"Alfred, please get off your phone."
"I'm busy, mom."
"Listen to your mother, Alfred."
Alfred heaved a heavy sigh, unceremoniously dropping his cell phone into his lap. He tried to prop his elbow up on the car door and hold his head in his hand, but it wasn't working. Well, at least not comfortably. He watched the countryside fly by, and then heaved a loud, anguished sigh. He watched his parents out of the corner of his eye, hoping for a reaction, but his father kept his eyes on the road, and his mother kept hers on the book in her hand. Alfred looked out the window and did it again, this time with more feeling.
His mother did turn around at that, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head and closing her book. She slid her thumb in to keep the place, and Alfred continued to stare melodramatically out the window.
"Alfred, I don't understand what's wrong. You used to love visiting Charlotte and William."
Alfred tried to subtly toy with his phone, flicking the screen on to see if Kiku had texted back. He hadn't. "Yeah, but that was when I was, like, five. It's so boring out here. It's just sheep."
"It's beautiful out here, Alfred," his mother reprimanded him, nodding to the windows. "Just look at the landscape. And the weather is so nice."
"England doesn't have nice weather, mom. It has rain that is occasionally interrupted by the sun." Alfred sat up a bit straighter in his seat, staring straight at his mom. "Hey, can we go to Whitechapel? Jared said that he went there, and got to check out all this Jack the Ripper stuff."
His mother opened her mouth, possibly to delicately put her answer, but her husband interrupted her with a small snort. "Whitechapel is the last place I'm taking you in this country, son."
Alfred frowned, rolling his eyes. He looked back down at his phone, which was slowly dying. Kiku still hadn't texted back, so he had to resign himself to Angry Birds.
Still, his mother wasn't ready to give up. She turned around in her seat completely, closing her book (something about the color gray. She was currently revolving between that and Eat. Pray. Love.) to frown, perplexed, at her son. "What has gotten into you? We came all this way to see them, and you're throwing a fit."
"I dunno. How come Matt couldn't come?"
"He has finals, Alfred. You know that." She leaned back in her seat, running a hand through her wheat blonde hair. "You should be excited."
"I'm gonna have no one to hang out with," Alfred muttered, staring out the window. His mother insisted it was beautiful, but to Alfred, it was just boring. And worse: his cell phone was on the brink of death. It was a terrible car ride.
"Arthur will be there. He's on break right now, too. That should be fun."
"Yeah, well, I don't like Arthur. He made me eat a worm."
"No, honey, that was James."
"Oh." Alfred paused, perplexed. His iPhone went black at that moment. "Then which one is Arthur? Mom, can I use your car charger?"
His mother groaned, exasperated. "No, Alfred, not right now. You know Arthur. You two had so much fun together. You fought all the time."
Alfred rolled his eyes, and resumed looking gloomily out the window. "Well. Sounds exhilarating." He watched as the country flew by. It wasn't completely fair. Italy was fun. Italy had food. And Germany had been fun. There was beer in Germany. France had been okay, but at least it was better than England. Boring, rainy England. Just because his father happened to have some old college buddies, his parents seemed to think it was okay to drag Alfred to the remotest corner of England for some quality time in a tiny village with no one he knew. Alfred didn't like it. There were plenty of things to do in London, but his parents didn't seem to understand that. They should have known that already; they had lived in the country for two years.
It seemed like an eternity of driving. Alfred fell asleep, twice. England was friggin' tiny; why did it take so long to cross? He opened his mouth to ask when they would get there when, suddenly, his father veered off of the main road, steering into some rural village.
The road was generally smooth from there. Just a quick drive through the little town, and then they were off on some other little road, driving out to the Kirkland estate. Alfred was getting apprehensive, itching to get out of the car and stretch his legs. The house was in view. They were pulling up to the house when, in a fast, dangerous blur they were interrupted by what looked like two speeding motorbikes.
Alfred watched as the two flew by, one of them veering off and crashing into a nearby tree, the other quickly following suit, narrowly missing the first rider. They fell into a heap at the bottom of the tree, erupting into what could either be heard as laughter or horrifying sobs. Mrs. Jones's hands leapt to her mouth, her face contorting in horror. Mr. Jones stopped the engine immediately, but his wife and son were both out of the car already, Mrs. Jones bounding to the two riders, Alfred just curiously watching from the door.
"Arthur!" Mrs. Jones called, approaching the two riders, her youngest son vaguely trailing behind her. "Arthur, are you all right?"
One of the riders, the first one to crash, looked up immediately, cutting himself off in the middle of a sentence that sounded like a death threat to the other. His helmet was slightly askew, and there was a small line of blood trickling down from a newly formed scratch on the side of his neck. Still, when he looked up it was with a big grin, eyes watering slightly from the laughter, an emotion mirrored by his friend, who was still laying under his own motorbike, laughing.
"Hey, Mrs. Jones!" He said cheerfully, pulling his helmet off and revealing a tousled head of tawny brown hair. "I'm fine!"
Alfred watched as the boy jumped up, offering a hug. He laughed when Alfred's mother refused it, not wanting to get blood on her shirt, and gave her a kiss on the cheek instead. Alfred listened to him laugh, hauling his friend up off of the ground, and vaguely thought that England couldn't be all that bad.
So, I haven't been on in ages, and I was checking out my old favorite authors, and Besame Mucho still isn't finished?! What's up with that?! i want.