koektrommel

[koektrommel]

Hardest days 1.3

It had promised to be a hot day and the weather had definitely kept its word. Even the inaccurate kitchen clock seemed to suffer from the heat and struggled to reach the eleventh hour, slowly creeping to the numbers.

Not that Zach saw that, as he had already headed out in an attempt to beat the heat that had miserably failed.

He and Tara passed by the small strip mall that was a stone’s throw from their house and briefly Zach considered getting ice cream, but came to the conclusion it probably wasn't open yet. Besides, he didn’t know how much he’d have left after buying his car. He did however decided to make sure to save some money to rent a movie on the way back. He tried to remember if anything good had come out recently, but was distracted by Tara who was trying to get his attention.

“Sup?” he asked, then frowned when he first saw the flashing orange lights, then the signs and finally noticed the heavy machinery crowding the bridge.

The bridge they’d normally take to reach the junkyard was closed for repairs, which meant they’d either have to go back or walk to the next one, which was a few miles upriver. Zach was ready to go back, but Tara had already made the decision for them, heading down the road towards the next bridge.

“A long walk!” Zach called after, “It’ll take forever!”

Tara shrugged, “Do you have somewhere to be?”

Zach threw a longing look at the strip mall and it’s central air conditioning, but realized he’d probably just spend his money on stupid things in there, so he followed his sister along the rarely traversed road.

Zach wiped the sweat from his brow, pausing a moment to watch a barge filled with car wrecks drift by them and to give himself a brief moment of respite from his sister’s odd narration of their walk.

“Our brave heroine,” she muttered to herself, “Was traveling the lone road with her minstrel, Zarko.”

“...Zarko?” Zach said when he had caught up, side-eyeing his sister, “I hope that’s your imaginary friend and not me.”

Tara just offered him a mysterious smile, then continued with her story, describing a fantastical land of dragons, princesses that garnered an inordinate amount of description, and brave knights to rescue aforementioned princesses from aforementioned dragons and other monsters.

Zach had to admit he was impressed with her imagination, unsure if she just stole everything from her books and games, but he definitely only saw unworked fields. Fields that once might have fed a farmer’s family if they’d been worked, but the fields were just… There.

Grass, shrubs and weeds had quickly taken over, with the fields only sparsely being used by the owner.

To what Zach knew, most of the lands belonged to the same farmer who had once flourished in these parts, but was now too old to do much with the extended fields. The bank had offered good money, but he didn’t want to see his fields turn into a suburb, and he’d rather see the land turn back to nature than selling it to the bank.

A single cow stood staring blankly around herself. Tara’s imagination and narration had turned it into a mighty Minotaur, which her hero was avoiding. The hero of course being Tara herself, or more specifically, the fair barbarian maiden, A’rat.

“A’rat?” Zach asked.

“A’rat,” Tara confirmed.

“That’s just your name backwards.”

“Wrong!” Tara chimed, “There’s one of those floaty commas between the A and the R.”

“Floaty commas?”

“Like in ‘can’t’ and ‘don’t'.”

“Apostrophes?”

“Yes!”

Zach smirked, “English class is not just for reading books, you know?”

Tara only stuck out her tongue in response.

“You try sitting through one of Carson’s classes.”

“I did, Tara. And so did dad, he says.”

“Must be a vampire.”

Zach chuckled, “Sure, Tara. Old mister Carson with the tweed jackets and elbow patches is a vampire.”

“Lots of virgins to drink in middle schools…”

After the short exchange about the teacher, they walked in silence for some time, until Zach, who lacked the talent to keep himself entertained the way Tara did, interrupted her half-whispered narration.

“Where is A’rat heading this time?” he asked.

“A’rat is heading to…” she started, then halted before she even began. She had clearly not thought that far ahead.

“To…” she stopped walking to thing, then came to a conclusion, “She is traveling to the lair of the machine monsters, where she is to procure a mount for her minstrel, Zarko.”

“Does that make me Zarko?” Zach said, playfully swiping a hand at his sister’s head.

“Maybe,” she replied, ducking down.

