Flipped Again

Chapter 3: Homesick

Bryce Loski's POV:

"Almost there!" My father smiled cheerily, whistling a tune as he drove. "So son, how does it feel to be back in your hometown."

I shrugged carelessly. I had bigger things to think about than small talk with my dad.

He stiffened slightly, obviously disappointed with my answer.

He looked through the rear view mirror and let himself smile again.

"Shelly, I hope our humble abode is to your taste. We're all ecstatic for your arrival." He said.

Of course, we knew our 'abode' wasn't humble, but Shelly's big mansion was certainly more luxurious than our family home.

I wouldn't be suprised if my family were more excited to see Shelly than to see me. My father and I's big disagreement in early winter had subsided but the tension between us seemed to linger. I hoped at least my mother would be pleased to see him.

"I'm sure I'll love it Mr Loski." She gleamed back.

My father nodded, tapping his finger on his steering wheel.

"It's ashame your parents couldn't be here to see your arrival from college, although your father's work seems very time-consuming."

I looked into the rear-view mirror now, looking at Shelly. Her eyes had widened ever so slightly into a panicked stare. She cleared her throat and said dismissively. "Yeah he's on a business trip currently. Out of country. Won't see him for a while I suppose."

My dad didn't pick up on the slight edge to her voice. "Ah, I see. So what is it your father does?"

She swallowed nervously, and I looked around for something to steer the conversation to.

"Oh look, we're nearly there!" I exclaimed. Truthfully enough, my house was now in sight.

The plan had worked and Shelly and my father conversed, and I blotted them out of my mind, ignoring their conversation.

Instead I turned my head to see not my house, but the house opposite.

Juli Baker's.

I was devastated when her letters to me stopped abruptly, and my family informed me she wasn't interested anymore and stopped bothering to read the letters I wrote for her.

Even so, I persisted, not failing to write a letter weekly to Juli, even when it it came to a certain point that I knew she wouldn't have been reading any of them.

I envisioned her now, probably shut up in her room, maybe writing letters to somebody new. Or maybe she's out, hanging with a new crowd.

I looked down and I'd unknowingly formed a tight fist in anger.

I was being ridiculous.

Did I really expect her to keep interest when I was miles and miles away? I didn't blame her.

Suddenly I was sat in the car parked in my driveway. I was truly home. I got out and immediately hugged my mother but then turned round to continue my gaze at Juli's house.

But then I saw her. There she was. Sitting under the sycamore tree, staring at me. We were staring at each other.

She'd changed so much, yet, not at all. She was still my Juli, through and through.

She was clutching an open book, but her focus was not on it. She was leaning on the sycamore trunk, her hair messily pinned back, with flyaways tumbling out effortlessly. The freckles scattered over her face were doubly prominent from being under the sun. Her shirt and skirt seemed mature and grown-up, especially in comparison to what blocked my sight next.