Author's Note: THE BOOK WAS IN THE LIBRARY! Glory hall-eh-ja-loo-yah! I finally got to adjust my writing to match Hinton's a little more. Kinda hard because all her stuff's from a guys POV, but oh well. Now that I read over it this story really seems like a Mary Sue, which annoys me to no end, but I'm trying to think of it more as "pure fluff."
Tehsylvania: Thanks, I love being different, it's fun.
nextbigthing92: I WANT TO SEE THE MOVIE! Ack! The dumb library NEVER HAS IT! And now my parents refuse to rent movies because we always have a teeny tiny fine for turning them in late. Gah.
Sodapop's#1gurl: I was getting around to it. And here you are, a whole Angel devoted chapter, even if it sounds Mary-Sueish.
Disclaimer: S. E. Hinton never wrote anything resembling a Mary Sue in her life. Nuff said.
Chapter 4
I had gulped down my coffee and left Darrel's house almost two minutes after he left with one shoe on and the other under his arm. It was a long walk home, but I needed to clear my head, maybe an icy shower would do the trick. What had I been thinking walking into his house in the wee hours of the morning? I swear to you, I'm demented. Lord, but he was gorgeous. What had I been thinking! Cold water, I needed cold water. There was a park around here somewhere and I was pretty sure it had a fountain in it. A fountain and a little wading pool, sometimes the nuns would take the kids over there when it was too hot to stay in the un-air conditioned orphanage. I'd go there. Maybe I'd wade a little bit. That sounded nice. Once my blood stopped rushing around like mad I'd be able to think straight. He'd brushed my tears off of my face, just like in the movies or in the many romance novels my mother had left behind in stacks all over the house. His hands were rough, but they had been gentle too. I put my hand to my cheek briefly and grimaced. I had forgotten about the bruise. That was reality enough for me. I started walking again, anger at my father flaming up inside of me.
I can't help but get mad at my father. He's kind of become a catch-all for all my anger lately. He's just so unfeeling. I can't stand the man anymore. All he ever does is work and drink, drink and work and in his spare time, yells. It makes me so mad the way he shut down after Mom left. He didn't even notice that the rest of us were taking it just as hard as he was. All he did was yell at Tommy, my fifteen year old brother, when he came back after vanishing into thin air for two weeks. He didn't even bother to go out looking for him, just sat a home and drank and yelled.
I missed my father. He used to take me out for breakfast every Saturday morning. When I was little he'd take me and Tommy out to the park and teach both of us to play football. At night he'd turn the radio onto to stations that played waltzes and the like and teach me to dance in the kitchen while my mother looked on or read her romance novels. She never would dance with him. She didn't like it that we lived where we did or that he was so interested in us kids. But he loved her just the same, perhaps even more. He's laugh at her when she pouted at him for spending too much time at work and not enough taking her to romantic villas on the seaside. That part was ridiculous, because we barely had enough money to take the whole family out to dinner once every few weeks, which made her mad and made him love her all the more. I never could figure out why my father was so blind, but he was and when she got up one morning and packed her bags and left us all gaping it crushed him. Now all I had was a shadow of the man that had been my father and dream of life going back to what it used to be.
I had reached the park now, the sun was shining brightly through the leaves on the trees and little kids were splashing around in the wading pool while mothers in lawn chairs looked on. My mom had never brought us to the park. Mostly she smoked cigarette after cigarette and read novels with pictures half naked girls in the arms of beautiful men on the front. She didn't like to be bothered with us kids. I had gone through the first eight years of my life thinking that that's what all mothers did before I went over to a friends house. I remember seeing her mom cooking at the stove, something my father almost always did. And then she gave us cookies and milk and sent us to eat them on the back porch, which I didn't understand. My mother never cared where we ate or if we made a mess, just so long as we cleaned it up. And then when I was nine I spent the night at a friends house and her mother made us a fort underneath the dining room table and gave my friend a kiss on the forehead before we went to sleep. I had never seen that before and asked about it. I still remember the stricken look on the woman's face. She looked at me and said "Haven't you ever had a good night kiss before, Angela?" When I shook my head she got this look on her face and gave me and my friend both a good night kiss. I'm not sure, but I think I saw a tear trickle down her cheek before she turned out the light.
A splash from the pool soaked me and woke me up from my reverie. I had been standing right at the edge of the pool, staring at the little kids, but not seeing them. I gave myself a shake and actually looked at them before I turned around and left. I had forgotten why I was there in the first place. I walked downtown and popped into a dinner for a Pepsi. It was early for that much caffeine and sugar, but I needed to blow time. I had to decide whether or not to go home, and with a home like mine that can take awhile.
"Can I help you?" The guy behind the counter asked. Blast it, I didn't have any money.
"Uh...No. Forgot my purse." I flashed him a smile and went back outside.
What to do? What to do? I wondered down the street, not paying attention to where I was going. Daddy would be at work, and I doubted that he'd remembered I'd left when he woke up with a hangover and found out he was late. I passed a few friends sitting on a bench and talked to them for a minute. Tommy wouldn't care if I was there or not. We both were in and out so much and for so long at a time that he wouldn't think a thing of it if I was gone. Not that he'd be home anyway. I saw the new building going up at the end of Main St. They were working on the roof and the men looks like ants scurrying around. I wondered where Tommy was. Normally we told each other where we were going. I made him promise to do so after he came back from his two week excursion. I really didn't care who he was with, just so long as I knew where to find him. I ducked under a ladder leaning against the new building, ignoring the tiny memory of someone once telling me that walking under a ladder was bad luck. Maybe I'd go to the orphanage again. I liked it there. Yeah, I'd go to the orphanage again and check on little Sophie, see if she slept all night or not. I spun around and walked straight into the ladder.
"OUCH! Holy shiznick!"
"ANGEL! Are you okay?" A voice from above asked me. Darrys voice from above if you wanted to get specific.
"Hey Darrel, fancy seeing you here."