“Well, does that mean you’re paying?”

“Hey, what’s that!” Tara called suddenly, ignoring her brother’s question.

“Nice distraction,” he laughed, then noticed what had drawn her attention.

Tara pointed to a square object, half obscured by the bushes and standing proudly along the road. It clearly had no business being there.

As far as he could tell from the distance it was some sort of large kitchen appliance that looked as foreign to the rest of the area as Zach did to Tara’s story.

“A servant of the machine monsters?” he mockingly suggested.

Tara responded to this by looking around for a branch she could use as a pretend weapon, but found nothing.

“Be careful,” she said, dropping her voice a few octaves, “We do not know what evil powers their masters have bestowed.”

Zach put his hands in the pockets of his shorts and slowly walked up to it.

“Zarko!” Tara called, a warning note to her voice.

“Drop it for a moment,” Zach shushed her, “I think it’s a dishwasher!”

Tara, who wanted to continue her game, stopped in the middle of opening her mouth, then shrugged her shoulders, “So?”

“So, mom’s been wanting a dishwasher.”

“And…?”

“And, this one probably fell off a delivery truck. Free dishwasher, sis. Help me move it.”

“We can’t lift that!” Tara protested.

“Is A’rat backing down from a challenge?”

Even though it was a weak attempt, it worked. Tara was on the machine faster than Zach himself.

They grabbed either side and attempted to life the machine.

Ten minutes of grunting and straining later, they came to the conclusion they’d be needing help to move it.

“We could call Sawyer?” Tara suggested.

“With what?” Zach replied, looking up and down the road, “No pay phones here. I guess we can call him from the junkyard though.”

“Then we better get moving before somebody else finds it.”

Zach was about to inform her that nobody ever walked there, then remembered the cow.

“Maybe the mighty Minotaur needs to polish his horns.”

Tara once again stuck her tongue out, ignored her brother and continued her story.

“Having bested the machine monsters mighty….guardian.”

“Lost the alliteration there,” Zach grinned, following after her.

“Well, do you have a better word?”

“Minion?” Zach replied, having foreseen the question.

Tara stopped to think for a moment, mouthing the words to herself, then nodded in agreement before continuing her story.

“Having bested the machine monsters’ mighty minion, A’rat and Zarko continued on their way to the Bridge of Doom.”

“Doom?”

“Yes, because it’s guarded by…” Tara started, losing her train of thought when she saw an orange sports car speed up towards them.

“Oh look,” Zach said, “It’s Sawyer.

“In the General Pee.”

One loud series of honking later, the General Pee shot by them, receding into the distance.

“He’s got Sophie in there,” Zach said, “On his way to go ‘swimming’.”

They took a moment to laugh at the word ‘swimming’, before Zach insisted on knowing.

“What’s guarding the Bridge of Doom then?”

Tara was lost in thought for a minute and finally answered, “It’s a secret. Nobody knows, because the creature is too scary.”

“Hope you’ll think of something soon, we’re almost there.”

After another half hour of walking, which Tara had filled with fantastical monsters, had passed, they reached the ‘Bridge of Doom’. This was a major letdown. There was a bridge, and even though it was a shoddily constructed one by the lowest bidder, desperately in need of repairs and maintenance, there was very little doom to be found on it.

Zach stopped to lean over the railing, that may once have been blue or white, but now was an odd brownish decaying color, and spat into the river.

“No monsters!” he called over to Tara, who was making a face when she saw what her brother was doing.

“Must mean we’re lucky!”

“Sure, Tara.”

“A’rat!”

“Alright, Mighty Maiden A’rat. Now that we’re free of doom, can we keep going?”

“Of course! A mighty victory!”

“Great…”

Another hour of walking had depleted many of Tara’s ideas for monsters and quests and she had fallen into repetition, but thankfully, it was the end of their walk.

The Junkyard was proudly advertised as ‘Brooks’ Scrapyard’ and was a hotbed of activity.

The barge they had past earlier was being unloaded with some cars while others were being loaded back on it for whatever inscrutable purposes and another truck filled with wrecks honked at them.

