Page 6 of Chase

Izzy

“Where are you going, Isobel?” Mum asks with a more than usual fed-up voice that she uses whenever she speaks to me; she’s clearly still cross about Tilly’s ugly dress. “I hope you realize how disappointed we were with you yesterday.”

“Mum, you and Dad are always disappointed with me,” I answer truthfully as I shove my breakfast bowl inside of the dishwasher. “Perhaps you should ask me if I realise when you are actually happy with me. That would be weird.”

“That’s not true, Isobel,” Dad pipes up from the table, “but you can’t behave like that and not expect us to be angry about it.”

“Whatever, can I go now? Mary is waiting for me and we’re going for a ramble around the woods,” I declare. Mary is a selective mute and has only uttered a few words to me in our entire friendship, but we get by with signing and gesture.

“When are you going to get some real friends instead of mucking about with the local freak?” Tilly says with disdain in her voice.

“Maybe when you develop a conscience,” I reply with a shrug, “or maybe when you get some friends who aren’t all as self-absorbed as you are?”

“Brat,” she mutters.

“Yep,” I give in and just agree, it’s easier that way. I notice Mum and Dad don’t attempt to say anything to Tilly for her name-calling, but I guess I’m used to that too.

“Where’s my lip gloss, Mummy?” she titters, shoving things out of the way without care as she searches high and low for it.

I roll my eyes while I put on my old boots, preparing for a day-long adventure that will keep me safely out of the house until at least dinner time. I prepared a packed lunch last night so I wouldn’t have to come back again. I’d only end up in an argument with somebody if I returned early, an argument I’d rather avoid.

“I’m not sure, darling, why do you need lip gloss anyway?”

“I wanted to go and see if Theo would like to have a tour of the village,” she gushes, “and I want to look nice for him.”

“Gross, isn’t Theo our cousin?” I can’t help but ask with a grimace on my face.

“Well, yes, but not by blood,” Dad explains, “your aunt can’t have children, so they adopted him when he was a baby.”

“Oh,” I sigh as I get to my feet, “still, I doubt he’d be interested in you!”

“Isobel, don’t be horrible to your sister,” Mum snaps and glares at me. “Go and do whatever it is you plan on doing with your mute friend.”

Charming, Mother, really. But I don’t need to be told twice to get out of here. Without another word that would no doubt get me into trouble, I wrap my waterproof jacket around me and take off through the door.

By mid-morning, Mary and I are sitting on the small wooden bridge that crosses over a stream that runs between the playing field and the woods. The wooden slats are damp beneath our legs, but it doesn’t bother us, we’re used to being outside. Me, because I always want to avoid being at home; her, because she lives on a farm. Her entire family is usually outside. The rain has made the water rise so we have collected a good selection of twigs with which to play Pooh sticks. Though, to be fair, we’re not playing properly, more like dangling our legs over the side and gazing at the wood as it floats away from where we’re sitting.

When the sun begins to slip below the trees, Mary taps me on the shoulder to signal that she needs to go. I smile and wave, then watch as she disappears into the background. This means I’ll need to go back soon and face whatever is waiting for me at home. I sigh as I continue to throw the sticks into the water, watching as some of them get tangled up on the side of the bank.

“What are you doing?” a voice asks before crouching down next to me. I look up to see the boy who was hiding outside my room last night. I think about calling him out on it, but eventually give up on the idea; it would only make him defensive.

“Playing Pooh sticks,” I reply with an awkward shrug. “Or not, now that Mary has gone.”

“Huh. Do you mind if I sit with you?” he asks, to which I look him up and down with a frown.

“You kind of already are, but sure,” I reply with a friendly enough smile. “Theo, isn’t it?”

He nods silently while gazing down at the swirling water. “And you’re Isobel?”

“No, not Isobel, Izzy,” I assert. “Only my family calls me Isobel. Though, my brother doesn’t really call me anything. I’m guessing you saw how crazy we all were yesterday.”

“Kind of,” he laughs. “Actually, you seem to be the only normal one in there. And Grandma is keen on you, so I guess you must be ok.”

“Gee, thanks. Do you wanna Twiglet?” I ask, offering him the nearly empty bag of crispy snacks. Being made with Marmite, he’s fifty percent likely to hate them. He takes a sniff, grimaces, then takes one. I jut out my chin to encourage him, almost laughing over the reaction I can already guess he’ll have.

“What the hell are those?” he gasps, spitting it out with a look of pure disgust on his face.

“Twiglets, they’re my favorite!” I laugh.

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