A Whisper To A Scream (14 page)

I stay where I am. “Not until you talk to
me!” Wren hesitates for a second, and then revs up the engine. It
backfires again and a cloud of black smoke unfurls from her
tailpipe. Wren taps the gas lightly and inches forward. I hold my
hands out palms up as she gets eerily close to my kneecaps. “Wren!
Stop!”

She taps the taps the gas again. “I said
move!”

I shake my head. Wren clenches her jaw and
shakes her head, finally stopping the car as one of the headlights
skims the denim fabric on my jeans. “I stare at her incredulously
as she gets out of the car. “Were you seriously trying to run me
over?”

She doesn’t acknowledge me. Walking to her
front door, she fiddles with the keys on her key-chain, locating
her house key. She’s totally acting like a child. I march down the
narrow walk-way after her, as she aims the key at the slot in the
door. “Wren, you have to stop this. You have to talk to me.”

She faces me and sneers and I hop up the two
cement steps onto her front porch. “That’s what you don’t get,” she
says coldly. “I don’t have to do anything.” Wren turns back to the
front door. I zoom in on her keys and right before she puts her
house key into the lock, I smack her hand and they go flying into
the yard. She faces me again, her pale blue eyes blazing with fury.
“Why in the hell did you do that?” She exhales and blood rises in
her cheeks. “Now I’ll never find them!”

I fold my arms across my chest and put all of
my weight on my right side. “I guess you’re going to have to talk
to me now.”

Wren brushes past me and frantically scans
the yard. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Stop acting like a child.” I tug on her arm.
“Do you want me to beg? I will. I’ll get down on my knees if that
will make you believe that I’m sorry.” Wren warily glances around
the neighborhood as I sink down. She clutches my arm when I’m
mid-crouch and lets out a long-winded sigh. “Get up. You’re
forgiven. Now help me find my keys.”

****

Seconds pass. Then minutes. An hour later and
we’re in the middle of Wren’s front yard, up to our knees in red,
yellow, and brown leaves. We still haven’t found her keys. Wren
slams her hands down at her side and whines, “Why did you have to
knock them out of my hands?”

I dig through the pile of leaves I’m in like
a dog. Leaves fly and it’s snowing brown, orange, and yellow. “It
was the only thing I could do to get your attention.”

Wren flops down in her pile and dead leaves
crunch underneath her weight. “How am I going to get inside? My
parents won’t be home for another hour and a half.”

Usually Wren is the positive one. I try being
positive for a change. “Don’t just give up. They have to be out
here somewhere.”

“We’ve been looking for over an hour.”

“Just stop whining and keep digging,” I tell
her.

I focus on my pile and scoop and armful of
fallen leaves. I inhale the musty scent of damp dirt and decayed
life and toss them aside. Wren isn’t even moving. She’s still
pouting. “Come on,” I urge her as I fill my arms again. “If you
stay here and pout all day, we’ll never find them.”

Wren mumbles a string of incoherent words,
picks up a leaf or two, and moves them. As I focus on my pile,
glistening metal shimmers in the sunlight. I hit my knees and brush
away the remaining leaves as a relieved laugh exits my throat. I
sit back and sigh. Wren picks her head up and stares at me,
intensely. “Did you find them?”

I lift the keys up and jingle them while Wren
clasps her hands and rushes over to me. “I told you we’d find
them.” She snatches the keys from me and books to the front
door.

Up in Wrens room, she flips the light on and
I’m blinded by hot-pink as I sprawl across the hardwood floor.
Hot-pink is her favorite color and personally, I think it makes her
room way too bright. Her space also reminds me of a room that might
have come out of Barbie’s Dream house.

I stretch out felling relaxed as my joints
loosen up. “So,” I ask. “Where were you at lunch today?”

“In the bathroom.” A hint of rosiness appears
on her cheeks. “Look, Ells, I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I overreacted.
I should have heard you out. I shouldn’t have ignored you.”

“Don’t apologize. I should have told you
everything from the beginning.”

“Did you stay in the cafeteria?”

“Yes.”

“By yourself?” Her voice goes up a level.

“No. Adam sat with me.”

Wren’s face lights up, excitedly. “No,” she
gasps and I nod. “I bet Katie was seething.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “You have no
idea.”