The driver hung out the window to yell at the kids walking along the road.

Zach ignored an impulse to flip the man off, deciding it probably wasn’t a good idea to get in a fight with a short tempered trucker.

He pushed through a pedestrian gate in the face, ignoring the sign that said only staff were to use it.

Being the owner’s son had its perks. It wasn’t the perks of having a dad who owned the local ice cream place or a swimming pool, but for a place with nothing to do, a junkyard might as well be a theme park.

“No games, Tara,” Zach warned her, then stepped onto the ‘reception’. This existed in the shape of a school bus that had one side torn off, the wheels removed and most of the benches taken out. Others were rotated to create what might be considered an amiable waiting place.

He didn’t bother to wait, instead he pushed through the bus’s still intact back door and found who he was looking for.

[koektrommel]

Hardest Days 1.2 Karate

Before Cheryl Brooks was Mrs Brooks, she was a wild girl known as Cherry. This wouldn't be relevant to the nurse that entered the kitchen, carrying a plastic bag that smelled invitingly of breakfast burritos, were it not for the fact that it explained some of the less professional parts of her appearance. Her hair was too big for the white cap most nurses at Saint Servatius still wore, seeming more at home in a music video than a hospital. Instead of white scrubs, she had opted for ones with a wild pattern of rainbow hearts and flowers on blue, which at the moment was half obscured under a cut off denim ves that hung loosely over her clothes.

"Good morning, Cherry Pie," Mister Brooks greeted his wife, putting his coffee down to make space in his lap, "How was work?"

"Morning, Mikey Mike," she replied, dropping the white plastic bag, decorated with a picture of a Mexican so stereotypical that I'll just skip over the whole thing, and then let herself fall into her husband's lap.

Zach, who was in no mood for his parents lovey-dovey shenanigans, dropped his face into his cereal again.

"Oh,"Mrs. Brooks said, sliding out of her husband's lap and taking her usual seat, one to the left of him at the round table.

"He's up early..." she observed, shared a final look with Michael and then switched on 'mom-mode' for her son.

"Rough morning, honey?"

Zach responded by groaning into his cereal. A lone pink marshmallow used the displaced air to make a bid for freedom, ending on the table. Zach opened his eyes, looked at the pink sugar and felt the smiling vaguely-unicorn shaped sugar was mocking him. He didn't reply to his mother.

"Dawn left earlier," Mister brooks whispered, just a little too loud.

"That makes all six of his little gang?"

"Except me," Zach muttered, keeping his face in the bowl. He chewed on the sweet cereal that had entered his mouth before finishing his complaint, "I'm stuck in this one horse town 'til I go to college."

"Might want to improve your grades for that," Mister Brooks muttered. He received a venomous look from his wife and, deciding that dad-time was over and this was better left to mom, he returned to scouring the papers.

"Thanks dad..."

"Hey, Zachy... You know, you could still have a fun summer if..."

"If?"

"If you had a car. Does wonders with the girls. Michael, give him some money."

"Isn't he getting Sawyer's car?"

"As if! He's not getting the DeLorean," a newcomer said from the doorway, "Oh, rad! Burritos!"

"It's a Bricklin, Mcfly," Zach threw back, pulling his head out of the princess themed cereal. Several flakes fell from his face, but as many stuck.

Sawyer was Zach's older brother, who fashioned himself the next Evel Knievel, though, he had said, with the charm of Burt Reynolds. To achieve the latter, he had attempted to grow a mustache. Both of his siblings had told him that he looked like he wasn't allowed within a thousand feet of a school zone.

The eldest Brooks child had decided the mocking came from envy... from both.

"Speaking of taking my shit," Sawyer said, ignoring the common reprimand of 'language' and firmly locking his eyes on Zach until he noticed the pink glittery cereal sticking to his face.

"Guess it couldn't have been you."

"Why?"

"You're eating Tara's cereal."

"So?"

"Grats on your coming out, little bro. Watch out for aids."

"Not just gays get aids," Mrs Brooks interjected, "And your brother isn't gay just cause he eats pink cereal. And even if he was gay, I'd love him all the same. Sawyer, go put on a shirt."

