Because this book is now published, content stops after chapter twenty. Please proceed with this information in mind.
T h r e e
When Mrs. Westfield announced she had a headache, the officers agreed that it would be best to put the situation on hold until the following morning. The adults seemed to have no problem getting back to their normal routines, like none of the handcuff business never happened. Ryder and I, on the other hand, weren't so fortunate to forget the issue.
"Suck in your bum cheeks!" Ryder ordered, awkwardly trying to push on my backside.
We were in a seriously uncomfortable position. There I was, my butt casually hanging out the driver's side of his little Porsche while he was screaming at me to suck my bum cheeks in. Since our wrists were still chained together, my hand was on the driver's side chair, Ryder's hand forced to move with mine, so we were pretty much cheek to cheek. Well, butt cheek to face cheek anyways.
We had been yelling at each other for ten minutes, just trying to squeeze into the compacted space of the vehicle. The dude obviously had never been in the situation I was in, because he evidently didn't know how impossible it was to suck in your butt cheeks.
"Ryder," I said, attempting to clench my bum muscles together, "I'm trying to suck it, okay? I mean, I'm sucking in places I didn't even know I could suck!"
He shoved my butt one last time and sighed. Finally taking his hand off me, I crawled out of the little space of his car, ungracefully knocking my elbow into the chair and accidentally smacking my hand onto the horn. When I was out, I rolled my chained wrist, trying to relieve the pain it was going through.
"We need to take a bus," I declared. "Admit it; we aren't going to get into your little Batmobile."
"We can't just leave my baby here!" he argued, running his hand over the sleek, black coat of his car.
"How do you suggest we go home then?" I hissed.
Ryder looked over his shoulder just to glare at me before his fingers slowly slid off the car's edge. Reluctantly, he picked up his bag from the top of his Porsche and swung it over his shoulder. He looked extremely displeased, but he knew it was the only way to get out of there.
Together, we caught the next bus on our way home. Well, to my home. We agreed it would be best if we went to my house for the night, while my parents were on a week-long vacation for their anniversary. So, while they were chilling on the beach in California being lazy boobs, I was stuck here chained to a boob.
It was a short ride home, considering it was the last bus and didn't have many people. We departed the vehicle on the fourth stop, right at the corner of my street. A few primary students had gotten off the bus with us. As soon as their feet hit the footpath, they raced down the hill, squealing in joy. I watched and smiled, remembering when Ryder and I used to do the exact same thing.
"Remember how Mr. Nelson used to yell at us when we raced down this hill?" Ryder piped in, as if he had been having flashbacks about our childhood friendship too.
"I remember," I answered, a grin stretching out over my face. "He used to come out in his bathrobe and fluffy slippers just to wave his newspaper around and scream at us."
Ryder let out a chuckle; the kind of deep, passionate laugh that rumbled in his throat and reached his eyes. "Man, that dude was psycho."
For a brief thirty seconds, the popular, arrogant football captain I had gone through hell in high school with, dimmed down to the sweet, friendly guy I used to call my best friend. Not that I wanted our friendship back. Pah-lease. I had moved on from our childhood and matured enough to realise that Ryder was naturally a jerk.
"Speak of the devil," I said, directing my attention back to the road and nodding ahead where Mr. Nelson was charging towards the kids in his white bathrobe, newspaper in hand. "He's probably going to smack the fun right out of those kids."
We watched as he waved the rolled newspaper in his curled fist like an angry member of a mob. His slippers slapped against the path as he ran towards the kids. But to my surprise, he completely passed them, hardly acknowledging their 'annoying disturbance' -as he described it to us as kids- and charged on ahead. Eyes widening, I realised he was aiming towards us, determined, icy eyes glaring.
I froze just as Ryder did. "What's he do-"
And that's when Mr. Nelson tackled us to the ground. He screamed like a mad man as he grabbed Ryder and threw him to the floor. Because I was chained to him, I went crashing down with them; rolling around on the grass of a random yard as our limbs tangled.
My face was smushed into someone's armpit, arms and legs intertwined with the other two bodies. Gasping for air, I popped my head out of the mess in time to see Mr. Nelson straddling Ryder and smacking him with the newspaper.
"Criminal! Criminal!" he yelled, as he continued to slap him.
"Nora!" Ryder yelled desperately. "I don't think he's wearing anything under that robe!"
