I'll Take A Bullet For You

Chapter 10

**Two Weeks Later**

        Ruth got her car back a week ago, and she's been riding it everyday. Today was an early-release day for school, so I got home at around noon. Ruth went outside to shop for groceries. That leaves me alone at home.

        I'm on the dining table, doodling in the sketchbook I got years ago for my birthday. I'm drawing a bird with its wings wide. Obviously I don't have my own imagination for this because I have my phone on the table with the picture. Copying and drawing and erasing and repeat. Occasionally, I eat a grape from the bowl I've set aside as I draw.

        A while ago, Hailee texted me about her homework and I told her I had it completed. But what Hailee asked me in another text surprised me. She sent me pictures of several dresses and asked me which one she would look the best in. Apparently, she had a date with Lane. I was happy she asked for my opinion, and involved me as a friend.

        After I'm content with my bird and the shades I used, I run upstairs to my bedroom to get pencil crayons. Just when I put the crayon box on the table, the bell rings. Ruth must be back. 

        I open the door and stand motionless at the figure in front me. Alistair's wearing a sweater with the hood up, and bits of his hair stick out at his forehead. Why's he here?

        "Hey," he says, and a light white fog comes out of his mouth. "Bringing back the basket." In his hands, he's holding the basket Ruth had me give him last week. It's empty so I guess he liked the muffins. I take the basket from him and his eyes drop to survey me. My hair is a mess and I'm wearing hideous clothes. Just great. 

        "You okay with Ruth giving you something every week?" I ask, trying to lessen the awkwardness. 

        "If she's okay with it." He rubs his hands together. I want him to come in but I don't know if I should. It doesn't look like he's gonna leave until I tell him to. I don't want him to leave. 

        "Um, it's cold outside, isn't it?" I say. It's a stupid question. Of course it is. "You wanna come inside?" Alistair squints, not really answering. The sun is shining behind him, making his eyes look a dirty green. I step aside and with some hesitation, he comes inside. 

        "Are you the only one in the house?" he asks when I close the door. 

        "Yeah. My parents are at work, Ruth is outside, and Kallen's at college," I say, going to the area between the dining table and kitchen. It's separated with a granite island. "Do you want anything to eat?"

        "What do you have?" he asks, zipping down his sweater. I walk around the island and browse the cabinets. It's the first time Alistair's in my house and not because of some assignment or project. I'm gonna try my best to make him feel welcome, but once again, I don't know his expectations. "Are those Dunkaroos?"

        I shut the cabinet door and look back. "Not really..." He raises an eyebrow and I sigh, reopening it. "I don't bring them to school." I still love eating them. Alistair comes up beside me and grabs one of the packets. He peels the top and asks for the recycling bin. "Are you trying to be polite?" I ask.

        "No." He pops one of the little biscuits into his mouth. "I heard they were popular when I was younger. Never got to eat one of them." I'm gawking. Alistair has never had Dunkaroos before? "Just in case you're wondering, I've never eaten Gushers, Cheese Strings, Rice Krispies, or those roll things." 

        "Fruit Roll-Ups?" I'm amazed when he says yes. "Are you joking?" He sounds legit and I can't imagine it. He's never had those before? Not even one? "What about chips like Lays and Doritos?"

        "Yes, I had those," he says. "I don't eat a lot of junk food from stores." He brings the Dunkaroos in front of his face. "I like these." My lips break into a smile and I reach for more cabinets. I have a lot of junk food, half of it barely even done. I bring out Cheetos, Bear Paws, Reese Cups, and Oreos. "I've had Oreos," Alistair tells me.

        "Did you go to Dairy Queen before?" I ask. He shrugs, which I take as a no. "They crunch Oreos into bits and make it into a milkshake or something like that. It tastes amazing but I've never asked Ruth to try making it." 

        "Do you have a blender?" He takes the Oreos in his hand and I'm kind of dumbfounded. I nod. He finishes the last biscuit and throws the Dunkaroos packet away. "We can make it now." Now? "I'm good with blenders." I don't know what to say and my mouth is deadpan. I show him where everything is and help him set up the station. He tells me to wait to the side as he begins making it.

        Watching him, he seems to know the recipe by heart. His hands are deft, surprisingly. I've never seen someone work in the kitchen this neatly, and this methodically other than those talented chefs on TV. 

