Exit, Pursued by a Bear

“Look, Maggie,” Wayland said, giving me a stern look through his thick-rimmed glasses. “Be nice to the new guy, alright? He’s been through… a lot.”

I was about to ask why I should give a damn when the “new guy” walked into the living room with Wayland’s brother, Porter.

I was pretty much surprised that he wasn't ugly, because Wayland had made him sound that way, but I kept my poker face. My brown-and-white Australian Shepherd, Sparkplug, gave a low growl at the newcomer.

“Maggie,” Wayland said, “this is Travis Wolfe. Travis, this is Maggie Donner.”

The Travis dude stepped forward with his hand out, a pearly smile across his tan face.

My first reaction was to take his hand and hold onto it forever. However, I just looked at it until he dropped it back to his side. I looked up into his face, cataloguing his short, spiky black hair, his dark brown eyes. The long white scar that ran along the left side of his jaw was the only thing that marred his pretty face.

Wayland broke the awkward silence with a “Dinner’s in five, I think. Maggie, can you show Travis his room real quick?”

I shot him The Look, which made anyone I gave it to cower, before leading Travis up to the second floor of our stone cottage in the woods, not bothering to help him with his duffel bags.

“Um, Maggie, right?” New Guy Travis said as we climbed the stairs. At the sound of his voice, Sparkplug came running to make sure I was all right.

“What?”

“I’m Travis.”

Oh, my God. Was he serious? Like I didn’t know his name already?

“I know,” I said, not wanting to sound mean, but sounding mean anyway.

“I didn’t know if you were paying attention when Wayland told you my name. You looked kinda spaced.”

I paused for a millisecond on the second stair from the top. The kitty had claws, and I was not expecting them.

“That’s your room,” I said, pointing to the last door on the right, which was right next to my room. “Deadbolt on the door included.”

“Why do I need a deadbolt?” He gave me a questioning look.

I looked at him, slightly amused. “You’re not used to affiliating with criminals, are you?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, well, welcome to the magical world of our wonderful family.”

“These people are your family?” he asked.

“Yes. A white girl—me—is directly related to a couple of black guys—Wayland and Porter.”

“They’re black?”

“Stop asking so many questions,” I said, getting irritated, even though he was right. Wayland may have caramel-colored skin, but he sure didn’t act like he was ghetto, and neither did Porter. I mean, with names like that, their parents must have been some sort of sophisticated people. Unlike my own parents, neither, of which, had graduated high school.

“Just trying to get to know you a little,” he muttered, moving toward his room. “I mean, y’know, ‘cause we’re gonna be living with each other and all.”

“Neighbors, even,” I said, pointing at my bedroom door, which I had painted a big red X over the brown of the wood.

“Your room?” He brushed the back of his hand against the doorknob.

“Ya think?”

He ignored me and went to check out his room.

I turned to run away from this boy, but, halfway down the stairs, Wayland stood at the bottom, blocking my way. He pointed in Travis’s general direction and said, “Make him feel welcome.”

“Why should I?” I said with a scowl. “I don’t even know him.”

“You should try,” he said. “Like I said before, he’s been through a lot in the last few months, and he’s going to be living with us for a long time.”

“But, why?”

“Because he has nowhere else to go, that’s why.” Wayland half-frowned. “Please, Maggie. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Fine. But, I’m skipping sparring for a week.”

“Fine.”

I turned around and went back up to get Travis.

He was placing neatly folded clothes into the second drawer of the dresser.

“Yo,” I said.

He glanced over his shoulder at me and said, “Hello.”

“Soup’s up.”

“Alright.” He turned to face me. “What’s for dinner?”

“Not sure, but, knowing Jonnie, it’s gonna be good.”

“Jonnie is…?”

“The chef.”

“We have a chef?”

“No, we have a chef,” I said. “You’re still new, so he’s not your chef.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…” I left the room and headed downstairs, Sparkplug and Travis at my heel.

The kitchen table only had eight seats, so we had to pull an extra chair up to it to accommodate Travis. Of course, the chair was placed next to mine.

