When We Grow Up

Chapter 8 - Will You Bury Me?

Chapter 8 - Will You Bury Me?

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"I usually played it safe on the sidelines, only watching and observing, but with him, I felt like I was being forced out into the playing field into a sport I'd never dared try, and into a dangerous game that I wasn't sure I could win at all."

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The next few days, I had woken up with a nonremovable grin on my face, almost as if it had been painted there, the map incident nearly forgotten. Nearly. But, who knew Gabriel could be...well, nice? And who knew it'd have an effect like this? So far, his actions had definitely lifted the mood quite a bit and I sincerely hoped that he'd be like that from now on. It was exactly how I'd imagined having my old friend back would be like.

I pretty much skipped downstairs after freshening up and plopped down in the stool next to Mack. She eyed me suspiciously. "You're practically glowing, Rosie."

"Is there anything wrong with glowing?" I laughed, and even Mom gave me a weird look. Okay, maybe I was a tad too optimistic. "I'm just saying."

While Mom was turned around, flipping a pancake on the stove, Mack muttered under her breath, "You know, I've heard somewhere that when you glow, it means you're pregnant."

I gaped at her, dumbfounded, before taking my hand and flicking her ear. "I'm not pregnant," I hissed. "Can't I just be happy?" Geez, what were those public schools teaching her?

I heard the telltale squeak of the bottom step in our stairs before hearing, "'Morning, Mrs. Lively. Hey, Rosie. Hey, Mack." We nodded our heads at him in response. Gabriel yawned widely when he padded over to us and took the seat right beside me.

"Hi, Gabe," Mom greeted him warmly. "Are pancakes okay?"

"I love pancakes," he responded enthusiastically. I couldn't help glancing at him for a few seconds; had anyone else noticed his sudden turnaround in attitude or was this what he was always like around everyone but me?

My little sister whipped her head around and stared at me accusingly. "It doesn't have to do with him, does it?" She smirked.

"Keep your voice down," I glowered.

"So what are we talking about?" Gabe interrupted. Oh, great.

I threw a hand over Mack's mouth before that little traitor could say anything. "Um, we were just-"

"Oh!" my mom exclaimed, thankfully saving me from having to create lies, something I wasn't exactly good at. "I've just remembered! Rosie, Mack, your father and I are going to be out. We're going to a country club!" she cried, waving her spatula in the air excitedly. I ducked to avoid the flying pancake bits.

"Country club?" Mack echoed, a frown creasing her forehead. "Why're you going to one of those?"

"We met this couple when we went golfing, the Powells, and they invited us to come! They're such nice people, and they've got a son about your age, Rosie. Maybe we can all meet each other for dinner someday."

"That sounds nice," I agreed easily.

Mack was scowling. "If we have dinner with them, we're not going to the country club, right?" I had to stifle my laughter at the look on her face. She was probably wary of going to some high-end restaurant that resembled the club she went to cotillion at.

When she had been in sixth and seventh grade, our parents forced her to go to "Maria's Cotillion" three times a week, where she learned how to ballroom dance, walk in heels, have perfect posture, how to eat properly with the correct utensils, the list went on and on. Of course, as soon as Mom and Dad pulled her out of it, she immediately ceased doing all of those things. Such a rebellious child.