Rule #16: Never Lend a Helping Hand
If anything, we're a pain in the ass.
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"Okay, listen here, you little bitch," I point my finger at her. "I have given you shelter, saved your ungrateful hide from being run over by an Audi and fed you for the past three weeks. So, why don't you show some appreciation and let me pet you?"
Lucky, unperturbed by my lecturing, ducks away from my hand and darts to the opposite corner of the porch. Her yellow eyes follow me, as if I'm one of the toy mice she likes to play with.
I narrow my eyes.
"Now you're just making fun of me."
She purrs and flicks her tail.
For the third time today, I reach out to pet her. And for the third time today, she evades me. I nearly scream in frustration. How am I supposed to take her somewhere if she won't let me touch her? Lucky meows and sprints around my feet. Even my size, I still can't manage to land finger on her fur.
In the end, Lucky hops over the railing, lands on sand and totters away, unharmed. I hop over the railing too, but instead end up face-planting the sand. The cat's gone in a few seconds.
"Damn it."
I bury my face in the sand and stay there like the failure I am.
"Peyton?" Mom's voice calls quietly from behind me.
"Yes?" I tilt my head slightly so I can talk without getting a mouthful of dirt. Mom stands in front of me with crossed arms. She's wearing her best dress today, because our annoying aunt and her pesky daughters are coming home for the family reunion.
"What are you doing?"
"Moping."
She sighs. "Again?"
"Well, what else is there to do now?" I whine. "Now that Irene, Jake and Andrew have left me, my life is gray and dark and empty and dull."
Let's not mention the fact that I just spoke to them this morning.
"Why don't you go do something productive?"
"I tried. But Peter says I work too much at the shelter and that I really need to take a day off."
"I'm not talking about the shelter, Peyton. I'm talking about helping James and Archer with that tree house they're building."
Oh. Right.
The treehouse.
The same tree house that I got stuck in a week ago. Yeah. I've pretty much avoided that for the last week or so. I'd probably end up doing something worse, like actually falling out of the tree.
Mom isn't the slight bit interested in me helping out. She's just trying to get me closer to Archer again. But I decide that this is the perfect excuse to get away from Aunt Sue and meddling daughters, who are coming today for the family reunion.
"Fine." I push myself up and brush the sand off my face.
Mom's nosy eyes follow me all the way to Archer's backyard.
Julia, Archer's sister, is galloping around her horse around it when I arrive. She stops once to let me stroke her horse's mane and then, sprints away again.
I walk over to the treehouse. The base is almost done. Dad says they're finishing the final touches on it today. I examine the rope ladder to make sure it's study, then pull myself up. When I reach upstairs, I don't see dad. Instead, there's only Mr. Raine and James.
James, who's busy hammering away at some boards, raises an eyebrow when he spots me. "Looking for Archer? Your boyfriend's not here."
"Boyfriend?" Mr. Raine looks up.
"I have no idea what he's talking about," I say, glaring at him.
James snickers.
"Oh, well, if you need Archer, he's downstairs with his friends. They're coming out in a few minutes to play volleyball."
"That's fine. I want to help. What should I do?"
"Try not to hit yourself," Says James, who finds my new clumsiness entertaining. I give him another sour look.
"Why don't you paint those boards over there?" Mr. Raine suggests, pointing to a pile of wooden boards. A can of green paint lies next to them. "We're planning to make that pile into a cupboard for supplies."
"Are you sure?" I edge toward the saw. "I mean, I am pretty good at chopping up wood. Did you know I built three bird houses? One of them was of them was so good, it became a squirrel house. Of course, there weren't really squirrels in Chicago..."
Mr. Raine shakes his head stubbornly. "No. We could really use some paint."
I sigh disappointedly.
Painting boards the color of grass isn't just as fun as watching grass grow. Still, when Mr. Raine isn't looking, James hands me his hammer and I help him nail some boards shut together to make one of the walls. So far I've only managed to hit my fingers twice.
Meanwhile, Archer and his friends come out to play volleyball.
I watch them while painting. They're actually pretty good, but sometimes Archer misses an easy hit because he's distracted from talking to one his friends. On the other hand, Sebastian really into the game, hitting people with the ball so hard that they fall to the ground.
