I'll Take A Bullet For You

There are some people out there in the world, that you can never fully understand. All the power in the world can't pry their guards down, and it makes you wonder, what actually will? It's kind of strange, how in my life so far, I've encountered such people. Kallen told me to ignore them all. Ever since I was little, it's the same thing: Look down and walk away. It's not that easy. And he doesn't understand me. He never did.          Ruth is calling from downstairs, the voice of a calm, parent-like call. My parents aren't like that, and unfortunately, Ruth isn't my mother. Ruth Paytas. The young woman with red hair, cherishing smile, friendly eyes, and a highly optimistic mind. She was a caring hand in my life. I love her.          Kallen's car needs to be washed; he needs it clean for a date he's going to sometime later on. My body is tired that dull, late- summer afternoon. School started a few weeks ago, but the pile of papers on my bed only grows bigger. On top of that, I still have to do Hailee's and Lena's homework. They never stop requesting me, and I never stop doing. I met them at the beginning of school, my new batch of friends. It's oddly sickening to know my friendships don't last for more than a full school year. It isn't me, but somehow, they all snap like ropes of an abandoned bridge. That bridge has no end.         Ruth calls me again, and this time, her voice is accompanied with Kallen's. He's a couple years older than me, going to college in a different city. He also has a lot of work on his shoulders, and still has time for dates. At least his girlfriends last longer than my boyfriends.          Pulling myself off the bed, I go for the door. An old teddy bear has fallen to the ground from a white shelf against my wall, and I pick it up to put it back.          I smell muffins, blueberry to be specific. Ruth is in the kitchen, with her favourite floral apron hugging her body. My parents aren't home, they still go to work for most of the day. With them hardly at home, Ruth and Kallen are the only people that take care of me. Kallen is more strict, and a little overprotective for the wrong reasons.         "Go on, Amy," Ruth tells me. She nods towards the open front door. Light falls into the house; it's very quiet. "He won't be too happy if you don't get the job done. I left out a bucket of soap water and a sponge." Thanking her, I follow the porch steps outside under the sun shining directly above by head.          Our lawn doesn't have any trees on it like some others do. The grass is cut neatly, Ruth and I planted some flowers near the grey steps, and our driveway has neat concrete pavers. There is only one car there, a sleek, red Toyota that slightly had dirty edges around the tires and windows.                  I pick up the sponge from the bucket, looking around me at my neighbourhood. It's a nice area to live in. Not too secluded, not too noisy. But the best thing? Most of the students from Elsen High live here. Not on my street, but a couple streets away. There's only one person from school that lives on my street.          As I wipe the windows of the car, my eyes slowly slide to the house across from mine. It's on the other side of the road, with a large tree looming over the lawn. The leaves cover the first window of the house and the door of the porch, but that isn't what I look at. Under the shade of the tree is a yellow beach chair, and a small stand beside it. The person lying on the chair has a drink in his hand, the straw between his lips. A hat covers his eyes and shadows half of his face. From afar, I can't see much but I can recognize him any day. Out of all the people in my high school, he has to be the one living right across from me. And him in particular.         He lifts his head. The shadows leave his face as he stares directly at me. I look away quicker than I mean to, rubbing at the car window with more exertion. His name is Alistair Carlson. I know because he's been living in that house for years. Not only that, we went to the same schools since kindergarten. Never have we once talked to one another, but we have exchanged a lot of looks before.          He's kind of strange. He's one of those out-of-the-world people you wonder about. You imagine the kind of intentions they have, or what it will be like if you try to understand them. Alistair remains that different person in school, and even now on his lawn.          It takes a while for my thoughts to change course, and I have to get the hose to wash off the car. I quickly walk towards the back of the house, jumping over the fence of our backyard and grabbing the head of the hose. I direct it towards the car and a droplet dribbles down. I press the nozzle several times before turning it around. I squeeze it tightly once again and water hits my face. Gasping, I drop the hose and cough in surprise. A second later, I realize I just embarrassed myself. I avoid looking towards Alistair and pick up the hose, wiping a hand across my face.          The door to my porch opens and I hear footsteps before Kallen appears to the side of his car. His gaze turns to the house opposite to ours, a crease appearing on his forehead. Kallen snatches the hose from my hands.          "Get inside," he says darkly. Before I can ask him why, he answers. "The Black Cat is there and I don't want him to look at you." Kallen is talking about Alistair. He's formed a nickname for him, believes he will cause some sort of bad luck. He doesn't like me anywhere near Alistair, and I can guess why.         For seventeen years, for as long as I can remember, Alistair and his family lived across from us. They never talked to us, never replied when we greeted them. When Alistair turned fourteen, I never saw his parents again. To this day, I don't know if his parents died or moved out, or something. They just disappeared. Now there's only one car parked on their driveway. It belongs to Alistair.          