Chapter Two:
‘It’s a Small World After All, It’s a Small, Small World!’ (Tyson)

Jenn was flitting about the living room when I came downstairs that morning, some of her rap-crap blaring through the speakers. I stepped over several unopened boxes and turned down the stereo. She stopped whatever she was doing (that was not dancing. Believe me.) And pouted at me. “Turn that back up, moron.”

I grinned at her oh-so-hurtful insult. “Good morning to you too, Jenn.”

She glared at me. “Turn it back up!”

Feeling accommodating, I leaned over and turned it back up a little. “Have fun dancing,” I told her, then wandered into the kitchen. My twelve year old sister could definitely be very mature for her age, but she could also turn right around and be very immature for her age. Still, she was fun to be around, as opposed to some of my friends’ younger siblings, who were always immature, and loud about it, too.

The moving guys had finished an hour ago, so all we had to do was unpack. Last night, while I was out, Mum had obviously unpacked our car, because there was food already in the pantry. I pulled out a box of Cheez-Its and sat down on an overturned box to eat some.

Mum came in moment later and, in one fell swoop, pulled the box from my hands, placed it back into the pantry, hung the phone back onto the receiver, and turned on the stove. “No more snacks for breakfast, Ty. I’ll make you oatmeal, if you want.” She dove into one of the boxes next to the sink and grabbed a kettle. Filling it with water, she glanced out the window. “This neighborhood seems nice…”

“Mom, there’s two houses.” Maybe I was biased, I don’t know, but the neighborhood seemed so empty. Our old neighborhood was smack-dab in the middle of the city, and there was always somebody outside, playing basketball. Here, our house and the one next door were the only two houses for several minutes’ worth of walking either way. Can you say, “In the middle of Nowhere”? I can.

In the middle of Nowhere.

See? Told you so.

…I was rambling, so I stood and rifled through the pantry for the oatmeal. Ever since Dad…died, Mum had become somewhat of a health-food freak (hence the “No more snacks for breakfast, Ty,” part.) and it was starting to grate on my nerves. I mean, there’s only so much health-food you could take before you wanted out. Still, it was easier to play along unless you wanted a lecture. Finding the oatmeal, I pulled out a packet and tossed it on the counter. “Mum, I’m not really very hungry. You can eat it, or Jenn. ‘Kay?”

She turned around. “Are you sure? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day…” When I nodded firmly, she sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “Fine, Tyson. But don’t come complaining to me when you get hungry later.”

I backed out of the kitchen, already visualizing a meltdown on Mum’s part. See, the closed eyes was the first part.

Let me elaborate. Mum had recently become the Queen of Meltdowns. And they came in stages. First stage was the sighing and closed eyes. Then came the “I’m disappointed in you but I won’t say it in so many words” stage, and then the “Okay, I’ll say it, and now I’ll start crying.” The first few times it was difficult to deal with; Mum rarely cried before the ordeal, so seeing her cry now had been very… distressing. Yeah. I’m a guy, and I said distressing. Deal.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mother, and seeing her like this was hard. But, really, you gotta cope with what you’ve got, right? So I had learned to ‘cope’ with this new “Meltdown Mum”. Haha, I’m using alliteration.

I retreated back up the stairs to my new room and flopped down on my bed. It’s not really a bed, per se, but a really big, squishy, comfortable bean bag. I don’t even think its beans inside; I think its feathers that sound like beans. Believe me; I wouldn’t trade my bed for anything. Anything.

The new room was pretty bare, but I knew it wouldn’t be for long. After I unpacked the important boxes- the ones with the clothes, and my computer, and that sort of thing, I’d push the rest into my closet and get working on decorating.

The cool thing about my parents- about my Mum, I mean, was that she pretty much just let me deal with my room how I liked. My old room was a mess of different paint jobs, and posters all over the walls- I hadn’t even listened to most of the bands in years, but I’d never gotten around to taking them down. This room, I vowed, would be different. Gone were the posters, and I wasn’t going to get the room painted. Instead, I was going to unleash my creative side.