It's quite entertaining, to be honest. Who knew Sebastian had so much anger in him?
Soon, Mr. Raine disappears off to the store to get more supplies for the tree house. James and I take this opportunity to use the saw. However, this may not have been the best idea since we ended up breaking the tree.
And the saw.
"Hey, check it out. They're drinking lemonade," James says after we finish hiding the evidence. "Go get me some, Peyton."
"You get it yourself."
"No, you do it. It'll look weird if some old guy goes up to bunch of kids asking for lemonade."
I suggest that there's a couple of ways to settle this.
We could either a) duel to the death, b) play the silent game (which I'd undoubtedly win), c) have an eating contest (which James would undoubtedly win), or d) rock, paper, scissors. James chooses D, of course and we play it one out of one.
I get rock.
James gets paper.
I try to clean up before I go down. Somehow, I managed to land a couple of drops of paint on my shirt and face. When I try to clean it, I just end up smearing it more. In the end, I give up and go without greenish appearance.
Just before jumping of the rope ladder, my foot gets tangled in rope so I have no choice but to accidentally backflip off the ladder.
For the second time today, I land on the sand. I glare at the cloudless sky. Really, I'm glaring at James, but I don't want to move my head.
A familiar head pops into my vision. "Peyton?"
Shoot, I think and scramble to stand up again. Archer grabs my shoulders to keep me from falling down. When I'm finally out of risk of falling down, I mutter a thank you. I notice that instead of a pencil, like usual, there's a bright red pen stuck behind his right ear.
"When'd you get here?" Archer asks, grinning as usual.
"Oh, you know, like an hour ago," I say breathlessly, wishing I spent more time cleaning up my appearance. "I was helping your dad paint the tree house."
"I can tell," Archer wipes some of the wet paint off my cheek. "Why, though? Painting the tree house was my job - ah, don't tell me. Did my dad put you up to this?"
"Yeah. I wanted to use the saw but-" I put a stop my words, remembering what happened to it.
"My dad doesn't think my artistic hobbies are manly enough for a Raine. Neither does my mom for that matter," Archer muses. He tugs me towards the house. "They've even taken away my sketchbooks and canvases so I can't paint or draw anymore. And my camera too."
"Your sketchbooks?"
"All of them."
"That's," I try to come up with a word that won't offend him. "Ridiculous?"
"Pretty much. Any suggestions?"
I say, "What?"
"Rumor has it that you're pretty good at coming up with loopholes. Didn't you once throw your mattress out of your house because your parents said you couldn't come out of bed all night?"
Oh yeah. I used to be pretty good at pissing my parents off before they decided to blackmail me with my college tuition. "Did Andrew tell you that?"
"Jake. He texted me last night."
"Jake texted you? He doesn't even text me." How is it that Archer is better friends with him than I am?
"You're changing the subject. Give me a way I can convince my parents to give my sketchbook back."
"You're not supposed to convince your parents. You're supposed to defy them," I suddenly get a very intelligent idea. "You should draw on your skin, like thousands of tattoos, except they aren't permanent. Your parents can't take away your skin, can they?"
He laughs.
Archer's friends, who were busy chatting over a glass lemonade, stop to look at us. Archer gives them a pleasant grin and walks inside, to the kitchen and stands next to Sebastian. I go inside as well, but don't enter the kitchen. His friends continue to stare at me.
I'm saved the trouble of introducing myself when Buster flies into the room, nearly lunging on my shoulders.
"Hi buddy," I whisper, going on my knees so I can hug him better. Buster drops his favorite toy at the bottom of my knees and looks at me eagerly. We play tug of war for a little while before Mrs. Raine enters the kitchen with a tray of lemonade.
"Alright," Mrs. Raine's smile flatters when she sees me, but only for a second. "Here's a fresh batch of lemonade, kiddos. Sebastian, honey! You must be tired from the workout, why don't you take a glass to refresh yourself?"
"Nah, I don't really want-"
"Take it."
Sebastian takes it, looking alarmed. Archer, who's standing behind him, raises an eyebrow.
Mrs. Raine ignores him.
