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5
Penny
Iwake up with this weird feeling that someone is watching me. I open my eyes, and my heart stops before restarting itself into an unnatural rhythm. Three inches from my face, a wet-nosed demon dog with sharp teeth and human-looking brown eyes stares at my face.
Sitting up in slow motion, I never take my eyes off the black and brown dog that has a way too large head on its shoulders. My face contorts into an awkward smile, like I could somehow charm the dog with my lame attempts of flirting. Shaking my head, I slowly get up to look around the house. The bedroom door is open, and I don’t see or hear anyone else. Ryder must have already left. I walk to the back door with the blanket wrapped tightly around me and let Mojo out.
Just like Ryder said, he is back at the door and ready to come in a few minutes later. He lazily strolls in and sits in front of me. “I guess it’s just the two of us today.”
I eat some cereal before hopping in the shower and getting dressed. After I finish the rest of Ryder’s laundry, I busy myself reorganizing the cabinets in the kitchen.
Checking the time, I realize it’s already noon. I let Mojo out again before making a turkey sandwich. I cut it in half and sit down to eat. Just when I take the first bite, I see Mojo sitting next to me, looking up expectantly. I slowly lower my sandwich and offer it to him. He snaps it out of my hand, luckily without taking my finger with it, and lies down beside me. Maybe we are friends now.
By the time I’m done eating, I get anxious. I am running out of things to do. I’m alone with nothing to occupy my mind. This can’t be happening. If I stop moving, I’m left with nothing but time to think. Thinking about what I’ve been through and what I’m going through now. Thinking about all the mistakes I’ve made, all the things I’ve lost, and all the struggles the future holds.
Desperate, I pace around the living room. Everything is clean, and all the laundry folded. I need something to do. I glance at the living room cabinet and stalk over to it. In the spur of the moment, I wipe the entire contents of the shelf off with a swipe of my arm.
Mojo looks at me, tilting his head sideways like he is trying to figure me out. I clean up the mess I just made, taking my time to make it last as long as possible. The last thing on the floor is some old book with a binding so old that I can’t make out the title. I pick up the book and flip it open to the first page. There is a ‘this book belongs to’ box in the front with Ryder written under it. It’s obvious a small child wrote it, since it’s in uneven block letters. On the bottom of the same page, it says,To my sweet boy, love Grandma.
My heart squeezes in my chest. I know Ryder stayed with his grandma when he was younger. When she died, he ended up in the foster system. When I was fifteen, I was so selfish and self-absorbed that it never even occurred to me what Ryder must have gone through. I was lucky that my parents adopted me when I was so young. They were wonderful parents to me, and they were good foster parents to Ryder—until I messed everything up.
I flip to the next page, which has the title:PeterPan’sAdventures. I shut the book with a heavy heart, remembering all the pain I’ve caused Ryder and my family.
“Penny, come and sit with us,” someone calls, and I walk faster past the group of guys hanging out in front of the local gas station. I’ve seen these guys before, they go to public school with Ryder, and my mom told me to stay away from them more than once. Bad influence, she had said.
I usually don’t even walk home this way, but the other way, the safer way, is much longer, and it’s raining today. My clothes are already soaked, and my toes feel like they’re about to freeze off.
Because of the heavy rain, I don’t hear when one of those guys comes up behind me. He grabs my arm and spins me around abruptly. “I was talking to you.”
With shaking fingers, I push my heavy glasses up my nose. “I need to go home,” I say meekly.
“Don’t be like this, come sit with us.” His eyes roam down my body, lingering where the sweater is clinging to my breasts, and I feel my cheeks heat. I’m not used to this kind of attention, and to make matters worse, the guy in front of me is really cute.
“I need to go home,” I repeat shyly, trying to take a step back, but he tightens his grip on my arm and pulls me closer to him. So close that I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“And I need you to come sit with me.” He grins, not budging, and only then does actual fear make an appearance.
“Let her go, Keller,” a familiar voice calls, and I turn my head to find Ryder walking toward us like he is on a war mission. The guy, which I assume is his friend, lets go of me with a shove, and my shoulders sag in relief.
A moment later, Ryder is by my side, replacing his friend’s hand with his own. Holding on to my arm, he drags me away from the gas station and down the sidewalk.
“I didn’t need your help. I was fine,” I say under my breath as we head to our shared home.
“Didn’t look like you were fine,” Ryder growls, right before someone shoves him from behind. Ryder lets go of my arm and spins around at the same time. I stumble back and watch helplessly as two of the guys hit Ryder in the face.
Everything happens so fast I have a hard time keeping up. One minute we are walking, the next, Ryder gets attacked, and then Ryder tackles one of the two, slamming his body to the ground harshly. The guy’s head bounces off the ground like a basketball, and his eyes roll back before he passes out.
The other guy, Keller, Ryder called him, is still throwing punches. Ryder dodges most of them until he catches one of the flying fists and twists Keller’s arm. He groans, his face turning into a mask of agony as he falls to his knees.
Ryder takes this opportunity and starts smashing his fist into Keller’s face over and over again until his face is unrecognizable. Until Keller passes out and Ryder’s knuckles drip with blood that isn’t his own. Until the police sirens are closing in on the scene and the life I knew has ended.
When I setthe book back on the shelf, and the last image of that distant memory leaves my mind, my hands are shaking and unsteady. Why couldn’t I have just told the truth about what happened that day? All I had to do was tell the truth.
Something slides out from in between the pages just as I place the book where it was before. I watch the picture float to the floor like a leaf falling off a tree in the fall time. I pick it up and hold it with trembling fingers. Four familiar faces stare back at me: Ryder, myself, and my parents.
The ache in my chest instantly becomes too much. Unable to look at it, I hastily slide the picture back and return the book to its earlier spot. Trying to push all those unwanted memories away, I look around the house for something else to do.
It starts with a single tear escaping and ends with my vision blurring and my head throbbing in pain. I’ve been doing so good keeping everything bottled up. I’ve shed some tears here and there, but nothing like I am doing now.
