Chapter Two
Alex Browning went over his checklist in his head. Bed made? Check. Garbage can doing it's actual job? Check. Closet straightened out? Check. Dead goldfish scraped out of aquarium? Check. Desk clean? Check.
Alex then looked into his mirror at his own reflection. His face was still burning from his swipe of Oxy pads which he had never used. His hair, for once, was not oily. He had put on clothes that were actually ironed. He smelled... well, he DIDN'T smell. That was important.
He opened his oak door a crack. "Mom?" he called down the hall, "Can you come here for a sec?"
His mom trotted down the hall towards him. "What is it honey?" she asked perkily, poking her head into the door. Her jaw nearly hit the clean floor at the sight of his former disaster warning, which was now spic and span. Opening the door fully, she glared at Alex. Hands on hips, she rolled her eyes and asked bluntly, "You don't want to go to Connecticut, do you?"
Alex shrugged. "Couldn't tell?"
"Why don't you want to do! You used to love Uncle Victor, and seeing all your cousins..."
"My cousins are all in university, Mom," Alex groaned, "They hate me. Besides, I would really like to go to Iroqouis Lake with Tod and George. It's just for two weeks." He looked at his mom, who was lowering her eyebrows. Quickly, he added, "Their parents will be there. Remember? They have that really nice cottage? I mean, we're just going to be doing stuff like swimming and fishing... and it's their birthday. Doesn't that mean anything?"
"Okay," his mom said quickly, "You can go."
"Why not?!" Alex demanded, standing up, "You never let me do any... wait, did you just say I COULD go?"
His mom smiled. "Alex, I know you didn't want to see Uncle Victor. If you want to go with the Waggners, just make sure it's okay with them. I won't hold you back."
Alex blushed. He muttered, "Thanks, Mom." She walked out of his room slowly. The second the door shut, he squealed, jumped up and down, turned up his stereo, began dancing around victoriously, and shouted, "Yes! Yes! Jackpot!"
***
Clear stepped out of the taxi cab, handing the driver his money. The 5'5 skinny brunette gazed at the small cottage atop the hill. It had a small deck, small windows, and a small roof. This place was... small.
The homely cab driver grunted for her to hurry up. In response, she got her bag out of the trunk, and walked grudgingly up the hill.
Colin's mom was waiting at the door. Whisps of her dark grey hair stuck out from under the towel around her hair and she was wearing a housecoat. Clear looked at her watch. It was only 4 in the afternoon! This lady was already bathed and stuff... she would probably call Clear a night owl if she found her awake at eight o'clock!
"Hello, Clear!" she exclaimed, giving Clear a big hug, having to stand on tiptoe to do it.
Clear had to smile at this. "Hi, Mrs. Pratt," she returned the greeting.
"Oh," Mrs. Pratt said, flinging her wrist out, "Call me Maralynn. Or Grandma. Whichever you prefer." She had an eager grin.
Clear, feeling slightly guilty, began to walk into the tiny house. "Thanks, Maralynn," she replied, emphasizing the fact that this woman was not her grandma. She looked around her. The place was sacharine sweet. Cotton-candy pink walls with white lace curtains hanging on the windows. A flowery tablecloth was placed on what Clear guessed was the table, even though it was only slightly bigger than her desk at school. Even the fridge had hints of pink.
Clear walked closer to the fridge, squinting at the picture of her that had been placed on Maralynn's fridge. It was her grade eight grad picture. She remembered those days. The one time her mom had let her dye her hair. It turned out a yucky blonde and came out in about three washes. She had a phony smile with braces, and her freckles were slightly more visible in those days.
Those days? It was a little less than a year ago! Still, why did Maralynn have this picture? This picture where Clear was in the same blue robe as everyone else, smiling, posed, exactly the way everyone else was. Did this woman even know anything about her? What would she tell people when they came in? "That's Colin's stepdaughter, Clear. Uh... that's all I know."
The thought made Clear shudder. "What's wrong, dear?" Maralynn asked, putting her hand on her shoulder, "Is it too chilly?"
Clear shook her head. She was boiling hot, actually. But she didn't bother telling Maralynn that. Instead, she said, "I'm just thinking about... something gross that happened on the last day of school."
She blushed at her lame explanation.
"Well," Maralynn said, shrugging, "I didn't get a chance to get groceries, so I hope you can handle tomato soup for tonight. Unless you know something?" Clear almost smiled, until she read Maralynn's expression that she really didn't expect Clear to make supper--and she clearly wanted it that way.
Still, Clear stuck out her chin. "Maybe I could make some gaspaco. Have you ever had it before?"
Maralynn's face sunk, obviously dissapointed at Clear's independant thought. "Er, last time I ate gaspaco," she began, pronouncing carefully, even though Clear knew that she had no idea what gaspaco was, "I broke out in hives."
Rather than argue, Clear smiled and walked down the hallway. There were three doors. One was the bathroom. "Which one is my room?" she asked Maralynn, who was getting the soup out.