"And deprive the ladies of this?" Sawyer said, flexing his muscles which he pumped iron for daily and were just as impressive as his mustache.

Nobody replied to the empty boast.

Mister Brooks coughed, circled another and finally broke the silence proper, "What were we talking about?"

"You were about to give Zach money for a car," Mrs brooks said, getting up to set the table for breakfast.

"Not gonna find a sweet DeLorean like mine," Sawyer stated matter-of-factly.

"I wouldn't want a second General Pee," Zach sighed, mocking the orange sports car his brother drove.

"Jealous," Sawyer yawned, "But, Zach... Can I talk to you?"

"You're talking to me right now."

"In private."

"Don't see how this day could get any worse, so sure."

"Play nice, boys," Mrs Brooks said, dropping the bottom most from her pile of plates as emphasis to her warning.

"Sure, mom," they said in unison, then headed into the hallway together.

The two brothers retreated to the landing in the middle of the stairs to the second floor, which was the best place in the house to have a quiet conversation. Sawyer had, as he had done many times before, trapped Zach in the corner.

"Okay, Ballsack, tell me where it is... or I'll beat it out of you."

Zach pulled the finale piece of cereal that stuck to his cheek free and put it in his mouth before answering, "Where what is?"

"You know what."

Zach sighed and tried to push Sawyer aside, "I haven't the foggiest. What?"

"You took my mag."

"...You don't get any magazines. Idiot Monthly stopped publishing when all the articles were about you."

Sawyer, whose muscles weren't impressive, but had a lot of sinewy strength, pushed his brother against the bricks behind him, "Gonna get worse if you don't fess up."

"Look, throw me down the stairs if you what," Zach sighed, "but I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb, you took my porn mag."

"I don't have your stupid jack rag," Zach said, rolling his eyes and again attempting to push past his brother.

Sawyer placed his left hand on Zach's right shoulder and pushed him against the wall again, locking him in place this time. His other hand formed a fist as he pulled it back.

"Three," he started the countdown.

Zach rolled his eyes once more.

"Two..."

Sawyer's hand went further back.

"One..."

Before Sawyer could reach zero, Zach grabbed Sawyer's nipple and rotated it.

"Motherf..." Sawyer gasped, trying to hide that his little brother had managed to hurt him. Zach took this brief respite to duck under Sawyer's hand and sprint up the stairs to the upper floor.

Sawyer followed a second later, but Zach had already reached the top, grabbed the corner of the wall and launched himself the one hundred eighty degrees to the upstairs hallway. He already had his bedroom door in sight, which, like all of the bedrooms, was considered save haven. He hopped over a roller skate, which for some reason had a toy horse tied to the front of it and landed on an abandoned tennis ball. He tripped backwards, landing on the thick carpet that broke his fall. Sawyer was on him a moment later and would've started the beating, had the door to the right of them not opened. They were joined by their little sister, Tara.

"What are you two doing?" she yawned, stretching as she did and almost dropping the book she was holding.

Tara was the odd one out of the Brooks siblings. Not just by being the only girl, but by taking more after their mother than the other two. Even though Zach and Sawyer both had her green eyes, they took after their father in build and both had the reddish blonde hair the man had once had. Tara meanwhile had her mother's full black hair, short build (though she was still hoping for a growth spurt) and only took after her father with her piercing blue eyes.

At the moment she had the aforementioned hair neatly tied in two braids, leaving only her bangs to spill messily over her face, just far enough to cover her eyes. She was still in her sleepwear, a white gown with a cheerful pattern of primarily colored blocks, which only added to make her look more like a petulant child than the fury she was trying to be.

"I don't really care," she said testily when her question wasn't answered, "I'm trying to read, so could you keep it down?"

"When he gives me..." Sawyer started, unsure if he should divulge the object of his ire to the twelve year old girl.

He was saved by his mother

"Kids!" she yelled from somewhere on the lower floor, "Come down for breakfast!"

"Coming, mom!" three voices responded immediately.