Instead, she circles around the kitchen, offering everybody a glass of lemonade. Most of them refuse at first, but then retaliate when Mrs. Raine keeps pushing them. They share looks of bemusement behind her back.
When Mrs. Raine finally reaches me, her tray is empty.
"Oh, no, Peyton, sweetheart, I'm afraid we've run out," Mrs. Raine puckers her bright red lips. "I could make more, if you'd like..."
"Don't be ridiculous." I deadpan. "It's not your fault."
"Oh, thank you, I'm so glad you understand. Not to be rude, sweetheart, but your boots are getting dirt all over the place," She takes a step forward, so I have to take a step back, into the backyard. "Why don't you come back later? Let's say, around tomorrow."
"Mom," Archer interrupts, his face a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "I think something's burning in the kitchen."
Mrs. Raine pauses, probably struggling on what she wants more - to torment me or to save whatever she's making. In the end, she decides her food is more important and struts away.
An awkward silence takes over. People stare at their glasses, not saying a word. Buster, oblivious, brings me his tug-of-war toy and looks at me hopefully. Before I can take it and play with him outside, a voice comes from the kitchen.
"Here," Sebastian slides his glass over the table. "Take mine. The lemonade is too sweet for me."
Then, all at once, eight glasses swerve towards me.
"Yeah - I'm not in the mood."
"No offense, Archer."
"Have mine too."
"I'm not a really a big fan of the lemon."
I'm sure if Mrs. Raine were to see this, she'd probably collapse out of shock. The thought brightens me up a bit as I pick up the glasses, trying not to spill. Then, I turn to Archer's friends, who are looking at me expectantly.
"Oh, gee," My face feels hot. Archer looks like he's trying not laugh. "Thanks guys, for your, uh, generosity. Really. I'll be sure to drink this all up. And uh - bye!"
Then, trying to balance nine glasses all at once, I hightail it out of there.
The sun is starting to set when I come outside, so the beach is cast with a fiery glow. Buster barks after me, but Archer keeps him distracted with some food. I chug down seven of the nine glasses before climbing up the rope ladder, so that I only have to carry too.
James is busy working hammering some boards together by the time I reach. I set his glass of lemonade on the table on one of the toolboxes and hand the other one to him. He gulps it down with seconds. Then, without so much as thank you, continues to work. I shake my head and turn back to my paintbrush.
Mr. Raine still hasn't come back yet, so we continue working on our project for another hour.
Archer and his friends come back to play another round of volleyball. This time Archer seems much more into the game, so that when Sebastian slams the ball to the other side, he manages to shoot it back across the net.
A surge of pain shoots through my finger. I look down to see blood spouting from the fingertip - great, I must have accidentally stabbed myself.
"Let's go home and fix it up," Says James, examining it.
I snatch my hand away. "That's fine. It's barely a scratch."
"What are you talking about?" James scowls. "Peyton, you're fucking bleeding. Let's go home and get a bandage."
"I'm not going anywhere where Aunt Sue will be."
"Don't be an idiot."
"I'm not. I'm just avoiding Aunt Sue."
"For god's sake, Peyton. You need to stop avoiding your problems."
"You sound like mom," I roll my eyes as I wrap one of my fingers in a dirty cloth I found nearby. It's barely bleeding anymore. "She's been getting crazy ideas ever since you came here. She even wants me to go to therapy."
"I know. It's because I suggested it."
"What?" My head snaps up.
It takes me a minute to find James in the distorted red light of the sunset. So when I glare at him, he's already glaring back at me.
"Actually, I've been suggesting therapy for the last two years. But this is the first time she's actually listened to me."
"I don't need therapy."
"Yes, you do. You've needed it ever since you've locked yourself room, crying, two years ago and came out as completely different person. You've needed it ever since you've cast everybody away from you-"
"Hey, I didn't cast them-"
"You've needed it ever since you've started hanging out with animals more than you did with people, or ever since you've stopped talking to mom and dad like they're your parents. Do you have any idea how many nights mom has spent crying in her room?"
"You and I both know that's not my fault-"
"And now you're refusing to listen to anybody who tries to help you. How many tries did it take for Archer to befriend you? Hell, it's been five months and he's your only friend-"
I pour the glass of lemonade on his head.
James falls back onto his knees, sputtering. "What the hell, Peyton?"
