I'm definitely in my computer class right now. I have this story saved on my flash drive, so I was like "Man, fuck that" and polished off this chapter as the professor yammered on about something. She's still talking but honestly, I have a high B. I just don't give a shit about this class, haha. This may seem like a filler, but it is not. Oh, it is definitely not (teehee. This one was fun). Thank you very much to Leka10 and MzMinn3 for the reviews! They are on their GAME! Unlike THE REST OF YOU...O_o

So, this is closer to the end than the beginning, but I can't say how many chapters are left. I KNOW this won't be long as Old Soul was (which was like, 29 chapters) but it probably won't be as short as Let Me In was (which was 18 chapters). It might be, I don't know. Things change sometimes, but this is already mapped out so I don't think it will deviate from that. I hope everyone has a wonderful Monday! (I know you need the encouragement if you're anything like me, because Mondays are shit)

Warning: I'm noticing there's a lot of Riley lovers up here. He's not in this one much. My bad.
...I said MY BAD! DANG! :P

Disclaimer: The Boondocks is STILL not mine.

A History

"I am on to you."

She kept walking, facing forward and refusing to look at the man who had come up beside her. "I do not know what you are talking about, sir."

"Ah." He didn't sound serious like she did, merely amused. "So we are back to formalities."

"Yes." Her words were sharp. "I should not have ever let it get past formalities in the first place."

"Why?" He kept up with her fast pace, taking a solitary step for every two of her own. "Because for once in your life there is someone who refuses to let you run away from your feelings?"

"Stop that!" She stopped, spinning towards him. "I do not have feelings."

"You do," He replied, much more calm than she was. "Otherwise, you would not be so angry."

"You," She said, whipping back around. "Are impossible."

"I am not the one who admitted I was in love," He pointed out, tailing her. "I am not the one who ran away after saying such words-"

"I did not run." She shook her head. "I walked."

"You walked very quickly."

"It was still not a run."

"It is not the point." He shook his head as well. "You cannot say words such as those and expect there to be no consequence."

"Consequence?" She stopped again, planting her feet on the ground and glaring up at him. "I was not thinking clearly. You see, Russ, I cannot love you. I have not yet hit twenty years old age and you are already forty. You are nice and hardworking and honest and-"

"Are you telling me that you are none of those things?"

"I am telling you," She said coldly. "That I am those things, but I cannot afford to be any of those things towards you."

"I do not believe that."

"Then I suggest you start getting it through your head. We are friends. Nothing more."

She marched off, leaving him staring after her in the distance.

Her eye popped open. She blinked, inhaling deeply before yawning and glancing around.

It was still dark outside, since her room was still dark, minus the dim lamp that was in the corner. She sighed, closing her eyes again.

Only, they shot open again when she realized she wasn't alone.

She sat up, glancing beside her to see Huey sleeping, his breathing even and his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. She looked at the clock. 2:42 am. It was early. Gross.

She rubbed her head, thinking back to the night before. She'd been crying so hard that she must have fallen asleep somehow? He must have did the same. Well, minus the crying part. Not wanting to wake him up but at the same time not wanting to have an awkward awakening in a few hours she slowly got up, started for the door, and then remembered her dream.

The diary! With all that was happening, she hadn't even remembered she had it.

She reached underneath her pillows, withdrawing the old diary and creeping out the door. She grabbed a pillow and a blanket off her parents' bed, tiptoes down the stairs, and flopped down on the couch. She stuffed the pillow behind her head and snuggled under the blanket before cracking open the diary and flipping to a fresh entry.

'September 22, 1920

Today, I met Russ's son.

He was not very pleasant and I could tell he did not like me. After all, he was almost three months older than me, with his birthday being in late May and mine falling in the middle of August. He looked just like his father, give or take a few differences. He departed soon after I came, which I had to admit brought me a sense of relief.

"It is alright." Russ had obviously sensed the same thing I did and offered me a shrug as I sat at his kitchen table with a mug of tea. "He is not very fond of too many people."

