Page 3 of Running Risk

RYLEE: THE N

“Rylee, come down. Our guests should be here any minute,” my mother calls from the living room.

Tucking the bookmark between the pages, I lay the book on the nightstand.

Our golden retriever, Peanut, lies at the foot of the bed.

I scratch her head, leaning into the love.

We got her as a puppy after I finished kindergarten, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.

Skipping down the stairs, I find Mom fluffing and straightening the pillows on the couch. She looks over her shoulder at me. “Honey, will you go pick a few fresh flowers from the garden and put them in a vase on the table?”

“Sure, Mom.” I grab the basket by the front door, already having scissors in it. The door opens, and I step aside as my dad walks in.

“Oh, sorry, sweetie. I didn’t see you there.” He rustles the hair on my head, and I bat his hand away, squirming to get around him. He smiles and holds the door open for me. “Janet, I started the grill. I need the burgers and hot dogs.”

“They’re in the refrigerator waiting for you.”

I turn to close the door behind me right as my dad kisses her on the cheek on his way to the kitchen.

I love watching my parents be together. They always seem happy.

I wish I weren’t alone as much, and I know I have them and they’re always here for me, but it would have been nice to have a sibling.

I shrug it off and go to the garden, Peanut right at my feet.

The garden bursts with flowers of all colors.

I always find my mom tending to them each day.

She loves having fresh bouquets for the table, but complains about how stores charge an arm and a leg.

One weekend, my dad made a garden at the front of our five-acre property.

I saw the sparkle in her eyes, and she bought all kinds of seeds to find which grew the best. She loves taking care of her plants, but her flowers are her pride and joy.

After clipping a few that look nice, I skip back to the house as a car pulls up the dirt driveway.

“Mom, I think they’re here.” I walk inside with the basket swinging on my arm.

“Oh, great.” She scurries toward me, placing her hand on my back. “Go put those in water and come meet them when you’re done. They have a young boy who’s eleven. It’ll be nice for him to know someone in his grade before school starts.”

I nod. I’ve always been the youngest in my grade. My mom jumped the gun and had me doing school workbooks before anyone else my age, so I got a little ahead. But I don’t mind it too much.

My mom pulls her apron over her head. “I want them to feel welcome. It’s hard to move to a new place. I know they’re worried he’s starting somewhere new with no friends. Please be nice.” She looks at herself in the mirror by the door, adjusting a few loose hairs.

“Okay…” I spin around, heading to get a vase.

She always gets nervous when people come over because I think she likes to make a good impression.

Her flowers gave her joy after I started school, but she still misses having a friend to do things with si nce her best friend moved away recently.

Car doors close, and muffled voices immediately let me know the family’s here.

I quickly put the flower vase on the table and walk outside.

A boy bends down to pet Peanut. I walk to him, and he stands to face me.

“Hey.” I wave. “I’m Rylee. This is Peanut.” I pet her head when she comes to my side, sitting at my feet. The blonde boy nods his head, and the side of his mouth barely moves upward.

“Hello,” a woman about my mom’s age says.

“You must be Rylee. I’m Mae Daniels. Your mom has told me all about you.

I hear you go to the same school Clayton will attend.

” She squeezes the boy’s shoulders as she stands behind him.

“Oh, and that’s my husband, Roger.” She motions toward the man, talking with my dad.

“Hi,” I say, eyes flicking up to look at the boy in front of me. He shuffles his feet and meets my gaze. “Want to go see my tree house?” He looks up at his mom before turning to me and nodding again.

“Rylee, dinner will be ready shortly. Okay?” my mom says, motioning for Clayton’s parents to follow her inside.

“Okay,” I say over my shoulder and turn to look at Clayton.

“Come on. It’s this way.” My bare feet walk through the higher grass behind the house toward the treeline where the treehouse is up high in a tree.

Peanut trots along next to me before going to her doghouse that sits next to the wooden ladder screwed into the tree trunk.

Peeking behind me as I climb, I pause and make sure Clayton is close behind.

My dad recently finished the treehouse, so I haven’t shown many friends yet.

After I pull myself inside, I grab a blanket from the basket in the corner and lay it open on the floor to sit on.

