Chapter Two ~ Thnks Fr Th Mmrs
Disclaimer: I don't own KotLC.
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Later that night, Cate shouts from downstairs that dinner is ready. I snap my copy of Wuthering Heights shut and fling it onto my bed, throwing my blanket over my left shoulder as I do so. My roommate Alaska and I dart out of our sparse bedroom, footsteps creaking against the old wood floors, leaving dusty prints behind. I haul ass downstairs, scraping my hair back into a messy ponytail. My black locks tangled and ratty, the ponytail is a rat's nest - why wouldn't it be? I am - and it flops against my neck as I bound into the dining room.
I brush a speck of dirt off of my black leggings as I throw myself into my seat at the bowing table, shivering in my socks. The four of us, me and my foster siblings, clutch a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, our expressions ravenous. A few minutes later, Cate comes swishing into the room, her bobbed curly red hair bouncing irritably against her shoulders, and drops a pan of deflated lasagna, a bowl of salad, and a plate of biscuits on the table. Amelia, Jonah, and Alaska slide into their respective seats and grab for the food, shoveling spoonfuls onto their plates without hesitation.
Maybe it's the sighting of the creepy boy earlier, or Harry Proctor calling me a bitch, or the fact that I can feel again, but something inside me just snaps. Why should they get first dibs on every fucking thing? Why am I always second best to them simply because I'm younger? Everything that's built up inside me since I came here, boiling like an overheated pot of water, it just comes storming up. The plates on the table rattle as I shove my chair out, cross my arms over my chest, and cross my arms angrily over my chest.
"I'm -" I start, ready to spill all the painful words I've hidden behind walls of frowns and swear words. Alaska, Jonah, and Amelia glance up at me for a fraction of a second, quickly returning to their food with feelings of fucking indifference. I practically snort at their reaction - I'm sick of being unimportant. But before I can launch into the Rant of the Century, the doorbell rings, immediately followed by the unmistakable bang of fists against the worn wooden door.
Damn whoever it is. Don't they realize that I was about to finally shout and scream and rant my absolute ass off in front of my "family" for the first time? Isn't that way more important than whatever the hell they want that could cause them to ring the doorbell approximately twenty-seven times in less than two minutes? I clench my teeth, shove my chair hard enough that it tips over, and whip around, my entire body tense enough to snap.
I suppress a furious growl and stomp to the foyer, yanking open the door with a force. I can only imagine how I look right now, eyes blazing, hair flying haphazardly around my face, my lips pulled back in a throaty snarl. It must be terrifying, because the boy -the same creeper boy from earlier, who was looking in the window - jerks back like I've slapped him, his eyes going wide. His emotions, faint but deep, are green and wavy. Afraid. Afraid of me.
Good. He should be.
"What do you want?" I bite out, gnashing my teeth in frustration. The boy glances over my shoulder, peeking at the three others sitting at the table. None of them even look up, too absorbed with their food to notice that a creepy stalker boy is staring at me like I'm the answer to all of his problems. His gaze returns to my eyes, and I glare back at him.
A blast of wind hits the door, pushing it against my palm. I huff in exasperation, shoving it so the wood hides half my body from the boy. I'm younger than him, I think - he looks about fifteen, tall and buff - and a lot shorter. Pair my height with my toothpick arms and it would be only too easy for him to grab me and drag me away if he wanted to. He doesn't, thought, just stares, his shoulders slumping and emotions shifting to something sad and negative… disappointment?
Why am I never good enough?
Not for Stalker Boy. Not for Bronwynn, not for Cate, Alaska, Amelia, and Jonah, not for my birth family. Not even for myself. I feel my face crumple, just slightly, before the angry mask slides back into place. "What," I retreat, slowly as if he's a child, "do you want?"
He jumps, flicking his dark brown hair out of his teal eyes and opening his mouth to say something. Before he can, though, Cate rounds the corner from the kitchen, a full plate in her hands. She stops short when she sees him, quickly throwing the huge fake smile she puts on only when Child Protective Services send their monthly visitor. "Hello," she chirps. "Can we help you?"
The boy blinks, dumbfounded. I don't blame him - she's never this chipper and kind, and it must be especially weird to see her as my "mother" when we look so different. Her, with ivory skin and neatly combed curly fire-red hair, and me, with dark brown skin and matted black hair. We couldn't be related if we tried to be.
The boy - Sir Stalks-A-Lot - clears his throat, twisting his hands anxiously. "You're Kayla, right?" he asks, glancing at me. After a pregnant pause, I nod warily, my eyes narrowed. A relieved pulse of emotion hits me solidly in the chest and I almost hiss from the intensity of it, my face twisting uncomfortably. The boy sighs, calmer now, and motions to the porch. "Can I talk to you?"