I had frowned. "He seemed like I had offended him somehow."

"Well." Russ had leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. "Typically, the only time a man and a woman are seen together, it means that they are either married or courting."

I choked on my tea.

"I did not say we were courting." He snorted, rolling his eyes. "I am too old for you."

"So if you were not," I pointed out, not being able to keep from teasing. "Then we would be courting."

He'd rolled his eyes again. "Anya…"

"You said it," I pointed out, resuming the sipping of my tea.

I thought a lot about our conversation as I walked later that day, picking herbs off a hill that overlooked the city. What would it be like if we were courting? Was he really too old for me? Did I really care? I concluded that if I was thinking about it so much then I had to have cared.

It does not matter. We are but friends, and that is the way it will stay.'

Well. Someone had been in denial. Jazmine started to turn the page but yawned again, shutting the book and resting it on her stomach. She closed her eyes.

"I'll just rest my eyes…for a few minutes…" She murmured to herself, falling into a deep sleep no sooner than after the words left her mouth

---

"Aye, yo!" Riley burst into Huey's room, sucking his teeth. Huey pulled one of his earphones out his ear, regarding him with a wary expression. "Lemme use yo laptop."

Huey glanced up from the screen, shaking his head and looking at Riley as if he were nuts. "No." He rolled his eyes. "What's wrong with your desktop in your room?"

"I don't wanna use it in my room!" Riley snapped. "I wanna use it downstairs so dat I can play Bioshock at da same time!"

"Nigga, how the hell you gonna use the computer and play video games at the same time?" Huey asked.

"Man, can I just use yo damn-"

"No!" Huey rolled his eyes. "I know you see me using it right now!"

He had a headache. For some reason, his stomach was feeling funny. And his throat was sore, which meant he did not feel like wasting his energy on arguing with his younger sibling. Riley's eyes narrowed.

"Man, yo selfish ass!" Riley spun around, storming out the room and slamming the door. Huey rolled his eyes again, replacing his earphone and going back to the computer screen. Since he'd spent Friday night hanging out with Maya and Saturday with Jazmine, he had a ton of homework to make up before school the next day. Not to mention he'd gotten nowhere on his Genealogy project. And shit, he wanted those extra credit points.

He'd tried finding information on his supposedly crazy great-grandfather, but to no avail. His great-great-grandfather was even harder to pin down. After a good hour of useless searching he started to go down to his Grandad's den and dig out his mother's stuff, just to make it easier. Only, just as he went to exit the page he spotted a link on the search engine.

'1924 Fire in New Orleans kills Seventeen People' it read boldly. In the summary underneath the words Matthew and Freeman were in bold print. Huh. He clicked on it, his eyes scanning the page when it loaded.

'A fire in Uptown New Orleans, started due to unknown causes, was responsible for the death of nearly twenty people, some whose identities who were never discovered. Among the identified were Katherine Ferguson, Farah Waters, Angela Fox, Michael Thompson, Matthew Freeman, Thomas Nicholson-'

Wait, that was it?! He scrolled up and down the page. Well. He didn't know anything except that his great-grandfather was nuts and his great-great grandfather died in a New Orleans fire. That sure was helpful. He groaned, exiting out the page and shaking his head. When his phone rang a few minutes later he quickly picked it up, for once relieved. He usually hated talking on the phone, but anything that was going to distract him from that crap would be great. "Hello?" He asked, lying back on his pillows and staring at the ceiling.

"Huey P!" Caesar's cheerful voice rang through his ear. "Yo, man! Where you been? I called you probably half a dozen times last night and you didn't pick up."

Whoops. "Sorry, man. My phone died."

"And you forgot to charge it?" Caesar snorted in his ear. "That doesn't sound like you at all. Whatever. Hey, you're going to think I'm crazy, but…well, Cindy and I thought we saw you in Baltimore yesterday."

His eyebrows rose. "You don't say."

"Yeah!" Caesar let out a laugh. "And, get this; we thought we saw you with Jazmine."

Huey snorted. So he was calling to be nosy. "Ah."