He's usually seen alone around his house, and sometimes, I see his weird friends dropping by. Kallen calls all four of them the Black Cat pack. A part of me just won't agree to call them that, though. I still remember that day when we were little, it was the middle of junior kindergarten when Alistair joined the school, and I already felt as if he was different from everyone else. He used to be alone on the playground, hands in his pocket and looking. He stared the same way he did now, eyes full of thought, unfazed and very focused.          That day, I went to him. He was surprised when I called his name, probably because I didn't know how to pronounce it very well. With the friendliest voice I could manage as a five-year-old, I asked him if he wanted to play with me. He didn't answer. He didn't say anything for five whole minutes and kept staring at me. From that day on, I never talked to him again. Instead, I wondered about him. I was curious about him. I didn't know what his deal was. Even though I know nothing about him, I feel as if I understand him to the depths of my heart. It has been confusing. He's unavoidable.          When I go back inside, a stronger smell of blueberry hits me. Ruth tells me to call Kallen so we can have milk a muffins. She has a deranged schedule for our meals. I go upstairs to complete my homework, but I slide the curtains to my window aside. From up here, I can see Kallen watering down his car and I can also see Alistair sipping his drink. This time, he has put on sunglasses so I don't know where he's looking. Why am I caring anyway? I let the curtain fall back and resume sprawling on my bed with a pencil in my hand. Ruth calls me to eat something but I tell her I'm not hungry. Which is a lie. Once I start thinking about something, I don't stop till a very long time. And if I start thinking about Alistair Carlson, I can never stop.          It's night when I go down to have dinner. My parents are home from work, and I can hear their voices and shuffling downstairs. My father had ginger hair whereas my mother's hair is red similar to Ruth's, and both have hazel eyes. Kallen has the same features, but his locks are a milk chocolate and much curlier. Me? Well, my hair is a more light and delicate brown, wavy and falling down my back. I didn't get my parents' genes on a tall height nor a round face structure. Out of all three, I must also have the darkest eyes the colour of almonds. They're lifeless, tired even.          My parents don't realize I'm here. My dad hangs his coat on a black rack beside the large shoe closet. He passes by and heads upstairs without giving me a smile of greeting. In the kitchen, my mom is talking to Ruth about what we ate for lunch. She too, fails to notice me when I go to the sink to wash my hands. Her five-inch heels turn before she leaves the kitchen.         "Hi mom!" I say before she does. My mother looks at me, nods. "So, busy day?" She nods again. "I got my bio mark, if you want to know..." I tap my index fingers together, staring at the ground.         "Ruth, set the table as Harry and I get freshened up," she says. She doesn't look at me when she disappears into the hall. I sigh and lean back against the counter.          Ruth gives me a small, reassuring smile. "You okay, there?" I reply by saying yes. I don't want Ruth to worry about me. From the day I was born, up to this day, she's been the only person that talked to me with affection, love, and understanding. She was in high school when I was born, and now, she's in her late twenties. She's very young, can get a good future and move out of this house, but she doesn't. She's here for me, and she even told me so. She's my mother's sister.          Dinner goes by silently. Kallen has a textbook on the table, my parents whisper to each other, and Ruth is taking a shower. My food tastes plain, not too good and not too bad. If someone talks to me, it might taste better. I have my phone beside my plate, checking to see if I have any notifications. I don't. Hailee and Lena rarely text me. If they do, it's usually something about the homework. I'm quite good at fulfilling people's needs.         It's ten by the time I go to bed. The lights are switched off in my room, curtains open and shadows of passing cars flitting on my walls. My bed is against the window, so I am able to look out with the covers over me. I don't know what I'm particularly looking at. Sleep doesn't fall on me yet, and I feel as though something's missing. Is it my homework? Is it doing some kind of chore? Did I forget to make my parents' bed? That's probably it.          I sigh. Those people I thought about earlier, and how no one can really understand them, it might be true. I find myself being in that category, but it's highly impossible. I am vulnerable. I don't like upsetting people, or hurting them. I adapt a lot. And get used to it, as Kallen always says. As a big brother, I don't know if he's supposed to say things like that in such a careless way. I take them to heart. After Ruth, it's Kallen who actually talks to me. Do my parents treat him the same way they treat me? I don't know. They are very busy people and don't have time to spend with their children. I shouldn't pressure them too much and be a pain.         My eyes focus on the house I see outside the window. It's dark. I see the lights turned on in the other house, and see him in his room walking in and out. He always forgets to close his curtains until he sleeps. He does that everyday. I watch him, and look away when I have to. Always, I always look for someone else in his house. I don't see his parents.         Alistair stops and looks at his window. I duck, even if he can't see me. When I lift, his lights are off. I sigh again. Strange guy. Lying on my bed and curling up in my covers, I close my eyes and await the Monday I have to go back to school.