Page 12

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

AMBER: 2ND GRADE

I’m at the park near my house when I see Ford sitting on a park bench. I’m not surprised he’s sitting alone in a quiet, shady spot instead of swinging or running around the playground. He’s been better at school the past few months, though. I think he just had to get used to it or something. When he spots me walking in his direction, his face lights up.

“Hey, Ford!” I smile and wave.

He stands and meets me in the wood chips scattered on the ground of the park. Two dark-haired little girls wave at Ford, and he studies the area surrounding them before he waves back.

“I’m keeping an eye on my sisters.” He points to a simple, but nice house right behind the park. “We live just there, and my mom’s making dinner.”

“Cool,” I say, wondering what it would be like to have my mom home every day for dinner. She’s usually working. Or on a date. “I live just down the street.” I point to the apartment building nearby. “My mom’s not home from work yet,” I whisper. “I’m not supposed to leave the house, but I get bored. ”

Those thick eyebrows, that are too big for his face, rise just a little. “You stay home alone?”

I nod. “It’s just me and my mom. I entertain myself until she gets back.”

“We were just about to head back home. Want to come with us? My mom’s a great cook. She’ll feed you.” He smirks, and for just a moment, he looks kind of cute.

I glance down at my Barbie wristwatch. It’s not quite five… and Mom won’t be home until seven. “Sure, that sounds fun. You sure it’s okay with your mom?”

He huffs a laugh through his nose, like I asked a ridiculous question. “Come on,” he says, waving toward his house. He calls his sisters, and they follow. One is probably two or three, and the other one is maybe five. He must be really responsible for his mom to let him watch them at the park.

His little sisters each hold onto one of his hands as we walk down the sidewalk and to their front door. Ford lets go of their hands to turn the doorknob, but the door is barely open an inch before a giant dog bursts through the crack and pounces on Ford. Ford falls on his rear end, but he’s smiling bigger than I’ve ever seen him smile before as he pets the furry black dog. The girls run inside, closing the door behind them.

The dog notices me for the first time and rushes over to lick my face. I giggle and pet the dog’s thick fur.

“This is Moose.” Ford grins. “He’s a Bernese mountain dog, and my best friend.”

I pet the dog’s head and admire the white fur on his chest and the light brown patches where eyebrows would be. They seem to make the dog extra expressive. “Hi, Moose. You’re so handsome.”

The dog pants happily.

“Come on, Moose, let’s get inside,” Ford tells the dog in a serious tone, opening the front door again .

Moose trots back inside, and once Ford and I follow him, Ford closes the door. The house is comfortable but not fancy. I like it. I feel like we could sit on the carpet in the living room and play video games while eating snacks and no one would yell at us for spilling crumbs. Even the red throw pillows resting on the brown couch look rumpled, like they’ve been used for pillow fights and naps.

“Follow me,” Ford says to me over his shoulder.

He takes me into the next room, which is a modest-sized kitchen. His mom is at the sink peeling potatoes, and I notice there’s a window right above the sink where she can see the park. Ah, so she was keeping an eye on the kids even though Ford was out there. The knowledge that she’s a protective mom makes me instantly like her.

“Well, hello there!” His mom says with a pretty smile. “Who’s our guest?”

Her hair is a lighter brown than Ford’s, and her eyes are blue instead of brown. She looks like she’s nice.

Ford tells his mom my name and that we’re in the same class.

“Does your mom know you’re here, sweetie?” she asks.

“Her mom’s at work. Can she eat dinner with us?” Ford asks, before I can speak.

“She won’t be home until seven,” I add.

Ford’s mom wipes her hands on her checkered apron, glancing up at a big rooster clock above the stove. “Of course you can eat dinner with us. But can you make sure to let your mom know where you are next time? I wouldn’t want her to worry.”

I nod my head. “Yeah, I will.” I want to keep coming over. And my mom probably won’t care either way. She’s too busy trying to snag a husband to take care of us. Her words, not mine .

“Ford, do you mind setting the table?” his mom asks with a smile.

“Sure,” he answers.

Ford grabs silverware and plates from various drawers and cabinets, handing me the forks so I can help him set the table for dinner. Moose follows us the entire time, always appearing as if he has a big smile on his canine face. He seems to have a special bond with Ford, and Ford always has a hand on him. Like Moose is a life source for him.

Ford is lighter here in his home, like there’s an invisible weight pressing on him at school that isn’t here when he’s in his own space. He’s happier here in his element, here with his dog.

By the time the table is set, a man walks into the kitchen. He looks like a giant version of Ford, and it makes me wonder if Ford will be this tall someday.

The man sneaks behind Ford and ruffles his hair. Ford doesn’t tense or shy away from the touch, like I’ve seen him do when kids at school get too close. Instead, he turns and tries to mess up the man’s hair. It’s an impossible feat since the man is so much taller.

“Who’s our guest?” The man asks in a deep voice, shooting me a grin.

“This is my friend from school, Amber,” Ford tells him, then looks at me. “This is my dad.”

“Welcome to the Remington house, young lady,” his father says before striding farther into the kitchen and planting an unabashed kiss on his wife’s lips.

I look away quickly and notice Ford is wrinkling his nose.

“They’re so gross,” he whispers.

A moment later, Ford’s parents call the girls, and we all sit at the table for dinner. The Remington’s dining room is warm and full of conversation and laughter, flirtatious touches between Mr. and Mrs. Remington, and little spats between the girls. This simple house is full of life, and it makes me feel like something is missing at my house. Not because I don’t know my dad, or because I don’t have siblings, but because my mom and I don’t laugh and talk like this. We don’t have fun or sit down to eat together. The Remington children are cherished, but my mom probably thinks I’m a nuisance.

“You okay?” Ford whispers from his seat beside me. He has an uncanny way of knowing when I’m feeling down. He always finds me when I’m having a bad day, and I suppose I do the same for him.

“Yeah,” I lie.

We finish our food and Ford makes a psst sound and jerks his chin toward a sliding door at the back of the house. I glance at the rooster clock—it’s just after six, so I can stay a little longer.

As I follow him to the backyard, he leads me to a swing that’s just a slab of wood held up by two ropes tied to a high branch in a tall oak tree. The tree is surrounded by a pretty garden with many different types of flowers. I can see where Ford’s mom spends her time when she’s not caring for her children or cooking meals. I smile at a particularly pretty pink flower. Ford goes straight to the swing and sits down, but I’m too distracted by the flowers to join him.

“What’s this?” I ask, gently cupping the bright flower in my hand.

He studies it for a second. “My mom calls those Pink Piano roses.”

I grin. “Pink is my favorite color,” I say, feeling my smile fall slightly. “My mom says it’s not a good color for me, with my red hair.”

Ford pouts, his face scrunching in an adorable but angry scowl. “I think you have the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen,” he says, his voice sounding cool and calculated. “And you’d look nice in any color.”

I stare at him, a little stunned by how defensive he’s being. And even more surprised that it makes me want to smile. “Thank you.”