"Mary! Call the police!" Mr. Nelson ordered as his wife came rushing up with a tray of cookies in her hands. "These must be the criminals they've been talking about on the radio!"
"George," Mrs. Nelson soothed, "those are high school kids, not jailbreak prisoners. Get off them this instant."
Her voice was soft, but compelling and Mr. Nelson found himself rolling off Ryder's back in a heartbeat. When he thought his wife wasn't watching, he smacked the back of Ryder's head once more before fully standing to adjust his robe. Mrs. Nelson shoved the tray of cookies into her husband's hands and hurried over to help us up.
Once we were on our feet and brushed the dirt of our uniforms, Mrs. Nelson grabbed a few warm cookies from her tray and handed them over.
"I'm sorry about Mr. Nelson, dears," she said, as we took the treats from her fragile hands. "He's been obsessing over these silly police reports. It's been scaring all the kids around here."
I nibbled on the cookie while Mrs. Nelson complained about her husband. The dough was warm and moist, the sweet sensation engulfing me in a wave of delight as I continued to munch on the treat. Melted bites of chocolate oozed out of the cookie like sugary lava. Once I had finished, I licked the crumbs and chocolate stains off my fingers and looked over at Ryder; his cookie long gone.
"Well, we should be off, dears," she said, pinching our cheeks before rushing off to Mr. Nelson.
As we watched them depart, Ryder mumbled, "Damn, that was one amazing cookie..."
I nodded in agreement and we continued on our way back home. We didn't repeat the Mr. Nelson incident. It was as if the cookies had washed away any weirdness and had settled with a reassuring calmness in our stomachs. It made me wonder what Mrs. Nelson had put in them.
The walk home was quiet and short, passing a total of twelve houses until we reached mine. Once I had turned the golden doorknob and entered, the soothing sound of an instructor on TV sang into my ears. Tugging Ryder along, we headed towards the longue room where Eve was.
There she was, on her back, rolling around like a turtle that had gotten stuck on its shell. What looked even more stupid was her beach ball belly just poking out in all its eight-month-pregnancy glory. My sister made some weird sounds that resembled a whale dying before she looked up and spotted us.
She struggled to get to her feet, but once she was standing, she placed a hand on her lower back and the other on her stomach to keep her balance. Eve looked at us for a moment, her honey blonde hair falling out of her ponytail and her cheeks kissed with a rosy pink.
"Nora," she said, a little breathlessly, "you kinda got a little something-something chained to your wrist."
Thanks for noticing.
"Really?" I replied sarcastically. "I didn't realise."
Eve rolled her eyes at me and approached us, waddling around awkwardly until she reached where we were standing. She examined Ryder for second before poking him on the shoulder. "Hey, you're the Collins kid."
Ryder simply raised an eyebrow at her.
Before he could reply, Eve's eyes suddenly went wide. Her hazel orbs blew up until her eyes looked like they didn't even fit her face anymore. She looked like a cartoon character you'd see on a Sunday morning TV show. Then, she did the weirdest thing.
She started smelling Ryder.
"Eve!" I hissed in embarrassment. "What are you doing?"
"I smell ham!" she replied, latching onto Ryder's bag like a total psycho. "I haven't had ham in hours!"
He quickly shrugged off his back and tossed it over to my sister. Eve continued to rummage through his things until she found a ham sandwich. Shoving his belongings back into his arms, Eve cooed at the snack in delight and disappeared into the kitchen.
"You're sister is so weird," Ryder grumbled, zipping up his bag.
"It's just the pregnancy," I answered as I directed us towards the stairs. "She eats everything now and she acts like an animal."
"No," Ryder corrected, "she was weird before then too."
It was sad, but true so I didn't bother defending my sister. Once we had reached the top of the stairs, we entered my room. My really messy room. I cringed at the piles of clothes that covered the floor and the unmade bed. Realising there was a random bra hanging on the edge of my desk chair; I latched onto it, pulling Ryder along with me.
He grunted from the unexpected force and scanned my room. "You haven't changed."
I saw a flash of remembrance spark up in his faded blue eyes. It made his eyes light up and even though his lips didn't arch into a smile, I could almost, faintly, see it in his cerulean eyes. But once I blinked, his eyes were back to their normal, casual stare of boredom.
"So, where am I supposed to sleep tonight?" he questioned, casually sweeping his hand towards my bed.
That was when I decided it was going to be a really long night.