Where We Belong

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Now

Submitted: April 24, 2016

Reads: 95

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Submitted: April 24, 2016

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Now
Chapter One

 

My best friend is on the phone with me when the U-Haul drives up to the house with the red door that's one across and one diagonal to mine. I look out my bedroom window that overlooks the front yard and open it up, letting in the cold air.

 

Cheyenne is going on about her birthday party and how she already knows how much better and bigger it'll be than last year. It's in two weeks, so she's adding in last minute details and running them by me, making sure they're good ideas.

 

"Hold on," I tell her before setting my cell phone on the window sill and climbing out onto the roof. It's pretty flat right outside my window and then it starts to slant little by little until you get to its edge. I sit on the edge of the flat part so that my legs slant with the surface. "Someone's moving into the One Year House again."

 

"Ooh." It's always an intriguing topic when someone moves in there. No one ever lasts longer than a year, hence the name. "Details!" Her house is the one directly behind mine that we practically share a backyard. But she can never see the action going on across the street because my house blocks it.

 

My binoculars are still here from the last time Cal and I sat up here, spying on the last couple who lived in that same house. They only lasted a month.

 

I blow the small amount of dust away and make sure there are no bugs in it or anything before bringing the binoculars to my eyes. "Two cars, not including the U-Haul. They're just getting out," I have to be inconspicuous with the binoculars now that they're out of their cars. "There's three of them, one is definitely a mom. The other ones are the kids, I guess." I describe them to Cheyenne: the mom and the daughter are the spitting image of each other, both twiggy and bleached blonde. The girl is probably as old as Kayle, my sister, who's twenty-one. I move my limited sight to the passenger side of the Civic and- "Shit."

 

"What happened?! Keep the info coming!" My binoculars come flying off when I realize I've been spotted by the son.

 

"I've been seen."

 

"Well, you are sitting on the rooftop, aren't you?" She knows too well that the roof is my favorite place "in" the house.

 

I shake my head, trying to shake off the embarrassment. "Yeah, but I had the binoculars." As she's laughing at me for being so careless, I look back up at the family. The son has gone back to helping with the boxes. I'm so not using my spying device anymore after that, so I have to squint to get anymore details. Brown, ruffled hair, around my age, presumably anywhere from sixteen to eighteen, and that grin he gave me before I pulled the binoculars off my face...

 

I roll my eyes at the cackling still going on on the other end. "Are you done?"

 

"Hold on," She pretends to laugh at little more. "Ha. Ha. Okay, I'm done."

 

"The son is cute," I blurt out, unashamed, because he is, in a subtle kind of way.

 

"Thinking of getting back out there, are we?" she teases.

 

Suddenly, the window behind me slides up revealing my mother with her hands on her hips and her face mangled into a pout. She sighs. "Rebecca, you know how much I hate you sitting up here. You'll fall and break your neck."

 

I shrug. "Sorry?"

 

"Dinner's ready."

 

"Is Dr. Homewrecker downstairs?" I ask her, referring to the man she is currently seeing that is not my dad.

 

She rubs her eyes, a sure sign she's frustrated with me, "I hate it when you call him that."

 

I squint my eyes at her, challenging her. "Well, I hate him and no one seems to care about that."

 

She just walks out of the room after that, yelling, "Downstairs, now," behind her in her mom voice.

 

It's not like the only reason I hate Dave Averest is because he's with my mom. If circumstances were different, i.e., she wasn't still technically married to my dad and enough time had passed for it to be reasonable to be seeing another man, than I might think he was suitable. He is a doctor, after all, and maybe he'd be handsome if it weren't for that goatee covering half of his face.

 

Everyone, including my sister and her ever present boyfriend, is already sitting at the table when I get there. "Nice of you to join us." Cameron, the boyfriend, tells me.

 

"Don't you have a home?" I throw back at him. He just smirks, shrugging, knowing that it's probably true that he's here more than where he actually lives. Him and Kayle are conjoined at the hip. So much now that you can't imagine one without thinking of the other anymore.