That’s right.

Photographs.

Hah, you thought I meant graffiti, didn’t you? I had thought of that, but the one time I tried graffiti it just looked like a bunch of neon squigglies. I seriously did not want to spend the next few years staring at squiggles. Plus, in like two years I would be heading off to college and Mum would be turning this room into a guest room or something, so I really didn’t want to have to spend a week scrubbing the stuff off of the walls.

So, instead, I was going to spend much of my summer toting around my camera and photographing things. I had already taken a bunch of pictures before I left, so I still had “memories in photo phorm”, according to Dylan.

Dylan was my best friend since kindergarten, when I yelled at a couple of the older kids when they were picking on him during recess. Ever since, we’d been pretty tight. He was a psycho- not like a real psycho, but he was crazy. Insane. One time he teepee’d my bedroom, when he was staying over, because he wanted to see what it would be like. Except he used Krazy Glue to hold it up, and we couldn’t get the end bits of toilet paper off of the walls and ceiling. I thought it was still there.

He and I were best friends. Anyway, he had all these ludicrous names for things, hence the “memories in photo phorm”, spelled with a ‘ph’ because that was “just the way things are.”

I told you he was crazy.

I sat up and flicked on the boom box I had unpacked last night. Switching it to CD, I let the first electric chords of Taking Back Sunday infiltrate my room before shoving one of my windows open. I almost turned away from the window, but then my gaze caught on one of the upstairs windows of the house next door.

Last night, one of the guys I worked with (I had gotten myself a job at the local library) had dragged me along to a party. I hated parties, but since I really didn’t know anyone I figured it was better to stand the pain now than to spend the entire summer vacation sitting in my room. It was okay, I guess, but I’m kinda thinking that this is going to be a boring summer even if I have kids to hang with.

But the important thing was, Eric (the kid I told you about) introduced me to his ex-girlfriend, who I had immediately decided was not worth even talking to. When she came over, wearing a Beatles shirt (I hate the Beatles) she treated Eric like dirt and then was completely frigid to me. As if she had judged me before she had even met me. I mean, what she said was nice and polite and all, but the way she said it, as if she thought I was not worth her time, was completely rude.

And she wasn’t even all that good looking! I don’t really judge girls on their looks; the girls I dated were all hot, but they also had brains. This girl, Sam, had the brains (I could tell.) but she really didn’t have the looks to be going around acting like that. Seriously.

Did you just call me shallow?

Psh. Whatever.

Anyway, back to the window next door. I hadn’t met our new neighbors yet, but then I realized maybe I had, after all. At least one of them, because I could see her through her window.

----;----

“Dude, guess who’s my new neighbor?”

Pause. “Who?”

“Guess.”

Pause. “Uh… Angelina Jolie?”

Silence.

“Are you serious? Dude, I’m coming over right now and we’re playing Peeping Tom.”

“Yeah, and then we can invite her to come skinny dipping with us.”

“Hell no! Who wants to go dipping with you? She’s hangin’ with me.”

“Ohhhhh. You just got dissed, bro.”

Pause. “Jenn? Turn off the phone, right now.”

“Fine. Don’t have to go all, “I have the kind of voice Mafia people use and I’m not afraid to use it” on me. Just eavesdropping.”

“Turn off the damn phone!”

-Click-

“Bro?”

“Oh god, Eric. She’s weird. Dunno where she got it.”

“Maybe from you. Anyway, who’s your new neighbor?”

“Next door neighbor. Meaning her window is facing mine. And she could be snooping on us right now, because the window’s open.”

“The suspense is killing me… Who is it?”

“Psh. Not after that little insult from you. Nuh-uh.”

“What insult? You sound like a little kid.”

“Well, maybe I am.”

“Tyson…”

“Fine. It’s your ex. Sam.”

Silence.

“Eric?”

“Ty, she’s a bitch.”

Pause. Insert sarcasm. “REALLY? During or after you were going out? Why?”

Pause. “Hold on a minute. What, Mom…?”