"Yep."

Then the line fell silent. Huey rolled his eyes, clearing his aching throat. Ouch. "Let me guess. You think something's going on between us."

"I didn't say that."

"You don't have to. You're thinking it."

Caesar let out a laugh. "Fine, you caught me. So, are you?"

"No."

There was a pause. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Huey glared at the phone, placing it back to his ear. "Why would I lie about it?"

"The same reason you lied when you went on a date with Giselle last year!" Caesar pointed out. "And when you went out with Simone Stephens for half a year freshmen year!"

"I didn't lie about it." Huey shrugged. "You never asked. Besides, Simone wound up being a conservative who attempted to drag me to church and Giselle had me beginning to reconsider my no-hitting-women policy."

"You still ain't tell nobody!"

"We're just friends." Huey exhaled through his nose. "Okay?"

"I don't know, man." Caesar sounded reluctant. "I mean, you drive her to school-"

"Because she lives across the street."

"And you two hang out outside of school-"

"Because, like you, Hiro, and Maya, she's my friend."

"Why do I not believe you?"

"Because you're an idiot?"

"Or I'm onto something you can't even see yet. Which would make me…well…not an idiot."

"Okay, really?" Huey sat up, feeling his insides flare up with anger. Why was it that whenever he hung out with a female people wanted to get on his damn nerves about it? "Look, I do not like Jazmine that way, okay? She is my friend. She is tolerable. She is just a girl who lives across the street that happens to not make me want to strangle her must as she used to!"

"Why you getting all defensive then, yo?"

"Argh! Go…play in toxic waste or something!" He snapped, pressing the end button. "Damn!" He turned back to his computer, fuming.

Seriously. He didn't like her! He couldn't help it if recent circumstances had caused them to become closer and he now saw her in a different light. She wasn't so bad, but he didn't like her. He knew he didn't! He'd even thought it over the night before when she'd fallen asleep after practically crying her eyes out and he'd sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her. She was nice and she was kind, and that was the problem. She was too kind and she was too fragile and too nice. He just didn't have time for that.

That was why he told himself he'd stayed there longer. Just in case she woke up and needed someone to cry to, being that she were so emotionally fragile and all. It wasn't like he'd wanted to be there.

And he hadn't even meant to fall asleep over there! His eyes had just gotten heavy and he'd decided to rest them for a couple moments, and the next thing he'd known it was six in the morning and he was waking up, alone, on her bed. Which, it was a good thing he'd been alone; otherwise it would have been strangely awkward. Since he'd gone down the stairs and spotted her sleeping on the couch it hadn't been hard for him to just let himself out the front door and creep in his own house like he'd been there the whole time. It wasn't as if Grandad would care, but he didn't really need the hassle.

So okay, he was nicer to her than most people and she didn't irk his nerves, but that didn't mean he liked her. She was just too different. That's what he kept telling himself, anyways.

Wait, why the hell was he even thinking about it again? He had homework to do! Or laundry! Or…something that didn't revolve around thinking about how he liked some girl-

Uh oh. He blinked. Did he really just think that?

Nah. He shook his head, forcing himself to try and focus on his homework.

---

When her mother came into her room later that evening, Jazmine was in the bed, reading. "Hey, sweetie," She said, grinning. Jazmine looked up, smiling herself.

"Hey." She sat up as Sarah plopped down on the edge of her bed, holding a wooden box. "How was your weekend?" Her brow rose. "And what's that?"

Sarah sighed, shrugging. "Well, your father was discussing it with me," She said, kicking off her heels. "He says that even if my relationship with my mother wasn't the best, it doesn't mean I should keep you from knowing about the rest of your family."

Jazmine gave her mom a wary look. "When did this happen?"

"Oh, I don't know." She shrugged. "A week ago?" She glanced at her. "I went in the attic and dug this up. I meant to give it to you but I got tied up with something else."

Jazmine's eyes widened. No wonder she hadn't found what she was looking for when she and Huey went up there! Her mother had gotten to it! Sarah cleared her throat.

