Hey guys! Here is chapter 2 :)
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A man stands before me, his face, as mask of anger – or rather what I can see of his face since a growing beard takes up most of the space. A deep frown creases his forehead in three lines and his eyebrows almost touch one another as the frown turns deeper.
"Who are you and how the hell did you get in?"
With a loud thump, the hold-all he had dangling from his shoulder hits the floor at his feet. He's prowling towards me, menacing, his hair flying next to his face like Superman's cape. It would be a beautiful sight to behold, if it weren't for the fact that he is mad at me.
I start backing away, fearing for my life. I put distance between us and hide behind the couch, letting the huge piece of furniture between us. However, it isn't so huge to him because in one swift movement, his leg comes over the headrest and in two steps – one on the couch and the other on the floor – he's standing between the couch and me.
I cast a quick look at the couch and blink. It is a huge couch. It's not my imagination.
Fingers grab my arms forcefully but his grip on me doesn't hurt. "I asked you a question," he grits out as he comes to stand right into my face.
For a moment, I am annoyed. Not with his anger, but with the beard on his face. I am not a huge fan of beards, and sometimes I have to shave my dad's in his sleep – or half shave it since he rolls around often – because he refuses to. His beard is caveman-like and I want to get my hands on a razor right now and shave it all off.
"I will not ask you a third time," he warns, his breath right into my face. I expect it to stink or reek of alcohol or something, but it smells like food. Like fast-food food.
Realizing his patience is thinning by the millisecond, I don't hesitate as I take the key from my back pocket and hold it right there in his face. His eyes slowly flick to the key before settling back on my face, as if he doesn't get it.
I almost roll my eyes at him but think it wouldn't do me much good in the situation I am in right now. So I opt for a poker face. He doesn't seem pleased by the poker face however, and this time I do roll my eyes as I am about to tell him, "I used your key, dumbass."
But I don't say that.
I have no idea why I say the next words to him, but I do. "I think you forgot to change the back door lock."
My voice is pure mockery, taunting him.
And it has the desired effect. His face turns even more murderous and he's looking at me with utter repugnance. His other hand comes to secure my other arm in a firm hold and he steps even closer to me, towering over me, and I tilt my head back to look into his eyes.
"I swear if you don't–"
"I would have called the police by now," I tell him as I raise an eyebrow at him. "Why haven't you?"
That's the normal reaction. Grab a phone and call 911. Why isn't he doing it? Not that I am hoping he does. Hopefully, Ellie can placate him. She knows him. Speaking of her, where is she when I need her?
I am about to holler her name when he cuts me off. "Trust me, you're messing with the wrong person, sweetheart."
If I was unfazed by his threatening face and his gruff attitude, the venom in his voice leaves my blood cold. He lets me go and I almost fall back in the process. He steps away from me and gives his back to me for a moment. I see his fists clenching and unclenching by his side and I realize he is trying to calm himself down.
He runs a hand through his jet-black hair and I watch as the locks fall back just below his shoulders.
"Look," I begin saying, "this is my ol–"
He whips around so fast, the rest of the sentence dies on my lips. "Get out."
It's said with much less hostility than anything he's said so far but it isn't less rude. I am tempted to comply but feel like I at least owe him an explanation as to why I am in his house.
"This used to be my house," I say as I look for a hint of surprise or interest on his face. There is none. "I just wanted to come and see it."
"What is this?" He spits out, "A fucking museum or a zoo?"
OK, he's right to be mad. I did trespass, after all. "This," I gesture to the house, "holds all of my childhood memories and–"
He gives out a bitter laugh. "I couldn't care less about your damn childhood memories." He says and starts speaking again.
However, before he can say anything, I decide to use an approach different from explaining my presence. "You must be the tenant." I say though that much is already obvious.
He looks slightly taken aback by my words, maybe not expecting the change in topics. When he remains quiet for a few more seconds, I talk closer to him and extend my hand, "I'm the landlord's daughter."
He doesn't take my hand. He doesn't even look at it. "What part of get out didn't register through that thick," he pokes the side of my head in an insulting way, "skull of yours?"
It's only now that his attitude really starts to piss me off. "You don't have to be a jackass, you know? I did trespass, yes. But I am trying to explain and if you could drop the attitude for two minutes, I would be glad." I say. Then for good measure, I add, "Asshole."
His face turns into something more ferocious than before and I am afraid for a moment. Then –
"Finally, you stopped playing!" I can almost hear the sound as Ellie's eyes roll back. "Let's –" Momentary silence. Followed by, "Yann?"
And it's almost surreal how fast it happens. The expression on the tenant's face goes from deadly to pleased in a split second and he turns away from me. In three long strides, he's away from and in front of Ellie who doesn't wait to wrap herself around him.
"It's you," she says.
He lifts her up the ground and I swear my eyebrows touch the ceiling at how shocked I am. Capable of being nice? He swings her around and her happy giggles fill the silence of the house. When he finally lets her down, she gazes up at him affectionately, her smile sincere.