"Look, ballsack," sawyer said as he turned to his own room, which was on the other side of the hallway, "If the magazine is in my room by tonight, I won't beat you black and blue."

Zach shrugged his shoulder and headed downstairs, "I don't have your stupid magazine."

Neither of the brothers paid any attention to Tara hastily closing her bedroom door.

Mrs. Brooks was still fussing around the kitchen, cutting some vegetables for whatever she had in store for dinner, meanwhile drinking a glass of red wine and singing along to the radio. Even though nobody quite liked her singing, they left her to it. Wine and loud pop tunes generally meant she had a good night at work. Beer and classical music were a sign to clear the kitchen and leave her to her thoughts. She let herself go on the final note of A-Ha's take on me, then caught her breath and turned her attention back to her family.

"What's the plans for today, kids?" she asked, turning the radio down when the news took over. At the moment she was chopping carrots, making sure to stop to ask her questions.

Sawyer was the first to answer.

"Off to see Sophie," he said, giving the single Zach a smug grin, "We're going swimming."

"Swimming," Zach and Tara echoed in chorus.

"Still with that Goulding girl?" Mrs Brooks replied, ignoring the younger children's amusement,

"That's nice. If you're going swimming, make sure to bring a lifesaver."

Sawyer opened his mouth to protest that he wasn't a kid and was perfectly capable of swimming, when he suddenly added two and two, simply shutting up.

"You, Tara?" Mrs Brooks asked, when there wasn't more coming.

"Probably just going to read this book," she shrugged, tapping the dog-eared novel in front of her.

"Any good?" Zach wanted to know through a mouthful of burrito.

"I like it," was Tara's non-committal answer.

The brooks children had gotten dressed, which for Sawyer meant putting on a shirt that might once have been black but was as faded as the rags he used to religiously clean his car. Tara had taken slightly more care in her appearance, though Zach couldn't say he was wowed by her choice. With the eye on the oncoming heat, she had opted for blue dolphin shirts, but for reasons that had something to do with the battered copy of Ivanhoe in front of her, she insisted on wearing a woolen gray sweater she had cut the sleeves off. To finish the look, she had unbraided her hair and would, after breakfast, spend an hour or so in a vain attempt to get volume and curls into it, so she could look like the warrior women on the covers of the fantasy novels she adored.

Zach would've made fun of his siblings looks, but he was sort of jealous of both. They had clear ideas who they wanted to be. Sawyer thought himself a suave stuntman and Tara was the heroine of a trashy fantasy novel.

Zach meanwhile was just... Zach. Stuck both physically and mentally in the here and now.

He had had some image of becoming part of the next A-team, thought more as an actor than an actual veteran mercenary. Many kids wanted to be actors though and he felt it didn't give him much personality, no more than kids who wanted to be fireman or fighter pilots in elementary....

"Zach?" Mrs Brooks said, gently pulling him back to reality, "What's your plans for today?"

"Guess I'm going to walk to the junkyard," he replied, picking at his food, "No idea what else I'd do."

"Good," mister Brooks said, opening up the only one of his six papers he liked to read for the news,

"It's better than being on that game the whole day."

"That's Tara," Zach protested, "With that Legend of Celery game."

"Zelda," Tara huffed.

"Go with your brother," Mister Brooks said without looking up from the paper, "Fresh air'll do you good."

"Doth mine liege lord desire me to venture forth on a quest?"

There was a moment of silence as the rest of the family stared at the girl, which was finally broken by Mister Brooks.

"Definitely need fresh air, Princess," he said, "Now that I have your attention though..."

"Yes?"

"What do you want for your birth..."

"A horse!" Tara said excitedly, not waiting for her father to finish the question.

"A pony?"

"No, a destroyer!"

"A destroyer horse...?"

"A destrier," Zach corrected, "It's a kind of horse in her books."

"Don't take my books without permission."

Sawyer shot Zach a knowing look.

"Don't leave them lying around," Zach replied, returning Sawyer's glance.

"Well," Mister brooks stopped their children's quarrel before it could properly begin, "If my princess wants a horse, she gets a horse. Zach?"