"We don't have the best of relationships. At least, it's not as good as it could be." She tucked a leg under her. "I know you feel that you can't tell me most things because I won't understand. And, I know I've never been receptive in listening to you. But I really understand." She gave Jazmine a knowing look. "I really do."

Her eyes widened.

"I can't ignore the truth. Not anymore." She bit her lip, her blue eyes focused on Jazmine's green ones. "I don't care what you are, or what you see. You will always be my daughter. And I will always love you."

Jazmine's throat clogged, her eyes welling with tears. She jumped forward, throwing her arms around Sarah and closing her eyes, tears leaking out the corners.

"Thank you," She managed, sniffing. Her mom hugged her back, her own eyes full.

"I'm sorry." She held Jazmine away at arm's length, staring at her. "I am so sorry."

Jazmine shook her head, hugging her again. "It's okay."

"It's just-" Sarah went on, looking as if she felt ashamed. "I have three brothers, and I was always the weird one. No one understood except for my mom and she always tried to get me to see it as a good thing, but I couldn't. And when I met your father…well, he's obviously not one of us."

It was so funny hearing her mom refer to herself as whatever Jazmine was that she burst out laughing. Sarah shook her head, smiling herself.

"So, what happened?" Jazmine shrugged. "I mean, you just ignore what you see?"

"I don't see anything. Not anymore." Sarah twisted her wedding ring, frowning slightly. "I never saw the dead. My mother, she didn't either. She just knew that her mother did and she didn't want you feeling so afraid, so she told you she could see them as well."

"I know." Jazmine nodded. "She told me she could never see them."

Sarah's eyebrow rose. "When was this?"

"Um…" Jazmine rubbed her neck, feeling uncomfortable. She wasn't used to being able to talk about this stuff with her and be taken seriously. "A…few weeks ago?"

Sarah smiled, shaking her head. "Well." She lightly cleared her throat. "When your father asked me to marry him, I went to my mother and asked her to lock my powers."

"Lock them?" Jazmine's eyes widened. "You can do that?"

She nodded. "Mortals and non-mortals, they're not supposed to be together. It almost never works. The only time it does is when the mortal doesn't know about the other's secret." She snorted. "I hated my powers. I was glad to get rid of them."

Jazmine glanced down at her knees.

"I was thinking about admitting all of this to you for a long time," She continued quietly. "I could tell that you felt as if you couldn't tell us anything. I could feel the space between us. When you told me about you and Cindy's argument earlier this week I remember feeling relieved that you'd finally come to me for something instead of just bottling everything up." She smiled. "And your dad, he pointed out how much I regretted not being close to my own mother when she died. And how at the rate we were going, we'd wind up the same way." She shook her head. "I don't want us to be that way."

Jazmine shook her head. "I don't, either." She laced her fingers together. "So, daddy doesn't know?"

Sarah shook her head. "Your great-grandmother's husband didn't know. She never told him. She hated him. And your grandma, her husband found out and she had to erase his memory, especially when they divorced. There are very few mortals who would understand. If you find one who does, I suggest you hold on to them."

Her words were meant as a joke, but Jazmine felt her insides lurch. Sarah gave her a look.

"Does someone know?"

She shook her head. She was glad they were repairing their relationship and all but she didn't want her mom to be mad at her. "What did Grammy do? To lock your powers?" She asked. Sarah shrugged, shaking her head.

"I don't remember. She had some sort of spell book. It was some sort of ritual." She pat Jazmine's hand. "I think though, if I could take it back, I would. Being normal, it's good. But being something more? It was all I knew. It was a part of me."

Jazmine didn't reply. Sarah rose to her feet, picking up her heels and heading for the door.

"Mom."

Sarah turned around, giving her a questioning glance. Jazmine offered her a smile.

"I love you."

Sarah grinned, holding the doorknob. "I love you, too." She walked out, closing the door behind her. Jazmine pushed her hair behind her ears, eyeing the box.