"I missed you," she says.
He ruffles her hair playfully, "I missed you too, Cookie."
Cookie? Really?
At last, they seem to realize I am still here as Ellie turns to face me. I look up at Yann whose scowl is firmly back in place.
"Yann," she says as she takes him by the hand and drags him behind her, "I want you to meet Tracy."
"So, that's Tracy," he says as he looks me up and down.
I take offense to his words, angered more by those three words than by anything he has said ever since he came here. That's Tracy? What am I, a dog? Even Shelby at home – our dog – gets more respect than that.
However, Ellie doesn't look offended at all. She only rolls her eyes before saying, "Behave, Yann."
"Tracy, this is –"
But I cut her off. My anger suddenly evaporates and exhaustion takes over. "You know what? I am tired. I'll just be waiting in the car when you're done with –" I want to say something as belittling and disrespectful as he did, but asshole or jerk don't even come close to what he said.
And then I realize that I can't come up with a word because never in my life have I had to deal with people like him, I never needed to think of things like that, of words to humiliate someone.
"I'll be in the car." I say again before walking out, not looking at him once.
I climb into the passenger seat and let my head rest against the rolled-up window, eyes closed. My head is suddenly pounding with a headache and I crave the bed that's waiting for me in my guest room. I crave a good night of sleep and rest.
I hear as the door opens beside me and Ellie sits behind the wheel. "You're okay?" She asks. She dares ask.
"I'm fine," I say dismissively. "I just want to sleep."
As she drives away, I open my eyes. They open and immediately fall on the rear-view mirror and I see him.
He's standing on the front porch, hands in his – what is he wearing? Jeans, jogging pants? – pockets as he looks at the retreating car.
I don't want to see him.
I close my eyes again.
***
The next morning when I wake up, the headache is gone for the most part. I walk to the bathroom with a bundle of clothes in my hands and go take a shower. I wash my hair and decide to let it air-dry as I don a pair of jean shorts and a loose t-shirt. Barefooted, I make my way down to the kitchen.
I am not surprised to find it empty at nine in the morning. Ellie isn't a morning person. Taking out the pancake mix, I start making breakfast as the sound of the coffee brewing fills the kitchen. I start mixing the milk, the eggs and the pancake mix together.
This feels so normal, so good. Sure, while in college I didn't have to worry about the food. The food at Amherst College is great – no seriously, it is – but I do miss the insouciance of the everyday life. However, now that it's summer and now that freshman year is over, I intend to make the most of my vacation. I find it nice to have fallen back into the routine: cooking breakfast, hanging out with friends, reading. I missed it all. But above all, what I missed was playing the piano.
I forgot how good it felt to let my fingers fly over the keyboard and let the melody fill me up, seeping and finding its way into every pore of my body, infiltrating my very soul. Yes, I missed playing.
Until he arrived.
As soon as Yann creeps into my thoughts, I push him out. I will not let the bastard ruin this summer. I've worked too hard for the past two years and now is the time to relax and have fun. And that's exactly what I intend to do.
Hopefully, I won't have to see much of his face.
The more I try not to think of him, the more I find myself thinking about him nonetheless and what he's said yesterday. That's Tracy. I am still mad about it, yet that's not what bugs me right now. That's Tracy. As if he already knew my name, as if he'd already heard of me. As if Ellie told him about me. Why would she tell him about me when she never mentioned him once? I'd surely remember him. She seemed very cozy with Yann yesterday and he seems like a very close friend. So why did she never say anything?
"Hmm," a soft groaning behind me catches my attention just as I am retrieving the first pancake from the pan.
"Morning, there," I tell Ellie. "Want some pancakes?"
"Hmm," she groans again as she climbs on a stool by the counter.
"Giving you 4, that's enough for you?"
"Hmm."
When I am done loading her plate, I put it in front of her. Or rather, in front of her head that's planted face down into the counter. "There's breakfast," I tell her and go back to the fridge to get some grape juice.
"Hmm."
In case you haven't understood, the first hmm is good morning, the next two are yes and the last one is thank you.
Yeah, she's definitely not a morning person.
"I'm impatient to meet Will," I say as I dive into my pancakes. "What time are we supposed to go there?""
Now, that's a question she can't answer with a hmm.
"Hmm."
Apparently, I'm wrong. I roll my eyes at her and nudge her with my fork. Then realizing that's the fork I use to eat, I scrunch up my face, "Gross, Tracy."
Quickly replacing it with a clean fork, I take my seat back again in front of Ellie. She's now sitting up and glaring at me.
"That fork was clean, you stupid neat freak."
I scoff. "Yeah, right. Who knows where your cooties end up after you pick your nose during your sleep."
