The Tracks by Sally Royer-Derr (little readers TXT) 📕

“I’m going home now,” I said.

Chapter Ten

My bed never looked, or felt, so good. I stretched my legs the full length of its twin size. My shorts and T-shirt were still on; I was too tired to take them off. My bedroom window hung open, a slight breeze wafting over my sweaty forehead. The air-conditioner in the living room died last week. Mom was going to get it fixed but hadn’t had time to call anyone yet. So, the windows were always open now, even when we weren’t home. Not like anyone was going to steal our crap, anyway.

I didn’t want to think about death anymore. I was kind of pissed at Tommy for taking me to that stupid gravesite. I wanted to sit and talk to him about my day and about Kara. My first night out in the darkness since my sleepwalking incident and spending it in a graveyard pondering the early death of a kid I didn’t even know wasn’t on my list of priorities.

I felt cheated and annoyed. I did not want to think about death, but its foreboding grip clung to me like an unwanted visitor. Glancing at my alarm clock, two-thirty in the morning, I rolled on my right side. I picked up a silver-plated picture frame from my nightstand. My whole family smiled back at me, myself included. Disney World when I was eight. We all sat together, crammed in a booth at one of those theme restaurants. I thought it was Chef Mickey’s. I was holding up a Mickey-Mouse-shaped waffle like it was the best thing in the world. Sam had a goofy smile, and his eyes were closed. My dad seemed healthy and full of life. It would be another two years until we found out he was sick. But my attention quickly moved to my mom’s image. She wore her hair longer than she did now. But on this day, she had it swept up in a clip, soft brown wisps tickling her slim neck.

Her gaze was on Dad, loving and full of happiness. I knew pictures could sometimes be deceiving. I, for example, resembled a wooden statue in nearly every photo I was in, whether I was happy or not. I didn’t like to have my photo taken. I hated being put on the spot to smile or be interesting. I wasn’t that interesting, and the camera never failed to reveal this fact. However, this picture was not deceiving. It showed the truth of that moment in time.

Dad gazed straight ahead at the camera. Mom watched him, her right hand lightly touching her cheek. I could see, almost feel, the love she held for him by the look in her gaze. Half-tilted eyes stared adoringly at him. Her full, red lips curved into a wide smile. I’d almost forgotten she used to smile like that. We were happy in that picture. Every single one of us.

***

A buzzing sound interrupted my already fitful sleep the next morning. I lay motionless as the small black fly landed on my arm. Swat! I missed him. But I must have scared him since he wasn’t buzzing around my head anymore. I groaned and rolled out of bed. I hadn’t closed my curtains last night, so the morning sunshine greeted me with its bright fierceness. My skin was hot and sticky. Eight in the morning, and it felt like it was 100 degrees. I needed a shower. But I needed some orange juice first.

I stumbled out my bedroom and walked into the kitchen. I took out the carton of orange juice, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, and poured. Sam still slept on the living room sofa. Same place I’d seen him when I’d come home last night.

I put an English muffin in the toaster and got out the butter. Nursing my juice, I sat at the kitchen table and waited for my muffin to pop. Sam stirred and joined me at the table.

“Why were you sleeping on the couch?” I asked.

“Waiting up for you.” He raised his eyebrows. “I got up last night to get a drink. You weren’t snoring like you usually are, so I looked in your room. But no Emily. Where were you?”

“I don’t snore.” I jumped up as the muffin popped from the toaster. I took the knife and applied a slab of butter, watching it melt into the crannies.

“You do. But you still didn’t answer my question. Where were you?”

“I took a walk,” I said.

“At one in the morning? Alone, in the dark? You’re scared of the dark,” Sam said skeptically.

“I decided it’s time to stop being a baby. And besides, I wasn’t alone.”

“Who was with you?”

“Tommy.”

Sam took a swig from the half-empty orange juice carton. “Who is this kid? You’re always hanging around with him, but I’ve never met him.”

I laughed. “Meeting you is hardly a requirement to be my friend.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean.” Sam stood. “I’d like to meet him sometime. You are my little sister. I don’t want you hanging out with some weirdo.”

“He’s not a weirdo,” I said. Although, I still felt kind of strange about him taking me to the graveyard last night. He knew I was scared of the dark. Why on earth would he take me to a graveyard? He could have showed it to me in the daytime.

“Are you sure?” my brother asked. His eyes squinted as he studied me.

I didn’t answer him. Not sure. I knew I trusted Tommy. I thought. I knew I held his friendship in the innermost part of my heart. But I couldn’t deny there was a great deal unknown about him. And that lack of knowledge sent a tingle, just a tingle, of fear through me. Not enough to keep me away from him. But enough to wonder how our friendship had become a driving force