Pause. Then… “Listen, Ty, I have to go. Mom wants me to help make dinner. I’ll finish talking to you later, ‘kay?”

“Yeah. See you on Monday…”

“Yeah.”

-Click-

Pause.

-Click-

----;----

“Ty, will you come down and help me unpack the frames for the living room?” My mum’s voice floated up the stairs. It was a couple of hours after the phone call, and I was mulling over it a bit. And I was comfortable, with the window open, the music on, and the bean-bag beneath me, but it would be suicide to refuse.

“Coming!”

I pushed myself up and switched off the radio, not without glancing nervously out the window. Eric’s reluctance to explain wasn’t very reassuring; I hadn’t known him very long, but he was a pretty open guy, and him not elaborating about his breakup seemed… not really him. Had she, I dunno, killed someone?

I shivered. The Girl Next Door becomes the Murderer Next Door. Weird.

I was coming down the stairs when the doorbell rang. I started to trot down to get it, but then stopped. Aren’t neighbors supposed to come over and meet each other? That could have been Her! (Capitals and all.) I swore internally and dove back into my room, leaning against the closed door and listening.

I could hear footsteps, and then the door opened. “Hey! Are you the new neighbors?” My sister’s voice was muffled by the door.

“Yeah. I’m Sam.”

HaHa, I was right. I tried to calm my rapid breathing. No, Jenn, close the door fast! I don’t want you to die!

Weeelll, sometimes I do. But not now

“­­­­-bring over some chicken, since your mom’s probably busy unpacking and everything.” The voice of a murderer. Scary. Freaky.

I am not melodramatic. Somebody needed to help me- I was going to die!

I was too young!

“Who is it, honey?” RUN, MUM, RUN!

“This is Sam, Mum. She’s our new neighbor.”

I stood up and glanced wildly around my room. Something to defend myself… My eyes lit on my old baseball bat. Grabbing it, I opened the door and snuck down the stairs. One of the stairs creaked under my feet, and I froze, my thoughts running wild.

It should have occurred to me right then that if she was a murderer, Eric would have turned her in. But, see, it didn’t. So I continued on my paranoid quest to save my family from this innocent-acting murderer.

In the kitchen, Sam, Mum, and Jenn were sitting on empty boxes and chatting; and I could already tell they’ll be pretty tight. Which was a bad sign. Bad, bad, bad. Because even if she wasn’t a murderer (as I was firmly convinced she was, but we all gotta have hypothetical situations, don’t we?), she could still use them to hurt me.

I gripped the bat more firmly and inched toward the doorway.

And then, of course, Sam looked up and saw me.

And gave me a look that said, “I think you’re odd.”

And I glared at her and gave her a look that said, “So?”

And Mum noticed and turned around. “Tyson, what in the world are you doing with that baseball bat?” She said ‘Tyson’ with an extra amount of confusion.

I lowered it a bit, still gripping it. “I’m, uh…” All three of them were turned toward me now, and I realized I looked pretty stupid, standing in the doorway with a baseball bat. And I also realized that She probably wasn’t a murderer. This wasn’t a fantasy novel, it was Real Life. Through logic, I came to the conclusion that I was an idiot.

“Uh, hello.” I managed, and then leaned the bat against the doorframe. “How’s it going?” I did my best to grin nonchalantly and act like I wasn’t flustered, but the highly amused look both Sam and Jenn were giving me told me otherwise; I was looking both highly uncomfortable and flustered. Damn. I knew I should have taken acting when I was in middle school. Ah well.

Mum smiled, looking unsure. “Tyson… what were you planning on doing with that bat?”

Oh great, now Mum thinks I’m the psycho murderer.

“I was… coming down to… put it in the garage.” Lame, Ty, lame. I tried a different tact. “So you’re the new neighbor?”

Sam glanced at me, clearly amused. “One of them, yes.” After a moment, she stood up. “I gotta go, but it was nice meeting you, Mrs. Whitaker, Jenn, …Tyson.” She made to leave.