Wren scoots closer to me. “Well, what else
did you talk about?” she presses, trying to get me to divulge all
of the juicy details of my lunch date.

“We talked about my feud with Katie. Our kiss
at the mall. Us in general.” I look at her earnestly. “Wren?”

She has a soft, loving look on her face.
“Yeah, Ells.”

“I think I like him.”

Wren smiles, bashfully. “What’s not to
like?”

“No.” I try to find the right words, but I
can’t come up with them. “I think I really, really like him.”

“You think?”

I’m flustered. Just thinking about Adam makes
me a mess inside. “I mean I do like him, but it’s more than
like.”

“You’re not trying to tell me you love him,
are you? You barely know him.”

“No, Wren.” I blush and look down at my
hands. “I’m not there yet, but I’m close. I’ve never felt like this
about a boy before.” I’m so close to saying the four letter word
that it frightens me. Every time I’m around Adam, I slowly begin to
feel myself unravel, like an apple when the skin is being peeled
away with a paring knife. The parts of me that I’ve tried to keep
hidden, like sunken treasure anchored to the depths of the ocean
floor, float to the surface. “He makes feel different. He makes me
feel like I’m only person in the world that matters to him.”

Wren drops me off at home sometime later and
Mom is already waiting for me in the doorway, shaking her head,
disappointed. “Why must you do this to me repeatedly, Ellory? I
don’t know how many times I have to explain myself to get my point
across. You cannot just go somewhere and not tell me where you’re
going. I swear, one of these days, you’re going to give me a heart
attack.”

“Mom, I’m sorry,” I say apologetically. “Wren
and I had a fight. I had to talk to her. I had to make things
right.”

She pulls me though the door and kisses the
top of my head. “Next time leave a message or a note. Just let me
know.”

I close the door. “Okay. I will.”

In the kitchen, I toss my book bag on the
table and Mom walks behind the island. She picks up a crème
envelope and slides it toward me. “This came for you today.”

“Who’s it from?” I pick you the envelope and
stare and the pretty handwriting.

“I don’t know,” she says as I flip it over.
“There’s no return address.”

“That’s weird.” Who could be reaching out to
me? My birthday is months away and I know it’s not an early
Christmas Card because my family always puts a return address. I
gawk at my name again and the way the calligraphy looks. The ‘Y’ in
Ellory has a curly q on the end. This has to be from a girl, right?
I don’t know any boys who have handwriting this perfect.

I flip the envelope back over and go to tear
into it. When there’s knock at the door. Mom exits the kitchen to
answer it and I rip a piece of the envelope away. Mom returns a
second later. “There someone at the door for you.”

“Who?”

“Some boy.”

Not just some boy. I know it’s Adam.

I shove the envelope in one of the kitchen
junk drawers and shuffle to the door. Adam beams at me from the
other side of the glass and I’m a puddle. All of my insides are
mush. “Hhey,” I force out as I open the door.

“I missed you,” he tells me. “I had to come
see you.”

My cheeks tingle and I kick the door
nervously. Mom is lingering behind us and she clears her throat. I
snap to attention. “Oh. Adam, this is my Mom.”

Mom steps forward as Adam extends his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Graham.”

Mom chuckles, takes his hand and shakes it.
“Please call me, Lisa. Mrs. Graham makes me feel old.”

Adam pulls back and I take a good look at the
redness in Mom’s cheeks. Even Mom thinks he’s beautiful. She tucks
her hair behind her ear, nervously. “I’ll just give you kids some
privacy.”

“Do you wanna take a walk with me?”

Mom is half-way to the kitchen. “Mom. I’m
going for a walk with Adam, is that okay?”

“Sure sweetie.” She waves me off and I walk
out the front door.

As soon as I’m off my porch Adam embraces me.
He kisses my cheeks, my hair, and my lips. He kisses my soul. I
rest my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. I can’t
hear it. I squeeze him tighter and a faint rhythmic thumping
vibrates in my ears. I don’t intend on collapsing in his arms, but
I do. His fingertips glide across my cheek and even they’re frigid
from the cool fall air, I feel steam rising from every open pore on
my body.

I’m safe in Adam’s arms—protected. Not that I
need his protection. One thing I’ve always prided about myself is
my ability to fight my own battles.