        "Where are the glasses?" he asks, turning around. I'm shook from my trance and I point at the cabinet right above his head. He's done in five minutes. Just five minutes. He gives me one of the glasses. I keep staring at it. "Are you going to drink it?" Alistair says. I do.

        "It's amazing," I say. "How do you know to do it so well?" 

        "I guess I just have a lot of experience," he answers. He tried his own drink and looks at it. "You don't think it's too sweet?" I shake my head. "Does Dairy Queen make it this sweet? It's certainly not for me." I laugh, wondering how many places this guys hasn't went. It makes me want to show him one day. Maybe. "Hey," Alistair says.

        "Mhm?" I take a huge sip. 

        "I like your laugh." My stomach twists into knots, my cheeks turning pink when I try to thank him. No one has complimented me in a while. And him in particular. "What's that?" he changes the topic, walking to the dining table. He looks down at my drawing.

        "A bird," I answer, following him and sitting on the chair. "I have to colour it." 

        "Mind if I help?" he says. I shake my head and he drags a chair next to me, taking his sweater off and putting it on the backrest. We copy the colours from the picture on the phone. When I sneak a look at Alistair, he's focused on the drawing. 

        Alistair is pretty good at colouring. Even better than me. He uses more shades than I do, blends everything together better than I do, outlines better than I do, and makes it look more real. Envy fills inside my body, but it's a good feeling. I would've had him do the entire bird but it's almost done being coloured. It's beautiful. 

        Alistair drops his arms and folds them on the table, bending over. His hair almost touches my face when he points at a slightly lighter coloured area on the page.

        "Make this darker," he tells me. I use a matching pencil crayon and fill it in. He taps his finger on another spot. "Add green here." For two aimless minutes, he points at pointless places on the drawing to fill with colour. His warm breath hits me whenever he speaks and I obey to colour wherever he points. 

        The bell rings and Alistair sits back, making me feel cold. I stand and go to open it, a little dizzy. Ruth is home and she hugs me. I help her with one of the grocery bags and we go into the kitchen.

        "Oh, Alistair," Ruth says, surprised as she notices him. 

        "I came to return the basket," he lets her know. 

        Ruth nods and looks at me.  "I'm glad you stopped to spend some time with my niece. She's always alone in the house."

        "Ruth!" I hiss. Alistair gives me a look. 

        "Where are her friends?" he asks. Ruth tells him they hardly ever talk to me. I want to bury a hole and hide in it. She's doing everything she possibly can to make this awkward and uncomfortable for both of us. I was more than happy when she left.

        Alistair stays for more than an hour, and I find it more fun and relaxing in the house with him there. 

        "Hey," I press my hands to the table, looking at him. "You don't have to stay here for this long. I don't want to force you, and Ruth...well she can keep you overnight if you let her. So, say something." Alistair brushes aside the hair falling in his eyes. 

        "I don't mind staying here," he says. "And also, I don't want them bothering me." 

        I glance out the window as two cars coincidentally pull up beside Alistair's own car. We both watch in silence as Mathias, Jarvis, and Curtis come out and go to the porch. When no one answers the doorbell, they start to talk to each other. After a minute or so, Alistair's phone rings.

        "f**k," Alistair scowls, pulling it out. "I have to come up with an excuse." 

        "Don't pick it up," I say. He rubs his forehead. "Don't pick it up. Call after thirty minutes and tell them you were taking a shower," I suggest. Alistair tosses his phone on the table and walks to the window. "Alistair, what's going on? Why don't you want them to come to your house?" 

        "Don't ask me that," he says. I start to protest but he turns his head to me. "You out of all the people; don't ask me that." What does that mean? I don't want to anger him, or annoy him. 

        "Okay," I mumble. Alistair furrows his brows.

        "I don't mea--s**t!" Alistair exclaims when he sees the three coming towards my house. "s**t, s**t, s**t! Is there a back door or like a backyard? I need to get out now." I'm scared at his sudden outburst but lead him to my backyard. He practically sprints to the wooden fence and jumps and clings to the top like a kangaroo. "Listen." His voice is filled with urgency. "If they ask you anything about me, say you don't know what they're talking about. Act normal. I'll ask you about it tomorrow." He pauses impatiently, taking a second to note my expression. "Sorry about this. Okay?"

        He jumps off the other side and that's it; he disappears.