The pain disappears in a second, replaced with stubbornness. I lift my head and roll my shoulders back, crossing my arms over my chest. "You are talking to me," I state firmly, resting my shoulder against the door frame. Hs eyes dart to Cate, still standing behind me and smiling pleasantly. "Alone?" He presses. I narrow my eyes suspiciously. Glance at Cate, who nods excitedly. I grind my teeth and step outside, knowing full well what will happen later if I don't go with him. Cate probably thinks he's some secret boyfriend of mine.
Which he most definitely is not. I'm thirteen years old, black, and slightly terrifying. Who in their right mind would ever like me?
But I must be secretly insane, because I follow the boy out into the front yard, shutting the door behind me. The dead grass crunches under my feet, stiff yellow blades poking through my socks. Finally, the boy stops and turns to me, his perfectly white teeth flashing in a grin. "Careful there," I deadpan, "Someone might think you're a creep who goes around chasing people and looking in their windows. Oh, wait - you are a creep who goes around chasing people and looking in their windows."
He smiles sheepishly and runs a hand through his dark hair. "Sorry about that. But, Kayla, I have to talk to you."
I blink once. "Uh-huh, I noticed," I say. "What do you want with me?"
The boy sighs, turning his eye to the sky. He rubs a hand over his forehead, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. I raise an eyebrow as his gaze returns to me, and his forehead wrinkles slightly before smoothing out again. "What?" I demand.
"It's just…" he hésitantes. "What color are your eyes?"
I reach up instinctively and touch my eyelid. "My eyes? They're brown. Why?" I suddenly notice that his are the strangest shade of blue - teal, like the tropical waters of Hawaii. I sigh. Hawaii, where I lived for six weeks when I was eight. I liked that house more than most, actually making an effort to be nice to my foster siblings. They sent me back after my foster sister, Lilly, and I were playing in the water and she got stung by a jellyfish.
It was one of the worst days of my life. I haven't been back to Hawaii since, isolating myself in the shadows and hiding behind the depressing rain of Issaquah, Washington. It's everything I hate - dark, wet, gray. I sort of forget how much I hate it every once in a while, but then the sun will come out for a moment and remind me of everything I left behind.
I shake my head, dislodging the painful memories and refocusing on the boy. His eyes, softer now, stare into my own. My plain, boring, disappointing brown eyes. My lip curls as the emotion bleeds into my consciousness. Then the words come flying out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them, everything I hate about never being enough spilling out.
"If I'm so disappointing, then why did you bother stalking me? If my eyes determine everything you think you know about me, then why bother even talking to me? You could see that they were brown when we were inside. I hate this, you stupid creeper, because I can feel everything you do, and I know what you think of me. I know that you're disappointed and angry and sad. So why did you bother? Why did you bother with me?"
The boys stares at me, openmouthed. "You are one of us."
"One of us? Quit talking in riddles," I snap angrily.
"Kayla, you're an elf."
"Sure." I turn away and storm back up the steps to the house, throwing open the door and stomping up to not-even-my-own-room. I ignore the curious looks of Cate and Alaska and slam the door, something I do all the time. Something feels different about this time, though. This time I have a legitimate reason to be slamming the door. Hard.
An elf? That's the best he could come up with? I sigh and throw myself onto my bed, pulling out my phone to message Bronwynn.
130: u there
.brons: Right here! What's up?
130: just seeing how u r. what's goin on with u
.brons: Use proper punctuation, please.
130: were messaging. punctuation unnecessary
130: and nice job avoiding the question
.brons: Haha, I'm not. Things are good! We might be getting a cat!
130: cool
.brons: What's wrong?
130: nothing just tired long weird day
.brons: C'mon, Kayla-Layla. Tell me what's wrong.
130: literally nothing. chill out for once and quit being so nosy
.brons: I'm not nosy!
130: um hi have u met u
130: and also if u care so much abt grammar and capitalization then y is ur username capital-letter-less
.brons: Fair point.
.brons has changed their username to .Brons
130: didn't mean to give u any ideas
.Brons: Haha, love you too.
130: aaaad leaving now
130 has logged off
.Brons: Kaylaaaaaa don't gooooooooo
.Brons: KAYLA. DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING.
.Brons: Kaylaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
: Please come baaaaaaaaack
130 has logged in
130: no
130 has logged off
.Brons: KAYLAAAAAAAAAAA
.Brons: PLEASEEEEEEE
: Fine. But I am kicking your butt later!
130 has logged in
130: u can try
130 has logged off
.Brons: Oh, I will try. And probably fail. But it's the thought that counts, right?
: Fine. Just don't answer me.
.Brons: You suck.
.Brons has logged off
130 has logged in
130: and proud of it
130 has logged off
And that's my relationship with Bronwynn in a nutshell.
A/N: Yeah, it's short and it's late and it's half texting but I have absolutely no motivation to write. Sorry! Next chapter to come soonish!