Before Adam, I swore that I would never be
one of those girls. The type of girl who sacrifices her own
self-worth for the sake of her significant other. A girl who loses
sight of herself, kicks individuality to the curb, and morphs
herself into whatever he wants. Before she realizes it, she a
weaker, diluted version of herself.

I am not weak.

Even though Adam makes me feel things I’ve
never felt before, I tell myself I will never be that kind of
girl.

Adam slides to the right, but keeps one arm
wrapped around me. We walk for what seems like miles and soon my
house looks like a tiny pebble surrounded by a field of green.
“Where are we going?” I ask looking up at him.

“I want to show you something.”

As we continue walking, a small cottage comes
into view. A small cottage that is an exact replica of Adam’s
house. There are even two circular columns similar to the ones that
stretch across the veranda. “What is this?” It reminds me of a
life-sized dollhouse my father built for me when I was a child. I
liked to pretend that I really lived in it. Sometimes, my parents
would even let me camp out in it.

“I’m sure you know this, but my house was
built a long time ago. The Milton’s used to have a caretaker. This
was where they lived. I use it as an art studio, now. But I was
thinking this could be somewhere special for us. A place where we
could meet and spend time together.”

“I like that idea.”

“Me too,” he says, his lips against my ear.
“Which is why I thought of it.”

I laugh and punch him playfully. “You’re too
smart for your own good.”

But he’s not just smart. He’s romantic,
loyal, and beautiful. Most importantly, he likes me for me. He
doesn’t care that I cuss like a trucker. He doesn’t care that I
hate dressing up. Or that I don’t look like someone who stepped off
the cover of some fashion magazine. Adam would never want me to be
something I’m not for his sake. Now I know without a doubt that I
love him because of that.

Chapter 16: Relative Strangers

Sometimes Adam wondered if he was cursed.
Part of him hoped that maybe, just maybe he’d inherited his urges
from someone in his family.

He eyed his mother as she folded a basket of
laundry. He’d known for years that he wasn’t anything like her. She
was far too emotional. So emotional that a lot of times, she got on
his nerves. She was always crying. Crying if he did something
right. Crying if he did something wrong. And Adam could see as
clearly as the bottom of an untouched swimming pool that she wasn’t
empty inside. It showed through her eyes. His mother wasn’t not
acting. She felt the consequences for her actions.

When he wanted to be nostalgic, he’d go in
his parents’ closet and sort through boxes of old photographs. He’d
try to tie himself to the people in the photos. Maybe he took after
his great grandfather on his father’s side because according to
Adam’s comparison they both had a similar smile and stance. But
Adam wasn’t certain and that perplexed him.

One day, he’d been fishing through photos and
he pulled out a picture of his father with another woman. He’d
never saw this particular photo before and he’d sorted through the
box at least a dozen times.

The photo was yellowed with age and kind of
blurry, but Adam was intrigued by it. His father was young, maybe
only a few years older than Adam was and he had his arm wrapped
around the woman’s shoulder and his mouth pressed to her thick
reddish-brown hair.

Who was this woman? An old girlfriend, maybe?
A relative?

Curious, Adam took the photo to his mother.
“Mom?”

His mother was washing the dishes. She turned
to him with a plate in her hand. “Yes, honey. Do you need
something?”

He held out the picture. “Do you know this
woman?”

Her eye’s widened and she the plate she was
holding fell from her hands, shattering in little pieces all over
the hardwood floor. “Where did you find that?

“In the box of pictures. Who is it?”

She snatched the photo from his hands and
crumbled it up in her palm. “Just one of your father’s old
girlfriends.” She kissed Adam’s forehead with a smile and changed
the subject. “Don’t you have homework?”

Anytime he asked his Mom any questions about
the past her answers were vague. “You shouldn’t keep living in the
past, Adam. You should be thinking about your future.” When Adam
thought about his future, the years ahead of him always looked
grim. Most of the time he pictured cement floors metal bars, a cot,
and urinal.

There were times where he’d thought about
asking his father, but he was rarely ever home. Adam came to the
conclusion that his parents were keeping something from him. But
what? Without names or any solid answers from his parents he had
nothing to go off of.