Forever Treehouse

Chapter 1

"You shouldn't hold it like that." The pretty girl says. I sigh, dropping the hammer. I wipe sweat from my forehead. "Look, I appreciate you trying to assist, but I don't need help." I grumble, trying not to sound mean. I grab climb up the ladder, just to see if it was secure. My right arm clutched the last rung and it snapped off. This caused three more rungs to snap, making me fall off completely. I landed hard on my back. My head and body had landed on soft grass. My left hand wasn't so lucky. It hit super hard against a rock. Broken? No, but it might as well have. I kept my eyes shut, trying to focus on shutting the pain out. I open my eyes after several seconds and see the pretty girl looking down at me, hands pressed against her kneecaps. "What did I tell you?" She asks, raising an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. I groan and sit up. I throw a broken rung aside, which made my hand hurt like hell. I stood up and stared down at her. I softly slap my gloves against her left shoulder and I put my left hand on my hip, which also hurt. "I don't have time for this. How old are you? Fourteen, maybe? Well, go check your Twitter or something." I say, kindly. She chuckles. "Don't have Twitter or any social media. Not all families are rich like yours."
"Rich? Haha, very funny. My parents are divorced and my dad has to pay for my school fees of $15,000 a year! Think about how much money he would have left after only earning $20,000 a year!"
"That's good. He cares about you so much that he pays a school 75% of his earnings for your education."
That threw me for a second. "Name?"
"Chelsea Hank."
I grin. "Well, Chelsea Hank, what ever happened to Don't Talk To Strangers?" I ask, almost mocking her over nothing. I start picking up broken rung parts. "I personally do it so I can meet new friends." She sighs, also picking up rungs. I raise an eyebrow. "I could be a pedophile for all you know." I respond, snatching the rungs from her.
"I'm not fourteen, I'm sixteen. You look sixteen too. If you were a pedophile, You pose no threat to me, besides kidnapping, murder etc."
Good point. "You're good at this."
"Oh really? Do you really want to know how good I am?"
"Yep, go ahead."
"Hmm...you're sixteen...you're name is either Mark or Marcus. You were autistic for three years. You're adopted...and you said your parents were divorced. I'm guessing your biological parents are bad people and that at least one of them are in jail. You were the smallest kid in sixth grade but the tallest in seventh grade to present. Your favourite colour is...blue?"
I was impressed. "Wrong, blue isn't my favourite."
"Then what?"
"Red." I lie. Blue was my favourite. She was creepy, but she seemed nice. She has wavy strawberry blonde hair, chocolate brown eyes and she looked extremely fit. She wore a light blue and white checked shirt, navy blue jeans and a brown jacket. She just shrugged. "I know why you're building a treehouse."
"Tell me, then. Because, God, I would love to know why. I don't know why, so tell me why."
"Two reasons. The first is to escape. Escape reality. A hiding place where you can forget all the bad things and focus on the good parts of your life."
I chuckle. "Satisfying reason. But there aren't any good parts in life for me."
"But that's the second reason: you're building the treehouse so new memories and thoughts can be made and classified as the good parts of life."
Damn, she was good.