elle . . . we went from living in a small, kind of rural town to the big city. It'll take some time to get used to this way of life. Things like this just don't come automatically to people," I told her comfortingly. "You're so smart though, and so charismatic. You'll find your place in no time."
"That's not what I meant," she muttered.
"What did you mean then?" I inquired, my brow furrowing.
"It's not different in the way you think. I'm talking about our family . . ." she trailed off, finally managing to sit up. She untangled herself from my arms, instead choosing to sit cross legged across from me.
"What's different about our family?" I asked in confusion. We were still the same people as always . . . right?
"Nothing's the same! Mom is always so stressed out and busy . . . and you're always angry. I knew you could be mean and stubborn Max, but you've never been this deliberately nasty before. You pick a fight with one of us over the smallest thing. You don't even want people to know we're sisters!" She cried, tears fresh in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Ella. I didn't mean that when I said it . . . I was just upset," I insisted.
"I know, Max, I know. You're just so frustrated that Mom had to move us cross country. You're so mad that she's trying to make a better life for us. Well you know what? You're making everyone else miserable with the way you act! Everything doesn't revolve around you Max, contrary to what you must believe!"
I inhaled sharply, my eyes going wide at her words.
She saw the hurt look on my face, and quickly said, "I'm sorry if I sound harsh . . . but it's the truth."
And it was the truth.
I had been so caugt up in my own problems, that I hadn't even realized what everyone else had been going through. Mom was probably about fed up with my attitude . . . and I had been less than friendly to Ella of the late. We used to be so close. Most sisters got into petty squabbles, but Ella and I never fought. We shared everything and we got along better than anyone I knew. She was pretty much my best friend.
"I just . . . I don't want to live here if that means everything between all of us changes," she said weakly. "I want things to go back to the way they were before . . . I want my big sister back."
Her lower lip began to tremble, and I couldn't stop the tears of my own forming in my eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Ella. You're right, you're right about everything. I'll try harder, I swear. Things will go back to normal once we get settled in I promise," I whispered fiercely.
Here I go again, making promises that I may or may not be able to keep. I would make an effort to be my usual self . . . but knowing that I have to live in New York always makes my mood turn sour.
"Thanks Max," Ella said, smiling for the first time.
I grinned back, taking her hand in mine and squeezing it comfortingly.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, just staring off into space when Ella spoke up.
"Max?"
"Mhm?" I asked, swiveling my head around to look at her once more.
"Do you really hate it here?" she questioned, staring at me intently.
I thought about it for a moment, gathering my bearings. I tried to formulate an answer that wouldn't sound too harsh, especially at a time when Ella wans't completely emotionally stable. The last thing I needed was for her to burst into tears again. I had had enough sobbing for one day.
"Yes . . . and no," I replied slowly.
"Max," she complained. "That's not a real answer!"
"Yes it is, and it perfectly captures the way I feel about moving," I insisted.
She looked at me oddly then, cocking her head to the side curiously. With a sad shake of her head she said, "You know, sometimes I just do not understand how you think."
I laughed quitely to myself. She had no idea.
Downstairs I heard the low rumbling of the TV switch off, and the light movements of my mom shuffling a few things aside as she made her way towards the steps. There was a bang that was loud enough for even Ella to hear, and her eyes widened in horror.
"You might want to get to sleep before Mom comes to check on you and finds your bed empty," I informed her.
She nodded furiously, scrambling to her feet and bounding lightly to the door. Just before she left I called out to her softly. "Good night, Ella!"
"Good night, Max."
Then I remembered something . . . I had school tomorrow . . .
Great.
Authors Note: Not what you expected was it? Well, please, please, please review!
