Companion

Chapter 3: Penny and Nate

I wake up at about six. I walk downstairs as quietly as I can, staying focused on the kitchen, not wanting any part of Edge's actions. I make myself a bowl of cereal. Someone stirs for a couple of minutes, then the door opens and shuts.

I sit at the dining table next to the windows looking out into the shared yard. There's a cement basketball court. A hedge separates the cement from the grass field. Next to the grass field is a swimming pool. Right outside the window is a patio with a couch and armchairs, and a table surrounded by chairs. I consider grabbing a sweater and sitting outside.

I get up, open the front door, and grab the newspaper waiting on the porch. I sit back down to my cereal and pull out the comics and games section.

"Oh my god. You actually read the newspaper?"

"I mean, not the smart sections," I say. I get up, open a drawer, and find a pen. I sit down and begin the word scrambles.

"Jesus! You're like an old man!" Edge cries, throwing his arms up. I just smile and keep reading. He makes himself a bowl of cereal as well, and sits across from me at the table.

"So, you gonna ask me about last night or what?" Edge asks bluntly.

"Nope!" I answer nonchalantly.

"Seriously?"

"I really would rather not know."

"'Kay," Edge says. We eat in silence for a while.

"I can take you with me tonight, if you want," Edge offers.

"Um, I have class tomorrow and you have training!" I return, shocked. Edge scoffs.

"Like I'm actually gonna go," he says, rolling his eyes. I sigh, shaking my head. Edge takes the sports page out of the newspaper.

"Look who's an old man now," I mutter, smirking. Edge rolls his eyes again.

"We need more entertainment," Edge mutters.

"We need to go to class," I return, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

"I've already been through all of this. I don't need to do it again," Edge says, never taking his eyes off the paper. Done with my cereal, I get up and put my bowl in the sink.

"Suit yourself," I say, then go up the stairs back to my room.

+++++

The door to the attic is in my room. I decide on a whim to make it my study room and hideout. I pull on the knotted and tangled old string, the door opens, and stairs come shooting out. I catch the bottom rung and slide them down carefully. I cover my nose and mouth for a couple of seconds to keep from inhaling the clouds of dust. I climb up.

It's dark. I find a light switch and flip it, turning on the lightbulb attached to the ceiling. Boxes line the walls. I sigh. I have a lot of work ahead of me. I decide to work from left to right.

I drag a box to the center of the room. Praying for no spiders, I open it up. Clothes. A boy's clothes. I push the box to the side. Maybe, just maybe, I'll ask Edge to help later to see if he wants them. The next box I pull out is full of girl clothes. I go through them. They all seem to be in good condition. I pull out blouses, skirts, jeans, sweats, dresses, and inspect them. The ones I want to keep, I fold and set on top of the other box. The others, I set on the floor next to me. When I'm done with the box, I put the excess clothes inside and shove it next to the other box. I grab the clothes to keep.

Where the boxes had been, I find a long post of wood with a nail sticking out of it. It looks intentional. I drop it down the ladder, drop the clothes after it, and then I climb down the ladder. I grab the post and hook the nail on the bottom rung, push the ladder up and shut the door with the end of the stick. Tossing the stick in my closet, I gather the clothes off the floor and waddle downstairs, trying not to leave a trail of stray clothes behind me. I can see Edge's legs on the couch behind the pile of clothes. I stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"Can you take me to the laundry room? I need people to open the doors for me," I say. I hear Edge sigh, get up, and walk past me. I follow him, and I hear him shaking open a garbage bag.

"Here," he directs. I dump the clothes inside. Then he walk back to the couch. I exit out the back door, between the table and the cabinets. I walk down our bank of town houses to the side yard, where there is a huge shed. I open the door and walk inside.

One side of the shed are five washers, and on the opposite wall are five dryers. Across the center of the room between, are three lines strung from wall to wall for hang-drying. I dump the clothes into the washer, add the soap and softener, and turn it on. I pull a folding chair and sit by the washing machine with my legs folded under me.

After about ten minutes of dull waiting, the door opens. A boy and girl enter, carrying their laundry in together. I inspect a fake hangnail as they shove the clothes inside the remaining washers.

"Hey, you're new, right?" The girl asks. I look up at her standing about a foot in front of me, and I nod.

"I'm Penny. And that's Nate," she introduces, shaking my hand.

"I'm Hunter," I return.

"Who's your Companion?" Penny asks as she puts the detergent and softener in the washer.

"Edge," I say warily, afraid of how they'll react. Penny freezes for a few seconds, then shuts the lid to the machine.

"How does that work?" Nate asks.

"What'd you mean?" I ask in return.

"I mean, you're fifteen, right? And he's seventeen. He's already gone through training and stuff, but you haven't. So how does that work?"

"I-I don't actually know," I respond thoughtfully, "I can't say I've really given it much thought."

"Just--promise me you'll be careful around him, okay?" Penny shuts the lid of the second machine. I instinctively touch the corner of the bandage that is still on my face. I can probably take it off now.

"Yeah. Okay," I agree, "Um, what happened to Edge's first Companion?"

"No one really knows," Nate says nonchalantly, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Of course, there's the rumor that Edge killed his Companion with his bare hands. Or they were on a Mission and Edge's plans were accidentally wrong, but more say it was on purpose."

"Of course," Penny sighs, pushing herself up to sit on top of the washer, "And it's not too difficult to believe."

"No," I mumble, again fingering the bandage, "it's not."