 

"Sit down," Mom beckons, surprisingly a lot more uplifted than she was a minute ago. "We have something really important to tell you guys."

 

Kayle sneaks a look at me from across the table and it almost looks like a warning, or at least like she already knows what's up and I'm not going to like it. It, of course, makes me skeptical of this thing she wants to tell us and I cross my arms before giving my mom and Dr. Homewrecker my attention.

 

But before they can get the words out, I see it. There, on my mom's left hand is a ring. "What is that?"

 

Her lips form a straight line, maybe upset that she didn't get to say what she wanted before I already found out. She looks down at the huge sparkly thing and smiles admiringly at it, and it makes me want to throw up. "If you let me talk, we'll tell you about it."

 

"Rebecca," Dr. Homewrecker starts to say to me, but I don't want to listen. At least Kayle and Cameron know enough to keep their mouth shut because they know nothing they could say will make anything better, or make my mother take that stupid engagement ring off her finger.

 

"I'm not hungry. Bigamy makes me sick to my stomach." And with that, I walk out past the living room and out the front door, texting Cheyenne that I'll be at her house as soon as possible.

 

"What's wrong?" she asks as soon as I walk into her bedroom. Despite my best efforts to keep it in, I have got a small stream of tears rolling down my face. "Oh, my God, what?" She brings me in to where Jake is already sitting on the bed. "Scoot over!" She snaps at him.

 

"She's marrying him," is all I can choke out.

 

There were signs, obviously, when my mom was sneaking around on my dad. So many signs that I could look back on now and remind myself that I'm an idiot for not noticing them. I was too caught up with my own promiscuity and lack of self-control. She'd always get called into work late at night, every night for a whole week straight sometimes. She'd be overly happy, a happy I hadn't seen from her in a really long time.

 

And there was this one night I caught her coming home early in the morning, and I somehow noticed she wasn't wearing her wedding ring. "It was, um, a patient, I couldn't have it on while I was with him." I shrugged it off because I wasn't a nurse and maybe it would have made sense to me if I was.

 

My best friends try to console me. They try to tell me that things will be fine, that when she finally officially ends things with my dad and marries Dr. Dave it won't feel like much has changed anyway, and I'll get used to things. But really, that only makes it worse. I don't want a new normal. I want the old, boring normal that was my parents together.

 

"You wanna go spy on your new neighbors some more?" Cheyenne asks to get me to stop moping. "We can bake brownies or something and act like we're the kind of people who bake brownies and give them to the neighbors."

 

"Can we put pot in them?" Jake pipes in, holding up a small plastic bag he swiped from under Cheyenne's bed, and it makes us both laugh.

 

"No, that's mine," She goes to reach for it, but he holds it up.

 

"Where did you even get that?" I ask her.

 

She shrugs. "From Paul Utherton, right before school ended." Right, he's kind of the guy from our school that everyone just kind of knows you go to for that kind of stuff. "What? It's not like my parents care. I just wanted to try it."

 

Figures. Her parents are total stereotypical hippies, and if I wasn't almost eighteen, I'd beg them to adopt me, especially with how things are going at my own house. They're the kind of people who believe their teenagers should be given tons of space to make their own decisions.

 

"Anyway, what if they're not even pot people, Jake?" Cheyenne is finally able to grab the bag from her boyfriend. "Then what?"

 

He gives her this cheesy grin, then goes, "Well then we can just ask for it back."

 

These are the best friends I've found this summer, and it's such a change from the ones I used to have, the ones I haven't seen in a couple months since I ended things with Cal at the end of the school year. I don't like pot, I've tried it before about a year ago at one of the mindless parties I was sucked into going to, but even if I did, it wouldn't be the worst thing I could be doing right now, especially if I was still with my old friends. Trust me, I was one of the worst kinds of people, and Cheyenne and Jake saved me.

 

So as we try to make pot brownies that we don't really plan on giving to the neighbors, smearing batter on each other's faces, and almost burning ourselves on the pan taking them out of the oven, I'm reminded of how much I love them, and how in the three months I've really known them, I can already tell they're two of the best kinds of people.


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