She does not pick her nose during her sleep. Not anymore. But when we were children, she used to. I learned this on my second sleepover with her. On the first sleepover, I woke up the next morning to find one tiny small fleck of something into my hair. I didn't pay much attention. However, on the second sleepover, after returning to the room from a quick trip to the bathroom, I found her picking her nose. Then with the same hand, she scratched her head.
I slept on the floor that night.
And all the nights after that until she stopped doing it.
Looking at her right now, I see her eyes widen in shock and she lunges at me in her half-asleep state. "Come here, you stupid witch!"
I make a dash for the backdoor, quickly opening it and stepping onto the recently mown grass. The blades tickle the soles of my feet endlessly and hamper my escape from Ellie.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch," I chant in pain as I try to run on my tiptoes instead.
I am about to turn around and see how far Ellie is behind when what feels like ten elephants comes hurtling at me, throwing me down and making me lose my balance in the process. I fall face first into a pool that's right before me, water splashing as I take mouthfuls of water involuntarily.
"Take that, bitch!"
Ellie chants triumphantly as we both rise to the surface for air. She throws her arms around in happiness, perfectly awake right now and I find it hard to stay mad at her. We splash each other like kids, giggling like schoolgirls and fooling around for almost half an hour, our breakfast easily forgotten.
Then, when we are spent, we let ourselves float side by side.
"I don't remember you had a pool," I tell her as I look up at the sky.
The clear blue sky seems almost transparent above us. There are no clouds to be seen, only the occasional bird flying above our heads. The quietness of the moment makes me think of the buoyancy of the city, and I can't help but wish my family and I hadn't moved. Sure, I have grown used to the noise after all this time, but I am a quiet person and I like my quiet. I like silence. But mostly I love the silence of nature. I almost decided to become an environmentalist but then decided against it and decided to major in English instead.
"Yeah, I know. Around four years ago, the heat became too unbearable and I told my dad it was annoying to have to go all the way to the river to cool it off."
I almost sink in the water at her words, too surprised. "The river!" I gasp, "I totally forgot about it." I say as I stop floating and go to the edge of the pool, climbing out.
Ellie soon comes next to me but stays in the water, "I can't believe you forgot. That was one of our favorite hangout spots!" She shakes her head at me.
"Hey, you never mentioned it to me much after I left anyways."
She shrugs with a sheepish smile. "I rarely go there, besides that one summer when everyone went there. Gosh, it was so hot!" She recalls, "My skin started peeling off."
I laugh as she gives a dramatic shudder and pushes her damp hair out of her face. Getting up, I reach out to her. "Come on, let's go. I've got someone to finally meet, remember?"
Once we are back inside the house, we finish our cold breakfast, too lazy to heat the pancakes up. After drying off, I dress quite the same way I was dressed before and put on a pair of worn-out sneakers. Ellie decides on a cute yellow summer dress that she pairs up with a pair of white sneakers and within the hour, we are out.
"Where are we meeting him again?"
It must be the tenth time within the past hour that I ask and Ellie doesn't hide her annoyance. "The café, Tracy. The café. There is one small single café in town." She says, exasperated.
I grin to myself as I watch her roll her eyes yet again. "Sorry, I keep thinking we're meeting at the barber shop."
When she realizes I've been messing with her all this time, she slaps me on my shoulder before going back to gripping the steering wheel firmly. After fifteen minutes, we're in front of a café that reads The Café. How original, I think. Then again, I don't expect much of the small town that is Harlem. I mean, there's only one café anyways. Why bother with an original name that people wouldn't even remember or be able to pronounce? It's almost smart to call it just that.
Ellie and I enter the place and take our seats in one of the corner booths, away from most of the customers. It has a very quaint feeling to it, as if this was an old house that has been renovated and turned into a café. The cream-colored walls remind me of coffee and milk and I find myself smiling at the warm décor. It truly is a nice place with the chocolate booths, the cream floor tiles and the cream-cushioned stools before the counter. All the cream and chocolate make me think of... coffee, honestly. Or coffee and milk.
We order water to begin, as we wait for Will to walk in. Each time the bell chimes – which is only twice – I lift up my head but am disappointed. I know what Will looks like, I just have to meet him yet in person.
Ellie gets annoyed that Will is late and starts typing away furiously at her phone. Meanwhile, I play with my spoon, spinning it around and around. I am about to ask her what he's saying when the spoon falls and I bend down under the table to pick it up.
The bell above the café's door chimes and I rush to look up to see if it's Will. In the process, I hit my head hard against the wood.
"Ouch," I cry out, my hand reaching out the massage the sore spot.
Then a male voice fills the air right after mine. "Sorry, I had to pick him on the way."
I've talked to Will on the phone and I know his voice. It's definitely him talking. However, I am more curious about who that mysterious him might be.
With much less haste and more carefulness, I get out from under the table, smiling up at Will and his mysterious friend.
Who isn't mysterious at all.
My smile vanishes.
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How am I doing so far? Do you like it? Let me know! Thank you for reading! <3