My face feels hot for an entirely different reason than before. "I had to find some way to shut you up."
He wipes his face with his eyes and gives me a glare so cold that, if I wasn't his sister, I'd probably be running away by now. Instead, I match his look with my own death stare. After a few seconds, James retaliates and breaks my gaze.
"Fine," He shrugs, his voice eerily casual. "I didn't want to do this. But you gave me no choice."
A fresh breeze makes the branches shudder. Some of the leaves fall off and flutter around us, landing on the wooden base.
I raise an eyebrow. "I'm waiting."
James pulls out something from his backpack. Because it's starting to get dark outside, I can barely see what it is. But then, I my eyes latch on to the fuzzy fur, the dark brown eyes and bushy tail. That teddy bear seems awfully familiar...
I gasp.
"Is that Charlotte? "
"I stole your teddy bear. Just in case I needed to get revenge or blackmail," He smirks and holds her up with one leg, so that's dangling over the side of the treehouse.
I nearly stand up. "Don't you dare."
"Should've thought of that before you poured your drink all over me," He replies mercilessly.
Then, just as I lunge for my baby bear, he drops Charlotte. She falls to the sand, hitting at least three branches on her way.
"James!"
He just laughs.
I punch him in the chest before going down. "Monster."
"See? This is another reason you should go therapy," James calls after me. "Unreasonably large attachments to inimitable objects!"
I don't reply.
Instead, I climb down the ladder to find Charlotte.
The volleyball match is a full-on battlefield now. A cheer from Archer's side lets me know they've scored a goal. Some of his friends throw me weird glances as I stomp around the sand, looking for Charlotte and resisting the urge to call out her name.
Soon, the sun starts to disappear. I still have no idea where Charlotte went.
All of a sudden, Julia's horse snickers from her place in the stables. Automatically, I turn my head to check on her. The horse nods, as if trying to tell me something. Then, I spot her. Charlotte, half-buried in the sand, lies near the bottom of the stables.
"Thanks!" I tell Julia's horse and pick up the teddy bear.
I brush back Charlotte's hair and, ignoring her accusing stare, pick out some twigs out of her fur. Poor thing, I think. She must be in so much pain.
"Watch out!" Somebody cries behind me.
Before I can react, something hard and angry bounces off my skull, ricocheting bullets of pain everywhere. For a few moments, the throbbing in my head is so painful that it blinds me. It's like somebody took the pressure scale in my brain and dialed it up to a hundred.
I think I can hear my skull crack.
With tremendous effort, I manage to open my eyes. Somehow, I've managed to face-plant into the sand again. Half of my vision is obscured by the yellowish particles.
With the other half of my sight, I see a bunch of feet, all running to some place.
People are yelling. The noise bounces off inside my eardrums, rattling my brain. I try lifting my head again, but the ground swoops and ducks under me.
Nauseous, I close my eyes.
Each breath feels like it's coming slower out of my mouth. The voices start to get closer and although I can make out the words, they sound like they're coming from behind a glass wall.
"...just fell.."
"Is she..."
"...seems seriously injured...call...ambulance..."
"Where's...?"
"I'm here," This voice I recognize. "Peyton, are you okay?"
A cold hand touches my cheek. My mouth won't open when I tell it to. Somewhere, I hear my brother's deep and booming voice.
Suddenly, I can't feel the ground anymore.
The sudden movement makes me want to throw up. I tilt my head to side to get air, but stop once my head feels like it's going to split into two.
"Hang on, Peyton." Says the voice. "I'm taking you to the hospital."
-
So, I guess we're finally going to see what's wrong with Peyton. Many of you had theories on this. I guess we'll see if they're right in the next chapter (which should be coming quick, I already have it halfway done).
Fun Fact: I had three different ideas on how to injure Peyton. She could a) have a toolbox fall on her head, b) fall off the treehouse or c) get hit by a volleyball. Obviously, I went with choice C. Poor Peyton. :,(
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You guys have been feeding Crackers a lot lately. Especially Mauigoa, _DealxWithXIt_, PROJECTLOV3, Dev_16 and Janoscuddle, who are this week's dedications! Yay! Thanks everybody!
And thanks for reading!
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