She wondered what could be in it. Another journal? Something rare and valuable? Another damn locket? She shuddered at the thought of the last one, grabbing the top off the box and lifting it. She stared down into it.

It was paper. A bunch of folded up papers. She set down the top, digging in and unfolding one of the items. She glanced at it, seeing a long letter written in a loopy scrawl she was too lazy to decipher. She continued to dig through it, glancing at letter after letter.

The writing was odd…it was fancy, but not nearly as close as her great-grandmother's, or even her grandmother's. It didn't sound like her, either. She tossed one more letter aside, pulling out a particularly worn page and unfolding it. It fell right open, exposing a family tree. She glanced at it, her eyes widening.

It was a family tree…but it wasn't her family tree. She gasped, staring at it.

"No way…"

---

October 13, 1920

The day had come for me to visit my mother again.

I went to the usual florist shop and bought a bouquet of Hyacinths since they had been her favorite. I put on the necklace that she had always worn, and I started for the familiar meadow near my old home. When an all familiar figure fell in step beside me I glanced up at him, raising my eyebrow.

"Good afternoon." I nodded, facing forward again. He put his hands in his pockets, smirking.

"Nice flowers." He gave me a look. "Are they from your secret admirer?"

"You are so funny." I'd stuck out my tongue, my face becoming serious again. "They are for my mother. I am going to visit her burial site." His smile faltered. "Goodbye, now."

I kept walking, somewhat surprised when he caught up to me a few seconds later.

"Your mother is dead?"

"Yes." I kept my voice even. "I surely hope so. Otherwise, the person I have been visiting for the past year and one month has been getting a lot of free flowers."

"I did not know."

"How could you? I did not tell you."

"Well, what is of your father?"

"He is also dead." I have to admit, I felt pretty nervous telling him all of this. Not only was it bad letting him know more about me than necessary, but I did not want or need his sympathy. To my surprise, I got neither.

"That makes a lot of sense."

I stopped, giving him a look. "How is that?"

"Well." He stopped as well, shrugging. "You have never mentioned them. You have no photos of them. For a woman, you are tough to get to know."

"For a woman?" I nearly laughed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean to say that women are notoriously more emotional than men, whereas you, as a woman, are not," He said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Anya. Not everything is to be taken as an insult."

"Well." I resumed my walk and he followed. "There are things I do not know about you as well."

"Such as?"

I shrugged. "Your wife's name, or how she died. What she was like. Where you are from. Your full name. We both withhold information from each other, and quite frankly I am glad."

He gave me a look. "Why is that?"

"Because," I replied. "I do not want someone knowing everything about me. It is disturbing."

"I do not need to know everything." He sucked his teeth. "Most people tend to mention that their parents are dead, however."

"Well. Mine are dead. There you go." I stopped, giving him a slight curtsy. "And this is where we part ways, Russ."

"What if I also wanted to pay my respects to your deceased?" He asked, once again following me. I had been surprised. Going with someone to visit a grave was not something that people usually volunteered to do. I paused, biting my lip. I did not really want to be witnessed grieving. It would make me seem…weak.

I could not tell him now, however. He looked so sincere and genuine that I had shrugged, nodding.

"Fine."

The rest of the walk had been silent. By the time we got to the cemetery, a small, bright field with spread out headstones and tall grasses, I could feel my face flaming. How awkward this had to be for him. Only, to my surprise, he did not seem fazed.

"I did not even know this was a burial site," He had said, slowly following me as I made my way near the center of the meadow, tilting my head back so that the sun could warm my face. I sighed.

"I had not, either." Coming upon her headstone I crouched down, placing the flowers at the head of it. Russ stood beside me as I straightened, reading the headstone aloud.

"Lena Celeste James. She died last September." He glanced at me, frowning. "I am sorry."

I snorted in response. There was the sympathy.

"It is alright," He said in a knowing tone. "For someone to be saddened for your tragedies. It does not mean they feel sorry for you. It means that they have compassion. It means they are human."

I had stared back, surprised. He glanced back down at the headstone, his mouth curving upwards into a small smile.