"...I'm not being her horse."

"No, son. Ask Kevin if his dad heard anything about people selling horses. He tends to know."

"You two want a ride?" Sawyer asked, excusing himself from the table.

The younger siblings shared a look, then responded together, "No, thanks."

Sawyer shrugged, as if they had lost a great offer instead of a trip on a dangerous carnival ride. He tossed his bowl into the sink and headed out.

"Thanks for the dishes, honey!" Mrs Brooks called after him.

"Put on some proper shoes," Zach warned his sister, "I'm not carrying you if you get a blister."

Tara stuck out her tongue and continued to read while absent minded putting her breakfast in her mouth.

"Looks like we're not leaving any time soon," Zach said to his parents.

[koektrommel]

I Never Expected the Hardest Days To Be The Ones Where I Wear a Skirt

According to Zach, who had seen a lot of movies and television, it should have been raining. That's what the movies told him anyway. It rained at emotional times, but the weather had been most uncooperative. It was promising to be a beautiful day, great for outdoor activities such a skateboarding (If they ever fixed the potholes), sailing (If the fish processing plant hadn't been fouling up the ocean), or maybe even hiking, which would be most enjoyable if you like the sight of endless fields of abandoned agricultural land. Still, any of these little appealing options would have had a modicum of appeal... If he had someone to enjoy it with, a friend. A friend... Zach's thoughts snapped back to reality.

Zach was sitting on the curb in front of his house, watching the neighbors across the road fuss over their green, wood-paneled station wagon. The leader of this tremendous operation of pushing boxes into the backseat, trunk or on top of the hideously colored vehicle, was a man Zach only knew as 'Mister Summers', who was currently yelling at a woman he knew as 'Mrs. Summers'.

Obviously he knew both of them had real names, but his own father, Mister Brooks, had made it clear you don't address your elders or betters by anything else than the combination title, surname. Excepting doctors, who were to be addressed by their title only. Mister Summers, who definitely wasn't a doctor, was a short man, which he had attempted to compensate for with width. Adding to this was the man's insistence of wearing brown pantaloons with shirts in the most garish colors his wife could find, which, Zach felt, might be the man's attempt to honor his family name, by dressing like a rather oversized ice cream cone.

Mrs. Summers however had more in common with the star of Summer, which was to say... Staring at her too long might make you go blind. Not that Zach could imagine anyone staring at Mrs. Summers for a protracted period of time, except maybe a marine biologist to find out what sort of mutated barnacle she actually was. All that said, he'd still miss the woman, who always had a kind word ready and brought her favorite neighbors the leftovers of the pies that they sold in the roadside diner her husband ran. The pies were especially great, and probably were partly to blame for her husband's girth.

Zach caught himself using the present tense for the roadside diner, which was closed now. He hadn't understood the particulars, but the entire Summers family was moving to the west coast. He couldn't blame them, with the fishing hot spot gone there wasn't a lot of call for roadside diners catering to tourists.

He sighed and waved dejectedly to Mrs. Summers who gave him a pitying look and said something to her husband. Her husband shrugged and continued tying a suitcase haphazardly to the luggage rack on the roof.

Next to the Summers couple, there was their only child, Dawn. The worst part of the Summers' departure, was seeing Dawn leave. She was his best and, after half the town had already moved, only real friend. They had stood on either side of the road many times, passing tennis balls between them, or sometimes just sitting on the exact curb Zach currently sat on to discuss their future plans.

Dawn's plan had been to become an illustrator, for which Zach had been a willing enough model... At first. Now he'd sooner use the term 'long-suffering' to describe it, as Dawn's talent in the creative department was rather lacking. He had gently suggested her, several times, that maybe she should look into other avenues as well. He had suggested softball on more than one of these occasions, as Dawn had a killer pitch that Zach had experienced many times. Mostly by getting the tennis ball they were playing catch with to the eye, lip, chest, groin and pretty much anywhere else that he had been presenting to her.

