Page 10 of Brick Wall

Annie

“ D id your brother just lock us in the shed together?” Sebastian scrapes a hand through his hair and blinks in quick succession.

“Yup,” I say, popping the p . After a moment of absolute silence, I add, “I warned you that he wanted to play matchmaker.”

I take a seat on the cement floor and cross my legs. Might as well make myself comfortable for a few. Thankfully, the shed is rather empty at the moment, so there’s enough space for both of our larger bodies plus some leg room.

The old shed smells a little musty mixed with the tang of teenage sweat, a lovely combination, if you can catch my sarcasm. However, the smell isn’t unbearable, unlike this man freaking out in front of me.

“By locking us up in a closet like a teenage girl?” he squeals, like a young girl might, as he’s pacing back and forth in a small pattern .

“Oh! Did a girl lock you in a closet when you were younger?” I say, resting my arms on my knees. I’m totally calm. I’m immune to this kind of stuff at this point in my life. Plus, someone needs to be reasonable here.

“No,” he scoffs.

I pat the cement floor next to me, indicating that he sit. He’s going to make me anxious with his nervous energy. He ignores me and instead tries to find a way out or something.

“Why aren’t you trying to help me escape?” He’s pacing rapidly now.

“Because there’s nothing to do? I’m pretty sure my brother took everything out we could use, including all the rocks. Shawshank is his favorite movie, after all.”

“So, what are we supposed to do? Rot in here until we die?”

I roll my eyes. Why do guys always say women are so dramatic? They are just as bad, if not worse, than women.

“Sure, or in a few minutes, someone will come over and let us out…”

“How can you be so sure?” The pitch of his voice is higher than normal.

“Well, I have almost thirty years of experience putting up with this crap.” I pause. “Also, I sent a text.” I wave my phone in the air.

He raises his eyebrow in curiosity.

“Help will be here soon.”

“I didn’t realize you had a phone on you.”

“Neither does my brother, apparently. But I had my work phone tucked away.” In my bra , but I keep those last few words to myself.

I pat again at the uncomfortable floor, and after a moment, he complies and attempts, slowly, to mimic my crossed legs .

“Remind me to remove funding from his summer camp.”

I smirk at him because we both know he’s full of shit.

He looks extremely uncomfortable. He groans and holds his back. For such an athletic man, he is not very flexible.

“You may need to help me up after this,” he whimpers while holding his back.

“I thought you were a professional athlete.”

“That’s why this hurts so much,” he moans.

I do a little grunt in return. Maybe I’ve spent a minute too long with this guy already.

“So, you’re a Moore boy, huh?” he comments.

“Moore woman , actually.” I add emphasis to show that I am a lady and no longer a teenage tomboy.

Being the youngest of all my brothers and the only girl, I am extra conscious of the fact that I am not considered a true lady by others.

I was raised as “one of the boys” and equal to my brothers.

I’ve always loved sports and joined their pickup wiffle ball games, basketball, flag football, or whatever game they needed an extra person for.

I was raised a bit more tomboy than girly girl, which I loved when I was younger.

However, when you become a teenage girl, the last thing you want to be is one of the boys, especially around your older brothers’ cute friends.

I was often seen as more of a sister or just another Moore sibling than a potential date.

It also didn’t help that my brothers sent threatening glares at any boy who even got a little close to me.

I’ve long made peace with the fact that I’ll never be the hottest girl in the room or anyone’s first choice. Now, as an adult, I still love playing sports and wearing sweatpants, but I also love getting dressed up on a fancy night out. Why can’t it be both ?

Sometimes, I’m a little sensitive about being seen as a Moore boy and not the woman I am today. Old wounds and all that.

“My bad,” he says simply. “I didn’t put it together that the Moore brothers were your actual brothers.”

“I mean, none of us told you, so why would you know?” I question. “I don’t usually go around telling everyone I’m related to those idiots.”

“I don’t blame you, especially after this.” He points a finger up and draws a circle in the air.

“They’ve definitely done some stupid things over the years, but this is a new one.”

Sebastian grunts in return, and it remains quiet for a few minutes as we await rescue.

“So, your brother mentioned you make the best chocolate chip cookies?” His eyes look so hopeful with that last comment.

A laugh bubbles out of me. That’s not what I thought he’d say.

“I’m sorry, but he’s a liar. I just buy the pre-made cookie dough. Sometimes, I’ll take those big sea salt flakes and sprinkle them on top to make them look fancy, but they are definitely not the best ever.” I say those last three words with quotation marks by moving two fingers up in the air.

“Bet they’re still tasty, though,” he says, and on cue, his stomach rumbles.

Wordlessly, I pull out a protein bar from the exact location my phone was and hand it to him.

“Oh! Chocolate Chip,” he says as he rips open the package and devours it in a few bites. “Thanks,” he says almost sheepishly.

“No problem. ”

It’s quiet again, and now I feel the need to say something.

“That first night…” I stumble. “I thought Goldie was getting catfished. I thought someone was using Bryce’s picture. I didn’t think she’d actually get the guy.”

He waves me off. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is. I know we are officially good, at least I hope we are, but I wanted to clear the air anyway. I don’t want you to think I am using you.”

“I don’t think that,” he responds quickly.

“Good.”

“I’m not sure if I ever did. I was overwhelmed and took it out on you. I’m sorry. Again.”

Now, it’s my turn to wave him off. “Not a big deal. We are good,” I say while the door opens.

“Well, if you are good, I’m going to shut this aga—” Ryan casually says, as if he’s an innocent bystander, which he is anything but.

“Don’t you dare,” Sebastian says, putting his foot to block the door from closing.

When did he get up?

It took this man five whole minutes to sit down, but now he can get up and move when he wants to.

“Hey, man! Don’t blame me,” Ryan says while backing up and putting his hands out in an act of surrender, as if he’s the innocent victim here. “You can stay in there and do it as long as you want.”

“The only thing I’m doing is locking you in this closet instead,” Sebastian retorts.

“Hey, hey! Not necessary. Here.” Ryan opens the door all the way and gestures for us to come on out, which we don’t hesitate to do .

Sebastian grunts in reply and walks away in the wrong direction. I can’t blame him. I would do it, too, if I could.