Clayton climbs in. His eyes bounce from my caterpillars to the drawings I have pinned to the walls. His fingers brush against each book he scans before walking to take a closer look at the caterpillars.

“This is cool,” he says.

“Thanks! I like to watch them turn into butterflies.” I smile, walking closer to see which caterpillar he’s watching. “Want to draw?”

He puts down the jar with my black and white caterpillar and nods. I pull out two pieces of paper and my colored pencils, setting them on the ground. He sits across from me, crossing his legs, and we get lost in our art. By the time I’m done, I’ve drawn a butterfly standing on a yellow flower.

“What did you draw?” I ask, peering over at his paper.

“Just a truck.” He holds the paper so I can see it better. His red truck is driving down a road lined with trees.

I smile. “Nice.”

“Yours is neat too.” He motions toward my paper.

I stand up and pin it to a cork board on the wall, and he joins me, placing his next to mine.

“Rylee! Dinner is ready!” Both our heads snap toward my mom’s voice coming from the house.

“Ready?” I ask, looking at Clayton. He nods, and I climb back down the tree. Peanut stands, ready to walk back to the house with us. When Clayton gets down, he pets Peanut, seeming to like her company as much as I do.

Walking inside the house, his mom asks, “Did you two have fun?” Her eyes scan our faces. I watch Clayton as he kneels to give Peanut a belly scratch.

“Yup!” I smile, walking past her to grab a plate for dinner.

The greasy food smell makes my stomach rumble, making Clayton laugh.

I smile and pass him the dish of macaroni and cheese after I put a large scoop on my plate.

Our moms seem to hit it off, laughing and telling each other about the little quirks their husbands have.

Our dads try to come to each other’s defense, saying they don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting chicken wings every Sunday while they watch football.

Clayton and I just shake our heads and laugh when the other gets a glob of ketchup on their nose after biting into our hotdogs.

After dinner, our parents continue talking around the table.

“Sweetie, do you want to start a fire?” My dad leans over, looking at me. “We can have s’mores.”

I nod and get up from the table, putting my dishes in the sink and grabbing the basket my mom has already put together. “Want to help me?” I ask Clayton. He nods his head and gets up off the ground with Peanut, who also jumps up and is at my feet in no time.

“Rylee, not too big. Okay?” my mom says, her eyebrow raised.

We grab our coats, and I say, “Okay.” Closing the door, I walk down the steps and to the fire pit in the middle of the field, just beyond the garden.

I love fires. I love watching the flames spread and flicker in different shades of oranges and yellows. I grab a few logs and neatly put them into a teepee shape. Clayton hands me smaller twigs, and I smile my thanks. It’s nice outside, quiet. You can hear the crickets chirping their song.

I get the lighter out of the basket, placing moss, dead leaves, and a napkin around the smaller twigs.

Once the fire steadily flickers, I hand Clayton a stick and the marshmallows.

We roast them in comfortable silence. We have both eaten two by the time our parents come out and join us.

They continue talking, my mom telling them all about the school, the town, and the events the town likes to host. Our dads talk about their houses and land.

My parents own ten acres of land, and Clayton’s parents bought a property that butts up against ours.

“Rylee, do you know when track tryouts start? Apparently, Clayton loves to run track, but Mrs. Daniels isn’t sure when the tryouts are,” my mom asks. The reflection of the fire dances in her eyes.

“How would I know?” My face pinches in confusion.

My mom laughs. “Maybe you have seen a poster about it or something somewhere around school.”

I shake my head. “I haven’t seen anything in the school library.”

“Would you want to try out with Clayton?” Mrs. Daniels asks.

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“She never has been one for any type of sports. We’ve always tried, but she’s much happier with a new book,” my dad explains, plucking a marshmallow off his stick.

“Oh, sweetie.” My mom looks at me like she forgot to tell me something. “Mrs. Clayton and I are going to take turns taking you both to and from school. There’s no reason for both of us to go both ways each day. So you may be staying after school for Clayton’s practices now and then.”

“Okay.” I nod. “Can I read while he has practice?” I don’t care where I am, that’s one of the best things about reading. I can do it anywhere, anytime.

“Of course, you can.”

A small smile stretches across my face before going back to roasting my marshmallows.