"Look at that." His voice was filled with humor. "We have the same birthday."

My eyes widened. "July 1, 1880?"

"July 1, 1880." He pushed his hands in his pockets. I eyed him.

"You are forty."

He laughed, examining my face. "And you are horrified."

"I am no such thing. I am merely surprised." I snorted when he continued laughing. "What can I say? I told you, I do not know much about you."

He stopped laughing, nodding. "Alright, then." He cleared his throat. "My wife's name was Ayana. Her maiden name was Thompson. She died of influenza, eight years ago. I am from Charleston, South Carolina. I moved here exactly twenty three years ago after my parents were killed by white supremacists. I have a sister named Afiyah, she lives in Philadelphia. My brother, Lewis, is still in Charleston."

I had glanced down to the ground. "I am-"

"Sorry?" He asked, sounding a bit amused. I looked back up. "You cannot expect to be able to give sympathy and not have it returned."

I felt my face color. He was always making me feel like a child. I suppose he cannot help it being that we are from two different generations.

"My mother emigrated here from Ireland," I heard myself saying before I could even stop myself. "My father's name was Francis Scott, and he was from Mississippi. When they had me, the Jim Crow laws were still gaining ground, and when it was found out that he had been with a white woman, he was hanged." I was so used to the story that it did not make me feel nearly as sad as it once did. "My mother told me that she and I were almost killed as well, but a man saved us and helped us escape to the bayou. This is why I do not proclaim my African side. My parents did not care about race, and it almost got them killed. One of them did get killed." When I said that I could feel my throat closing. "In order to get my mother a proper burial I had to pretend to have stumbled across her, just so that I did not get killed. I could not pay to put her in a decent cemetery. It was the worst feeling I had ever felt." I lifted my chin. "I resent the people here for what they did to my parents. I do not trust anyone. As soon as I get enough money I plan on moving up north."

I could not believe I admitted all of that, but what was done was done. I swallowed, staring down at the tombstone. He regarded me with a look.

"Your mother was a redhead."

I stared at him with raised eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Your mother was a redhead," He stated simply. "She also had green eyes. She was taller than the average woman."

I gave him a wary look. "How do you know all that?" I shook my head. "I do not have any photos of her."

He took a deep breath, staring down at the headstone.

"It was October 19, 1902," He said quietly, rubbing his shoulder. "It was nearly midnight. I was an apprentice for another carpenter and heard of the hanging of a man who had been with a white woman. There were rumors that townspeople were looking for the woman to kill her as well." He shrugged. "I wound up coming across her on my way home. She was hiding behind a trashcan with her baby, and a group of people were approaching. I told them she'd run the opposite direction and when they all left, I took her to the bayou."

I had felt my breath catch in my lungs and had given him a look, my eyes wide. He had snorted, as if what he said were funny.

"I guess it is a small world."

The air around us had gone quiet, except for the occasional bird or the wind blowing through the trees that bordered the front of the meadow. I brushed my hands along my skirt.

"You saved my life." I looked down to the headstone. "You saved our lives."

He did not say anything. I looked up at him once again, for the first time not afraid of the tears that sprung to my eyes.

"Thank you." I had barely been able to get it out before I was crying, and then he was hugging me, gently crushing me against his chest. I did not feel ashamed by my tears. I did not feel like a baby. I felt…safe.

"My mother had told me our rescuer's name was Matthew," I suddenly remembered, sniffing. He chuckled. "Your name is not Matthew."

"I told you that I am called Russ." His voice was matter-of-fact. "I never told you my real name."

"Well." I looked up, peering into his face. "Where did the Russ come from?"

He smirked. "Russ, as in Russell. As in my middle name."

I nodded, taking a step back and rubbing my eyes.

"Russell. Matthew Russell." He nodded as well and I smirked through my tears. "And does Matthew Russell have a last name?"

Matthew, my savior, my own personal hero, had rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Freeman." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Matthew Russell Freeman."

