Page 2 of Overdue

“Hey, brat,” he teases. “I see you still need a bar of soap for that mouth.” What an ass.

“What do you want, Reed?” I snap.

Reed moved in down the street from me when I was twelve and he was fourteen. His parents had been killed in an automobile accident, and he was forced to move in with his grandmother.

I met him the day after he arrived. He tortured me the entire rest of the way through school until he left for the Army after graduation. I can still remember the day we met as if it was yesterday.

* * *

I’m sitting on the porch swing using one Converse-clad foot to push it slowly back and forth. Mom brought me home a copy of The Lord of the Rings and I’m plowing through it.

I‘m outside because, with my sisters around, it’s impossible to find a quiet space where someone of my literary prowess can think. Not to mention focus on such a mature book. Okay, it is a little complicated to follow, but I’m twelve now. I’m basically an adult.

“Hello, Austen,” Mrs. Campbell from down the street calls, completely interrupting my brilliant insight into the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien. “I brought my grandson over to meet Eliot. They’re going to be in the same grade this year. Is your mother inside?”

Standing next to my neighbor is a skinny boy the same age as my older sister. He has long messy blonde hair and a scowl that could rival even Gollum. But those eyes are definitely something. Doesn’t matter, I’m not interested. Not even a little.

“Yes, ma’am. She’s in the kitchen if you want to go on in. I don’t know where Eliot is.” Mrs. Campbell opens the door calling out to Mom. I return to my book until I realize I’m being watched. Reed is sizing me up. “You can follow your grandma,” I point out with a flick of my hand at the door.

“Nah, I think I’d rather stay out here for a while.” He could suit himself, I’ll just pretend he isn’t there. I have just begun to focus on my book again when there’s a thump against the house.

I roll my eyes and place a finger in my book to keep my place before closing it. Trying to mimic the stern look of consternation I often receive from Mom, I look at Reed.

He’s staring right at me. Calmly, without looking away, he throws a hard rubber ball he produced from somewhere against the house near the porch swing. Expressing a derisive snort (I learned that one from Eliot), I dismiss his behavior as immature and resume my reading.

Reed doesn’t stop bouncing the ball, however. With each throw, he moves closer to where I’m sitting. I know that the only thing to be done with an obnoxious boy is to simply ignore him. I heard that bit of wisdom from both Mom and Eliot, so it must be true.

I pretend the constant wallop of the ball against the wall doesn’t affect me whatsoever. At least for as long as I can maintain my sanity. This Reed character seems to have a strong need to drive me crazy.

“What is your problem?” I ask, pausing my reading again. I can hear my teeth grind together as the noise continues. The ball is barely missing me at this point.

Do I really have to put up with some rude twat of a boy? That’s my new favorite bad word. It’s British, I think. If you looked it up in some British dictionary, there would be a picture of him.

I still firmly hold onto the belief that all boys are jerks. I will never get all stupid acting around them like my best friend has this summer. Bleh. They will never hold any interest for me. I’m moving on to more lofty pursuits. But I have to do something about this one. Either that, or I’ll go mad.

The next time the ball is thrown at the house, I reach out and catch it. I haven’t played Little League with the boys since first grade for nothing. Standing quickly, I pull my arm back and wing the ball at Reed.

It must catch him by surprise. The ball hits him square in the nose. As if in slow motion, I watch in fascination as a spray of blood erupts from his nose. I suppose I should feel sorry for him. But he brought it on himself.

“Oh my lord, Reed. What did you do?” Mrs. Campbell asks, hurrying out of the house followed by my mom. Craptastic. This is where I get grounded for the rest of my life. At least school is just a couple of weeks away. They have to let me go to school.

“Nothing,” he snuffles. He’s sitting on the ground, holding his hand to his face, blood oozing out from between his fingers. “I got distracted and missed catching the ball.”

I’m completely flabbergasted. Since when have I ever known a boy who didn’t happily rush to get me into trouble? There must be something wrong with him. Reed meets my eyes around the two women fussing over him. They narrow with the promise of retribution. Shitballs.

“Let’s go get that cleaned up. Sorry, Elise. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Helping Reed to his feet, my mother walks them to the sidewalk. She waits until they disappear into their house before turning around. She places both fists on her hips with a frown.

“Austen Caraway,” she says sternly. I was trying to sneak quietly back into the house to disappear upstairs before she noticed. Busted. I turned around to meet Mom’s eyes. “What actually happened?”

“Is it my fault he’s a klutz?” I deflect. Mom tries to call my bluff, but I’m not stupid. If he wasn’t going to say anything, then I wasn’t either. She can’t ground me if she doesn’t know what happened.

* * *

“Austen!” I look up from my desk, startled to see Reed still standing at the door. “I’ve been talking to you for fifteen minutes. Are you still as big an airhead as you were in school?”

Just FYI, I have never been an airhead. I just have other, more important things to think about. Right now, that includes how to get him out of my office without punching him in the throat. Or tearing his shirt off. Damn it!

“Is there something you want, Campbell? Or are you just here to look stupid?” There’s a zinger. He doesn’t even flinch. “Wait, weren’t you off somewhere playing soldier? Why aren’t you there?” Reed had gone directly into the Army from high school.

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