The Small Things

-8- bollocks

Copyright © 2015. All Rights Reserved.

CHAPTER EIGHT: FIFTH GRADE

D A T E : August - September 2006

✖ bollocks ✖

It took a while, but eventually Fynn's parents broke the news to Mom. It wasn't until they got back from England, dead set on a gorgeous five bedroom tudor with masonry and stone work paired along with the classic English timbering. They showed her all the pictures of the vast open space of the fresh, pastel kitchen, the master bedroom, and—oh my God the pool in the backyard amid a garden of hedges and shrubbery. It was all so fantastic, Mom had to dab her eyes full of tears and cheer up a bit at the sight of the gorgeous stone walkway to the front porch.

Fynn didn't find out about the whole endeavor until he was already in England that summer, and he didn't really have much of a choice since he couldn't storm to his room—it was all the way back in Port Bergen. Instead, he spent a lot of time with his grandparents drinking English-styled tea and refining his accent.

No one quite knew that I was all too familiar with the changes. When they came back, I knew Fynn was too terrified to tell me about it. He'd wring his hands a lot, rub his blushed neck, and stammer whenever I asked about the trip. At that point I knew they'd told him, and the first person I confronted was Parker on one of the days Fynn and I played hide and seek and Parker didn't want to join, so he holed himself up in his room.

So while Fynn was downstairs counting to ten, I knocked on Parker's door and entered before he could say no.

"What'd you want? I'm busy." He then turned in his swivel chair, saw it was me, and turned back around. "What is it?"

I bumped the door closed behind me and twisted my earlobe around as I stepped over to his desk. He kept typing on his bulky computer keyboard until he realized I was waiting for his attention and stopped. "What?" he demanded, this time irritated.

"I heard you guys are moving," I said, having determined that I was going to act calm and casual during this discussion, but I could already feel it like a hard shove to the chest.

He looked at me with his massive green eyes and swallowed hard, turning away and confirming it with a simple, "Yeah."

"When?"

"After my eighth grade graduation," he reported, tugging a hand through his hair and acting like he had the entire time he'd known—awkward, fidgety, and cold towards his parents. "Who told you? Did Fynn say it?"

"Well, no. I've known for a while—I think before he found out," I admitted. I jumped up to sit on his solid wood desk and crossed my legs at the ankles. "Did you guys go looking for houses when you were there?"

"Yeah. I didn't go until they found 'the one', whatever that means," he muttered under his breath. He sighed and plopped his head on his hand and looked at me cautiously. "And you've known for... how long?"

"Pretty much all summer, actually. I bet you guys are gonna go back there for Christmas break, huh?"

"Yeah. Grandma and Grandpa Walton are really excited about it. We'll probably be, like, five miles from their house," he told me. "They hate coming here in the winter. They say it's too cold, and there's too much snow."

"But snow's so much fun! Y'all're gonna have to play in the fog and stuff," I complained, and he laughed and muttered a simple, "Yeah, we are," sotto voce.

My heart was pounding in my chest, and it started to heat up my face with the idea of never seeing Parker again. "I'm gonna miss you guys when you go."