Mum turned to me. “Ty, why don’t you walk her back to her house?”

“Mum, I’m unpacking-”

“Oh no, Mrs. Whitaker, I-“

We both stopped, realizing we had spoken at the same time. Mum grinned at me. “Go on, get to know each other!” I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of this; a couple of years ago, when a girl had moved into the biggest house on the street, Mom had tried to hook us up… it was disastrous, not to mention embarrassing. But the look on her face told me that no nonsense would be allowed, so I gave in. Apparently, Sam didn’t miss the look either, so she turned toward the door and nodded.

“Good-bye!” She called. I followed her, glaring at Jenn, who was laughing into her sleeve. Sisters these days, with no appreciation for their brothers’ predicaments.

Once outside, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans and matched stride with Sam, who glanced at me. “Do you normally wander around the house holding baseball bats?”

“No! I was-“

“-Putting it in the garage, I know. It looked more like you were trying to defend your house from the “Big Bad Neighbors”, to me.” She grinned sarcastically up at me and continued walking. Damnit, she was smart. “Anyway, I was just wondering what made you think you had the right to insult Turnville like that? Just, you know, casual inquiry and all that.”

I racked my brains. Had I said something last night…? “What are you talking about?”

She stopped and stared up at me, her brown eyes churning. What an interesting thing to see. “’ It’s a lot lower-class here than in the city, isn’t it?’” She quoted, and I winced, remembering. What can I say? It is.

Oops. Did I say that out loud?

I think I did.

Silly me.

She glared at me and stormed off toward her house. I was about to turn back toward mine when I realized that I was supposed to meet the neighbors. ‘Course, Mum hadn’t specifically said it, but I knew what she meant. If I didn’t go meet at least her mom, or a sibling, I’d be in trouble.

I ran to catch up with Sam. “Hey, listen…” I must have grabbed her arm, unconsciously, because she shook me off.

“Save it,” she snapped.

“No, no, really. I need to meet your family.” Oh God this was embarrassing. “And… you probably need me to meet someone too. Otherwise, they’ll ask why you didn’t ask me to come in… and…”

She sighed, pushing a hand through her long brown hair. After a long pause, she exhaled in a sort of angry-sigh. “Fine. But be quick. I don’t like you.” We were close enough to the house that I could really see that they kept it in great condition. The bushes were all trimmed, the grass was cut, there wasn’t any moss poking its way up through the cracks between the bricks on the walkway. The flowers in the beds were all artistically messy. They vaguely reminded me of my grandmother’s hair.

I’m a great maker of analogies.

“That’s harsh.”

“Deal with it.” Sam marched up the front steps of the very pristine yard and pushed open the door. I followed her in, and she yelled, “Mom! One of the neighbors is here to see you!” Turning to me, she grabbed her keys and went to open the front door. “Behave yourself.”

I glared at her, indignant. “You think I wouldn’t?”

“Damn straight,” she retorted, and then marched out the door. Ooh. Feisty.

On the inside, the house was equally well taken care of. From what I could see of the kitchen, it was just expensive enough to make it look good, and no more. The living room, off the right, was free of clutter and very nice. Everything was a cool shade of green… not ‘cool’ like, ‘neat!’ but ‘cool’ like not ‘warm’. There was a chess board on the table next to the couch, and the fireplace actually looked like it had been used once. We never used ours. But I couldn’t see the TV. I shifted a little so I could see the whole room. No TV.

What the…How did they live?

Footsteps approached down the hall, “Hello?”, and then her mother was standing in the entryway. Where had I seen her before?

“Well, well, well,” she purred, in an old-lady sort of way, “look who we have here. Tyson Whitaker, prankmaster extraordinaire.”

Oh, shit.

Disclaimer: The title belongs to Walt Disney, I think. Not me.

Warning: Any rewriting or stealing of this work in any wayshapeorform will be legally prosecuted.

Many hugs, with lots of extra cookies, to Drops of Jewpiter, Ollie May, IndigoAzucena, Larentia, and GamerGirl16. Yay for you all.