---

"Huey!" Jazmine burst into her neighbor's room, a folded piece of paper in her hand. "Huey, guess what? Whoa." She stopped, pausing in the doorway and wincing. "You look horrible."

"Yeah, thanks. I feel horrible." He glared up at her from his place on the floor. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was in his pajamas, a trashcan beside his head. "It came out of nowhere."

"Maybe it's a stomach virus." Jazmine resisted the urge to run. If there was one thing she hated, it was viruses. She stepped into his room, grasping the paper. "I think I have something that might cheer you up!"

"Is it an antidote?" He asked sarcastically. She grimaced.

"Well…no."

He groaned.

"But it's something that might help you with your genealogy project!" She chirped brightly, holding it out towards him. When he gave her a look she crouched down so that she was closer to his height and handed it to him. "At least, I think it might."

He unfolded it, glancing at it. He blinked, as if trying to focus on actually reading it.

"How the hell did you get this?" He asked. Jazmine shook her head, grinning.

"And," She added, whipping out an old book. "I was reading my great-grandmother's diary? It turns out she and your great-great grandfather knew each other! He saved her life!"

"I would be a lot more excited," He said, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth. "If I didn't feel like death."

Jazmine made a face. "Sorry. I just thought it was cool. I mean, if she would have been killed, I never would have existed, you know?"

"Yeah." Huey rolled his eyes. "And then I wouldn't have to listen to you talk me to death."

She glared at him. "Sorry." She stood up, snatching the book back up and spinning on her heel. "I'll just leave you to your precious trashcan and your floor-"

"Wait." Jazmine glanced over her shoulder. Huey's eyes were closed.

"I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "But Riley heard me throwing up and he told Grandad, so they're both avoiding my room like I've got the plague. And, as much as I'd hate to admit this, I am too dizzy to get up by myself."

Jazmine frowned. "Really?"

"No, I'm completely making it up."

"Not too sick to not be sarcastic, I see."

"Never." He groaned. "Can you just help me up, please? While I still have some shred of dignity left?"

Jazmine set down the book, shaking her head and walking back over to him. "It's no big deal, you know." She crouched down, taking his clammy hands in her own. "Everyone needs help sometimes."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Ready? At the count of three. One, two-"

"Ah!" Huey practically flew on the bed when Jazmine suddenly yanked him up with all the strength she could muster. He glared at her. "What the hell? That was not three!"

"I never said I was counting to three!" She told him, crossing her arms over her chest. "You merely assumed it."

"You know what?" Jazmine never found out what he was going to say for he suddenly made a face, wincing. "Damn it-"

She hurriedly grabbed the trashcan, not looking inside and thrusting it towards him. He grabbed it from her, holding it up to his face. She looked away, swallowing and trying not to be too disgusted with the fact that he was throwing up a mere few feet away from her.

Then again, it was amusing. Huey Freeman never got sick.

"You should probably go now," He managed, lifting his head. "I don't want you to catch…whatever this is."

"It's no big deal." She shrugged, putting her hands in her pockets. "I have this feeling that if I leave you, no one else will come check on you and you'll die."

"Don't worry." He eased back, placing the trashcan at the side of his bed and rolling his eyes. "I'll come haunt you if that's the case."

She stuck out her tongue, pausing at the door. "You want something? Some water? Some tea?"

She could see him beginning to say no, but then he paused. He sat up, thinking. He slowly nodded.

"Which one? Both?"

"The second one." He was giving her a suspicious look, as if he didn't know what to make of the situation. She nodded, spinning around and smacking into Riley.

"Nigga, move!" He looked in at Huey, his nose wrinkling. "This nigga look like he dyin."

"Riley." Jazmine rolled her eyes. She heard Huey groan behind her. "I'm sure you're not helping."

"Ain't my fault his immune system puny!" He cackled, shaking his head. "He throwin up an shit. It's prolly contagious. And if it's contagious, dat mean you prolly got it!" His eyes grew wide. "And if you got it, den I prolly got it!"

"It's the stomach flu, not a zombie virus!" Huey snapped. "Get out!"