"On the left!" Maralynn sang out.
Clear rolled her eyes, called a thank you, and walked into the tiny room.
It was a bed-length across, possible smaller, because the small bunkbed looked like it was squashed into it. The window, mostly covered by the top matress, was small, and full of dead bugs. It had a tiny dresser and a musty smell. Clear, not wanting to fuss, closed her eyes and imagined it as a gorgeous, sprawling room.
One that she would never have.
***
Terry Chaney had been in her bathroom for an hour, staring into the mirror. Not at her newly zit-free face. Not at her bleach blonde hair. Botht those things were great. She was looking at her sick-thin stomach. And at how much she hated it.
It was one thing to leave school early to go on her "road trip." Everyone must have gotten along so much better without her. But what would they expect when they saw her? That she lost 60 pounds on a road trip? You don't leave school at 175 and come back at 115. Everyone would know she was at the "special camp" her mom had told her about that one night. Terry remembered it like it was yesterday...
She had been sitting at her computer, listening to music, laughing at some joke on the net, when her mom came in and announced that she had arranged a new way for Terry to lose weight. Terry had been through her share of freak diets, and nothing had worked. But when her mom announced her plans, she freaked.
Now she was even more freaked. Her rib cage was visible again. A tear slipped down her cheek. She almost wished she was ugly again. Imagine the teasing she would get from Carter Horton at the lake.
But maybe if she was lucky, he wouldn't recognize her. He had hardly recognized her at the CD store that day.
She had only had a crush on Carter forever. She had always thought she would never be anything more than Terry the fatass to him. But she almost liked it that way. She imagined her crush fading, being completely gone by the end of high school. Then she would get into a good college, and meet a guy who liked her for who she was. Her personality used to be all she had.
She shook her head, shuddering at the thought of getting some creep who only wanted her for her body. She should have been on the road with her best friend, Erica, ten minutes ago. Erica was a junior, an outcast, as well as Terry. She was waiting in her car patiently while Terry kept promising, "Just a minute!"
Terry struggled into a new t-shirt, which was possible a size too small. "Damn C cups," she muttered.
She finally emergred from her house, carrying two large bags. Erica looked at her from the driver's seat.
"Hi, Skeletore," she muttered jokingly.
A tear slipped down Terry's cheek, but Erica didn't see. She just began to drive in silence. The whole way there, she kept thinking to herself, 'It was just a joke. It was just a joke. It was just a joke...'
Alex Browning went over his checklist in his head. Bed made? Check. Garbage can doing it's actual job? Check. Closet straightened out? Check. Dead goldfish scraped out of aquarium? Check. Desk clean? Check.
Alex then looked into his mirror at his own reflection. His face was still burning from his swipe of Oxy pads which he had never used. His hair, for once, was not oily. He had put on clothes that were actually ironed. He smelled... well, he DIDN'T smell. That was important.
He opened his oak door a crack. "Mom?" he called down the hall, "Can you come here for a sec?"
His mom trotted down the hall towards him. "What is it honey?" she asked perkily, poking her head into the door. Her jaw nearly hit the clean floor at the sight of his former disaster warning, which was now spic and span. Opening the door fully, she glared at Alex. Hands on hips, she rolled her eyes and asked bluntly, "You don't want to go to Connecticut, do you?"
Alex shrugged. "Couldn't tell?"
"Why don't you want to do! You used to love Uncle Victor, and seeing all your cousins..."
"My cousins are all in university, Mom," Alex groaned, "They hate me. Besides, I would really like to go to Iroqouis Lake with Tod and George. It's just for two weeks." He looked at his mom, who was lowering her eyebrows. Quickly, he added, "Their parents will be there. Remember? They have that really nice cottage? I mean, we're just going to be doing stuff like swimming and fishing... and it's their birthday. Doesn't that mean anything?"
"Okay," his mom said quickly, "You can go."
"Why not?!" Alex demanded, standing up, "You never let me do any... wait, did you just say I COULD go?"
His mom smiled. "Alex, I know you didn't want to see Uncle Victor. If you want to go with the Waggners, just make sure it's okay with them. I won't hold you back."
Alex blushed. He muttered, "Thanks, Mom." She walked out of his room slowly. The second the door shut, he squealed, jumped up and down, turned up his stereo, began dancing around victoriously, and shouted, "Yes! Yes! Jackpot!"
***
Clear stepped out of the taxi cab, handing the driver his money. The 5'5 skinny brunette gazed at the small cottage atop the hill. It had a small deck, small windows, and a small roof. This place was... small.
The homely cab driver grunted for her to hurry up. In response, she got her bag out of the trunk, and walked grudgingly up the hill.
Colin's mom was waiting at the door. Whisps of her dark grey hair stuck out from under the towel around her hair and she was wearing a housecoat. Clear looked at her watch. It was only 4 in the afternoon! This lady was already bathed and stuff... she would probably call Clear a night owl if she found her awake at eight o'clock!