...When he had suggested softball, she had stated very simply that she wasn't interested in the sport and every time he brought it up after, it seemed her balls hit his with a little more frequency than before.

He hadn't seen her yet this morning and, as such, sat on the curb, bouncing a tennis ball on the damaged asphalt.

Thock... Thock... Thock...

Almost imperceptibly the sound gained a slightly too fast echo.

Tho-tock... Tho-thock... Tho-thock...

Had Zach been paying attention to anything that wasn't the yellowish rotating sphere in front of him, he might have heard the warning, but what Zach heard was.

Tho-thock... Tho-thock... Thock... Thock... Thock... And then he didn't hear much of anything any more, because he was processing the results of taking a tennis ball to the face.

"I told you to think fast, Dork," Dawn smiled, picking up the orange and blue ball that lazily rolled back to the sender.

Dawn looked a little like both of her parents and, to her relief, that meant she only got the best parts of both. It didn't make her a stunning beauty, but most boys in her class found her an acceptable fourth pick to take to prom. She probably would've been bumped up to third if she didn't insist on copying Annie Lennox's hair.

Hair that she had currently hidden under a Connecticut Brakettes cap. For her comfortable travel clothing, she opted for dungarees, with one strap fashionably dangling down towards the floor.

"Knew you'd be here."

Zach rubbed his head to relieve the pain of the impact and stopped his own ball from rolling away by lightly tapping it with his foot.

"Couldn't let you go without saying goodbye, could I?" he replied, trying to sound cool.

"You did that last night," she retorted, tossing her ball from hand to hand.

Zach shrugged.

"Didn't even get out of your pajamas," she continued and sat down next to him, before finishing her sentence with a well chosen, "Dweeb."

"I'll miss you too," Zach sighed, turning his ball around in his hands.

Dawn lightly punched him in the shoulder, "Don't take it so hard, Zach. At least you know all the people here in town..."

"Dawn, I want to get moving! Now!"

"Coming, Dad! One minute!"

"Now, young lady! I want to be in Memphis before dinner time!"

"Look," Dawn continued, ignoring her father, "I'm sure you'll make new friends. Get up. Come on, get up."

Zach slowly got to his feet and Dawn, putting her hand under his arm pulled him up.

"Come on, say goodbye properly."

Awkwardly, Zach stuck out his hand.

Dawn offered him a crooked smile, shook her head, then tightly embraced her friend, pulling him close. She was softer than Zach had imagined.

"I'll miss you," she said in his ear, then pulled back. Zach saw her brown eyes glanced down, then sparkled with amusement as her smile turned to a smirk.

"Boys," she teased and whipped around when her father called again, more impatient now.

"Coming dad!" she shouted half angry, then sprinted across the street.

Zach awkwardly covered himself with one hand and put his free right in the air.

Dawn stopped at the car, opened the rear door, then turned around again.

"Hey, dweeb!" she called.

Zach tried to smile.

"Parting gift."

The orange and blue ball sailed through the sky, perfectly hitting Zach's raised hand. Instinctively, his fingers clutched around the ball.

"Where's mine?" she shouted.

Zach dropped the ball he had caught and picked up the one he had been playing with, still making sure his hand was hiding his groin.

Normally, he had a decent pitching arm, but distracted by both the earlier hit to the head, the fact that his friend was leaving, and the embarrassment of his uninvited excitement, the ball went wide, landing in the Summers family former house's gutter.

Dawn turned to watch, rubbed one arm over her eyes, before turning back around one last time.

"Dork!" she called, then got in the car, hastily closing it behind her, pointedly looking out the far window.

Mrs Summers waved out the window and a moment later the vomit green station wagon sped out of the cul-de-sac.

When the car turned out of Zach's sight, a final parting gift fell from one of the suitcases. Mrs Summers' good pumps or to be more specific, the left one.

Zach sighed and headed over to collect the shoe. He had their new address so he'd send it after.

When he had the red pump, he dragged his feet back towards the house.

Zach slipped back in through the garage, then through the small scullery between it and the kitchen that his mother had lovingly turned to her own private laundromat. A part of the house that reeked so heavily of washing powder and other laundry aides that Zach felt he could skip his next shower, being permeated with its scents.