"Don' gotta tell me twice." Riley darted down the hall, slamming his door to his room. Jazmine shook her head, offering him a smile.

"Just, stay there." She walked out the room. "I'll be back."

"Yeah, like I'm going to go anywhere else!" He shot after her. She rolled her eyes as she went down the stairs.

---

October 31, 1920

I just had the oddest conversation. It is impolite to write in the company of others, especially when in public, but I cannot let this go undocumented.

I saw Anthony outside of the house when I went to visit Matthew (I do prefer his name more than his nickname), chopping wood. At first I started to simply walk past him, but it was as if he could sense my presence. He whirled around, his eyes narrowing when he saw me standing there.

"Ms. James," He said, in that cold tone he often used with me. I let my own eyes narrow as well.

"Mr. Freeman." I forced myself to make my stare as intimidating as his own. We both have the same eye color, which is a bit disturbing. I do not enjoy having anything in common with him, even something as insignificant as that. "Is your father home?"

"Why do you not go see for yourself?" He practically snarled. I took a step back. He was, after all, holding an axe. He did not seem to have good control over his emotions, unlike his father.

"I will do just that." I stuck my nose in the air, starting past him. Then, he grabbed my arm.

Needless to say, I got an attitude rather quickly.

"Let go of my arm."

"Listen to what I have to say."

"I will not listen to you," I went on, lowering my tone. "Until you let go of my arm."

He did so and I yanked it back away from him, rubbing it. He leaned to the side, placing his weight on his axe. Really, he is too handsome to be so mean.

He scowled at me. "I do not approve."

My eyebrow shot up. "Sir?"

"I said, I do not approve," He repeated, shaking his head. I glared back.

"We are friends. I do not believe I need your approval."

"He is my father!" He snapped, making me abruptly close my mouth. "He is forty. He is too old to be hanging around with some little child."

"This little child," I shot back. "Happens to be the same age as you are. I am sure that you do not consider yourself to be a little child."

"I do not, but I am his son." He snorted. "You are not a part of our family. You do not belong here."

I could feel my face heating up. "Who are you to tell me who I can and cannot be friends with?"

"I would not care if you were friends," He had said, frowning. "However, you are not."

"Excuse me?"

"You," He went on. "Are in love with him."

I had laughed at that one. It was just so funny.

"You are quite mad."

He did not look like he found the situation to be too funny.

"I can see it in your eyes," He said carefully, making my laughter stop short in my throat. "I can see it whenever you are with him. I am very good at perceiving emotions, Ms. James."

"You do well at seeing what you want to," I argued.

"I do not trust you." He had cut me off with a simple look. "My father has had too much heartache in his life. You are nothing but trouble. Soon enough, he will realize that you are no good for him."

I had started past him again, tossing him a scornful look of my own. "I do believe I will let him be the judge of that." I nodded, going into the house. "Have a nice day."

I hope he did not have a nice day, of course. I hope his axe slipped and he chopped that big mouth of his off with it.

That was very mean. I do not wish that. I do wish he would mind his own, however.

I am getting a few looks from a woman at the next table. I will stop now. But honestly! The nerve of people. The nerve of him. And for him to suggest I love Matthew?

Ridiculous. It has to be.

---

Stomach flu? Yeah, right.

He stared at them through the window, the last traces of daylight fading away. The girl was sitting on the edge of his bed, her hands in her lap. He was sitting up, holding an empty bowl and saying something.

That boy wished he had the stomach flu. No, it was not that. It was something more. It was merely…a test.

He'd fought her before. It may have been in another life and he may have lost, but he would not lose this time. This…this girl did not know as nearly as much about herself as she should. She did not know about him. She was not aware of what would happen, and he was fortunate for that. For there was only one way to destroy him, and the key was through a person she would never suspect. Through a person who would never see it coming.

Through a direct descendant.

He faded off, leaving them to their peace. After all, he had one more thing to do. Just one more.

Then, she, along with him, would be his.

Hmm...

Thanks for reading! You know the drill!

-Kelsey