"Hello, Clear!" she exclaimed, giving Clear a big hug, having to stand on tiptoe to do it.
Clear had to smile at this. "Hi, Mrs. Pratt," she returned the greeting.
"Oh," Mrs. Pratt said, flinging her wrist out, "Call me Maralynn. Or Grandma. Whichever you prefer." She had an eager grin.
Clear, feeling slightly guilty, began to walk into the tiny house. "Thanks, Maralynn," she replied, emphasizing the fact that this woman was not her grandma. She looked around her. The place was sacharine sweet. Cotton-candy pink walls with white lace curtains hanging on the windows. A flowery tablecloth was placed on what Clear guessed was the table, even though it was only slightly bigger than her desk at school. Even the fridge had hints of pink.
Clear walked closer to the fridge, squinting at the picture of her that had been placed on Maralynn's fridge. It was her grade eight grad picture. She remembered those days. The one time her mom had let her dye her hair. It turned out a yucky blonde and came out in about three washes. She had a phony smile with braces, and her freckles were slightly more visible in those days.
Those days? It was a little less than a year ago! Still, why did Maralynn have this picture? This picture where Clear was in the same blue robe as everyone else, smiling, posed, exactly the way everyone else was. Did this woman even know anything about her? What would she tell people when they came in? "That's Colin's stepdaughter, Clear. Uh... that's all I know."
The thought made Clear shudder. "What's wrong, dear?" Maralynn asked, putting her hand on her shoulder, "Is it too chilly?"
Clear shook her head. She was boiling hot, actually. But she didn't bother telling Maralynn that. Instead, she said, "I'm just thinking about... something gross that happened on the last day of school."
She blushed at her lame explanation.
"Well," Maralynn said, shrugging, "I didn't get a chance to get groceries, so I hope you can handle tomato soup for tonight. Unless you know something?" Clear almost smiled, until she read Maralynn's expression that she really didn't expect Clear to make supper--and she clearly wanted it that way.
Still, Clear stuck out her chin. "Maybe I could make some gaspaco. Have you ever had it before?"
Maralynn's face sunk, obviously dissapointed at Clear's independant thought. "Er, last time I ate gaspaco," she began, pronouncing carefully, even though Clear knew that she had no idea what gaspaco was, "I broke out in hives."
Rather than argue, Clear smiled and walked down the hallway. There were three doors. One was the bathroom. "Which one is my room?" she asked Maralynn, who was getting the soup out.
"On the left!" Maralynn sang out.
Clear rolled her eyes, called a thank you, and walked into the tiny room.
It was a bed-length across, possible smaller, because the small bunkbed looked like it was squashed into it. The window, mostly covered by the top matress, was small, and full of dead bugs. It had a tiny dresser and a musty smell. Clear, not wanting to fuss, closed her eyes and imagined it as a gorgeous, sprawling room.
One that she would never have.
***
Terry Chaney had been in her bathroom for an hour, staring into the mirror. Not at her newly zit-free face. Not at her bleach blonde hair. Botht those things were great. She was looking at her sick-thin stomach. And at how much she hated it.
It was one thing to leave school early to go on her "road trip." Everyone must have gotten along so much better without her. But what would they expect when they saw her? That she lost 60 pounds on a road trip? You don't leave school at 175 and come back at 115. Everyone would know she was at the "special camp" her mom had told her about that one night. Terry remembered it like it was yesterday...
She had been sitting at her computer, listening to music, laughing at some joke on the net, when her mom came in and announced that she had arranged a new way for Terry to lose weight. Terry had been through her share of freak diets, and nothing had worked. But when her mom announced her plans, she freaked.
Now she was even more freaked. Her rib cage was visible again. A tear slipped down her cheek. She almost wished she was ugly again. Imagine the teasing she would get from Carter Horton at the lake.
But maybe if she was lucky, he wouldn't recognize her. He had hardly recognized her at the CD store that day.
She had only had a crush on Carter forever. She had always thought she would never be anything more than Terry the fatass to him. But she almost liked it that way. She imagined her crush fading, being completely gone by the end of high school. Then she would get into a good college, and meet a guy who liked her for who she was. Her personality used to be all she had.
She shook her head, shuddering at the thought of getting some creep who only wanted her for her body. She should have been on the road with her best friend, Erica, ten minutes ago. Erica was a junior, an outcast, as well as Terry. She was waiting in her car patiently while Terry kept promising, "Just a minute!"
Terry struggled into a new t-shirt, which was possible a size too small. "Damn C cups," she muttered.
She finally emergred from her house, carrying two large bags. Erica looked at her from the driver's seat.
"Hi, Skeletore," she muttered jokingly.
A tear slipped down Terry's cheek, but Erica didn't see. She just began to drive in silence. The whole way there, she kept thinking to herself, 'It was just a joke. It was just a joke. It was just a joke...'
