forget-me-nots [h.s.]

three

Fall 2010 

"Where did you say you were going?" My mother asked.

I looked up from packing my backpack. Dallas and her were washing and drying the dishes from last night. The sound of plates clacking together and water sloshing rose from the sink. My father had hardly looked up from his newspaper, but I could tell he was no longer reading the words on the page. He was secretly listening as he sipped his coffee.

"Harry's." I said curtly.

"Harry?" My mother prodded with a sly smile. She had stopped washing and turned to me. "A boy?"

"No, Mom, a chicken--yes, a boy." I retorted as I shoved my history textbook into my bag.

"Don't sass your mother, Violet." My father grumbled from behind the morning news. He folded the paper neatly and placed it in front of him before looking up at me. "How well do you know this boy? He could be a serial killer."

"Hardly, Malcom," my mother scolded. "I'm sure he is a sweet boy."

"Let her answer the question," my father huffed as he gestured to me.

"He is in my class," I said in short, trying to abate anymore questioning. "Diana knows him too."

"Well, we don't know him," my father grumbled.

"And you probably never will," I said haughtily under my breath.

"What?" My father asked with his brows raised—clearly he had heard what I said and was giving me a second chance.

"We are just studying for our history test on Monday." I said as I zipped up my backpack.

"Harry," Dallas mumbled, testing the name on his lips. "Is that the same boy that keeps calling the land-line for you?"

"Dallas!" I exclaimed. "Traitor."

"Late night calls?" My mother chuckled. "Does my daughter have a suitor?"

"No," I rushed out, my cheeks flaming. "We just have a class together and we are friends...that's it."

"If you say so," Dallas mumbled. I glared at him which earned a laugh from my parents.

"I'm leaving now," I told them as I grabbed my car keys and headed out the door.

...

Harry didn't live too far from me. In fact, he was almost my neighbor—considering our neighbors were a few miles away. Like mine, there was a gate at the front of his property, the road to his house was lined in large oak trees and it was beautiful. There was something about trees that I loved—maybe it was the history, or maybe it was the urge to climb them, I didn't know.

I parked and slung my backpack on my shoulder before stepping up to the front porch. I didn't know why my stomach felt so uneasy—we were just studying. I knocked on the front door and a few moments later it opened to reveal a dark haired woman. Her brows furrowed as she found me on her front step.

"Can I help you?" She asked in a sweet voice.

I felt flustered. "Does Harry live here?"

"He does." The woman told me. Thankfully, Harry came down the stairs at that moment.

"Mom, who is at the door—Vi?" He stopped mid-step and stared at me. "Oh shit."

"Harry!" His mother exclaimed. "Language."

"Sorry," he mumbled before coming to the door way. "I'm so sorry Vi, I forgot you were coming."

"It is okay, we can always rain-check—"