After that, he stepped into the kitchen- annex-dining room, which was a marvel of modern appliances, surrounded by enough shades of brown to qualify as a box of chocolates. Everything in it was modern and fashionable except...

Zach glanced at the clock that was lit by the first sunlight of the day spilling through the half open blinds. It was an ugly clock, a remainder of the previous decade that was the color of slightly undercooked carrots and had numbers in a font that might once have been described as 'groovy', but now looked just as painfully dated as reruns of Charlie's Angels.

Still, it told the time. Sometimes five minutes fast, sometimes five minutes slow, but it gave you a decent ballpark estimate. It currently was somewhere between five to and five past half seven, which meant there was at least five hours left to go to bed and wallow in misery. Which was Zach's plan, until his father spotted him from the kitchen table.

His father was a calm man that spent every morning reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. By which he meant, trawling the personals to see if anyone was selling their car.

As such, the Brooks family had a subscription to every local paper in the area. All six of which were currently spread out in front of mister Brooks, who habitually chewed on a red marker as he read them.

The man was balding and, after having finally admitted that sad fact to himself, had purchased a toupee. A toupee that was currently on the table and being stroked as if it were a beloved family pet.

"Morning, son," he said with his mouth full.

"Morning dad," Zach muttered and made to head for the inner door.

"Up already?" Mister Brooks continued, circling an ad.

"Had to say goodbye to Dawn," was the mumbled answer.

"Well, nice to see you're not wasting your entire summer in bed like I thought you might. What's the plans for today?"

Zach looked at his dad as he tried to think of something to placate him. The marker went back in mister Brooks' mouth as if were a cigar and he chewed on it a few times as he waited for answer.

Zach opened his mouth a few times as he tried to process a lie quickly enough, distracted by a small drop of ink that was leaking down the marker and into his dad's chest hair that proudly poked out of the salmon shirt that had just one too many buttons open.

"Uh, dad..." he said, pointing to the marker.

"Huh?"

Mister Brooks' eyes crossed, noticed the dripping and his mouth released the marker, which fell through the thick bush of chest hair, sliding down until it fell out of the still untucked shirt and clattered on the brown stone kitchen tiles. A small puddle of ink slowly started to form.

"Could you grab me a..."

Zach was moving before the question had been voiced, getting the paper towels to clean the spill. Meanwhile, mister Brooks continued his morning coffee.

"So, about your day plans..."

Zach put the roll of paper towels in front of his dad, then shook his head, "Sorry dad, no idea."

"Could get a job..."

"Doing what? Everything's gone."

"Could mow lawns."

"McGregor kids got a monopoly on that."

"Well you're not sitting at home watching music videos or whatever..."

"Okay..."

"Maybe you can help your brother out with something or other."

"Maybe, dad..."

"Or you could help Kevin in the junkyard."

"Maybe dad," Zach said, scouring the cabinets for his favorite cereal. As the day was going, he had expected they'd be out and he was right, having to settling on his little sister's, which promised to have a "Radical princess toy" included.

He put some of the sugary cereal in a bowl, couldn't be bothered to add milk and sat down across from his father.

"Or you can go have fun with your friends..." Mister Brooks continued his suggestions, trailing off as soon as he saw his son drop his face into the bowl of dry cereal.

"...As long as you don't sit in front of the TV all summer," he concluded, before adding, "...You okay, son?"

In response, Zach emitted a long groan.

Mister Brooks was about to continue, when the sound of metal grating against metal distracted them both.

They looked up, shared a look and shrugged. It simply meant Mrs. Brooks was home from work and had, as often, neglected to open the garage door far enough to let her car in. Mister Brooks shook his head, took another sip of coffee and listened for the common sounds.

The car's front door opening and not closing, then the sound of the trunk opening.

"Oh good," he said, "She brought something to eat."

The garage door closed, violently dropping the heavy metal back to the stone below it and drowning the sound of the two inner doors opening.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Brooks said brightly, "I brought breakfast!"