Vilipend: to regard or treat as of little value or account
February 15, 1971
The houses fell together like maze walls, ordinary paved streets running into ordinary paved streets. Gray clouds swirled overhead, dropping sleety flakes now and then onto the muddy lawns. In front of one brown house, only standing out from the rest by the red pansies blossoming in the window boxes (the focus of the neighbors' suspicious whispers, 'how could anybody get flowers to grow this early in the year?'), a boy milled around the garden. He was wrapped in a puffy orange coat which stood out painfully brightly in the dull landscape and made him look even pudgier than he was.
The wind swept his thin blond hair into wispy swirls and his watery blue eyes roamed vacantly over the streets. He shuffled from one end of the muddy yard to the other, kicking occasionally at a sagging soccer ball without much enthusiasm. But his eyes kept returning to the road as if he were waiting for something. Now and again, he'd slip his fingers into his coat pocket, and a fleeting grin would cross his face.
After what seemed to the boy like ages, a sleek red car sailed smoothly around the corner and into the drive. The boy's face lit up, and he ran towards it as the doors swung open.
"Dad, Paul, I've got something to show you!" he called, scrambling over the low stone wall and stumbling a little on landing.
A boy several years older than the one in the orange coat glanced over, his own blond hair combed smoothly back, making him look athletic and dashing with his tennis racket over his shoulder.
"Hey, Petey," he said distractedly, nodding at his father, who was continuing their conversation as if he hadn't heard the little boy's calls.
Undeterred, Petey dug around in his coat pocket and pulled out a green ribbon, flourishing it proudly under the older boy's nose.
"I placed in the spelling bee! Just like Paul did when he was in my year!"
"Good job, Pete," the older boy muttered, ruffling his hair absently as he brushed past, jogging up the front walk with athletic grace Petey could only envy and disappearing into the house.
Petey looked a little disappointed, but he turned to his father, grin returning as he offered the ribbon. "Look Dad, just like Paul."
The man, who looked very much like the older boy and not quite so much like Petey, took the ribbon and examined it as though he weren't really interested and merely humoring the boy.
"I think Paul's is blue, Pete," he said, returning the ribbon and following his elder son up the front walk.
Petey bobbed along at his heels like a pudgy little puppy stumbling over his own feet.
"But I placed! There were hundreds of kids and I beat most of them! I even knew 'suspiciously' s-u-s-p –"
"Mm-hm, I'm sure next time you'll win. Pettigrews are good with numbers, that's why we're bankers."
"But I'm talking about spelling," Petey told him, furrowing his brow as they reached the door.
But his father was already striding across the hall, calling for his mother, and Petey was left alone, holding his green ribbon and suddenly wishing he could fling it into the river.
A/N: Hey! Okay, so if you didn't catch my brief A/N chapter earlier, I'm heading off to Florida tomorrow morning and so my internet and schedule is a bit iffy. I'm hoping to keep up with this while I'm on vacation, but I don't know if I'll be able to. I'll be back on Tuesday and back to regular updates, but I might have to catch up on this patch of February as I go.
Alright, well I love hearing your feedback. I rather liked writing this chapter, even though it was maybe not the most interesting. I hope you still enjoyed reading it! :)