Disclosed Truce

Tree House Slumber

Bristle Millain quickly shut the patio door, before rushing to the fence and opening it. On the other end was darkness, and her neighbor across the street having a smoke. She lowered to the ground, hoping he didn't spot her. Everyone in her neighborhood-town, knew everyone, so he would surely let her parents know he saw her out at ten o'clock at night. Resulting in Bristle being chastised.

The man took three more puffs, before flicking the cigarette into the yard. He stretched his arms out wide, taking a step to his three step staircase. Bristle groaned, he couldn't stay outside. She needed to make sure no one spotted her friends.

Smiling, Bristle thought of something. Scooting closer to the fence, Bristle pulled out her flip phone, then dialed Mr. Harris' number. Of course she pressed star six seven. Peeking over, while her phone rang in ear, she watched as it didn't take long for his phone to ring to life.

Mr. Harris pulled his phone from his pocket. She could see the clear hesitation, but he answered anyways.

With a roll of her tongue and five years of YouTube, Bristle used her best Latin accent, "Mr. Harris, due to recent burglaries," Bristle smirked to herself, "we are advising our residents to double check locking all windows and doors."

A pause. Longer than Bristle preferred. "And you're calling from where?"

She could say across the street, in their town Chesterland, or her favorite choice: "Why Mexico, sir."

Deep laughter erupted. "This is USA. How do you people find my number anyhow?" Mr. Harris disconnected the call, then placed his phone in his pocket.

His head swung in Bristle's direction. Her body flew back, causing her to land on the damp ground. Great, just great.

Afraid to move, she clutched her breath, halting movements. Her forehead began to heat, the urge to wipe at it and bite her nails became overwhelming, yet she kept still. Few moments passed with no signs of Mr. Harris' awareness of Bristle's deviance.

Her gloved hands posed her body upward, as she peeped beside the fence.

To her relief, he was no longer outside.

The night sky's beauty was no match to the cool air that came with it. Of course she'd wet her clothes on a wintry November night. It wouldn't be her if she executed a plan with no flaws. There was always a setback with me, Bristle thought.

Her body shivered, reminding her of how cold it was. Tucking her sandy blond hair under her blue and pink wool hat, Bristle scanned the quiet neighborhood. The street lights showed only a few cars parked at the curbs. Most lights were on.

It was the beginning of Thanksgiving break. Most people were probably preparing for their vacation or just enjoying a week away from school. She didn't blame them.

Six houses down a small figure emerged. Instead of feeling fear, Bristle's chapped lips split into a delighted smile.

The person hustled down the sidewalk, shoes making an echoed sound. As they neared, Bristle's body trembled from excitement and being cold.

Their secret slumber party was a go.

When the figure drew close enough, Bristle's feet slapped against the concrete as she rushed to her friend.

"Thank God you're here. I was about to die of coldness," she examined her close friend, shaking her head, "of course you'd be the one to wear overalled ski pants...got an extra one?"

Bristle's friend, Michelle Bachlee, rolled her eyes, "Well it is cold out here. I have an extra coat, too. Mom always said it's never a bad thing to be extra prepared, better packed than sorry," her dark brown eyes examined Bristle, widening when getting to the lower half, "you're wet."