“Chef Jonnie presents,” the youngest of our little group at age fourteen, Corn, said, “chicken Parmesan for nine.”

Jonnie placed a dish in front of each of us, and we chowed down.

“So, Travis,” Ruther, the weapons expert of our family, said, “how do you like your room?”

“It’s white,” Travis replied.

“Ahem,” Dana, the blonde-haired “goddess”, said, pointing at herself. She was, indeed, very white. Even whiter than me.

“Not that that’s a bad thing,” Travis said. He then proceeded to shove some pasta into his mouth.

I snorted into my plate.

“Agenda for tomorrow,” Wayland said. Always the silence-breaker.

There were several groans all around the table.

“Agenda for tomorrow,” Wayland repeated. “Breakfast at dawn. Then, sparring led by Roman this time. Until noon. Then, lunch. Weapons lesson, led, as always, by Ruther. Until five. Then, dinner. Reading until sundown. Wind-down time. In bed by eleven.”

My older-by-three-and-a-quarter-minutes twin brother, Roman, said,” Can we ever switch it up? I mean, we’re always doing the same thing, every damn day.”

“Agreed,” I said, bumping my fist against his across the table.

“Maybe one day,” Wayland told him. “But, tomorrow will just be the same.”

“This sucks my big toe,” Corn said, mashing a piece of pasta with his fork.

“Shut up,” I said. “Wayland’s in charge. What he says goes. ‘Kay? ‘Kay.”

“Thanks,” Wayland murmured.

I shrugged my shoulders and continued eating. “Jesus, Jonnie, you need to be a chef when you get older.”

Jonnie’s cheeks turned pink. “It’s only my greatest dream.”

“Like on Hell’s Kitchen,” Corn put in, his mouth full of chicken.

“No,” Roman said, shaking his head so his shaggy brown hair swished all around his head. “Half the people on that show have the worst attitudes… Jonnie would probably be kicked off that show on the first episode.”

“No,” I disagreed. “He’s too good a cook to get kicked off.”

“Are we seriously talking about that retarded show?” Travis asked.

Everyone gasped. Hell’s Kitchen was the only show we all enjoyed. Mainly because of the frequent profanity.

“Did you seriously just say that Hell’s Kitchen is… retarded?!” Ruther screeched, standing up so fast he knocked his chair over backwards.

“Ruther, shut up, you idiot,” Wayland ordered, and Ruther did. “Dinner is over. Thanks, Jonnie.”

He stood up with his plate, dumped it in the sink, and left the kitchen. The rest of us followed suit, even though none of us were finished.

As I was about to leave, Travis grabbed me by the wrist. “What do we do now?”

I yanked my hand away. “We have the reading after dinner. And don’t touch me.”

“Sorry.”

I joined everyone in the living room.

“Tonight, we’ll be reading act one of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, by Shakespeare,” Dana said. She always led the nightly readings—because no one else wanted to—and she always chose Shakespeare.

She started to read, and I zoned out, just staring at the cover of the play in her hands.

“So,” she said when she was done, “we have some conflict here.”

“I really don’t care,” Corn said.

Dana hmphed and stormed out of the room.

Roman and I snickered.

“Corn, go do the dishes,” Wayland said.

“What?! It’s not my night! I did them last night.”

“I really don’t care.”

All of us laughed, but stopped short when Corn gave us all a dirty look as he walked back into the kitchen.

“Alright,” Wayland said, “free time.” He got up and went upstairs.

“What do we do for free time?” Travis asked Porter, whom he was sitting next to.

“He doesn’t talk,” Ruther said.

Travis looked at him. “Why not?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Er…”

“Anyway…” Jonnie stood. “Later.” He left the house through the front door.

“Okay. Someone who talks, please,” Travis said. “What do we do for free time?”

“Anything you want,” Roman said. “Duh. That’s why it’s called free time.” He, too, got up and went upstairs.

“So, what’s there to do for fun?” Travis looked at me.

I raised an eyebrow. “Why are you looking at me?”

“I dunno. Just thought maybe you’d know, since you’ve lived here longer than I have.”

“Okay, well, you can read. Or watch TV. Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t give a damn.” With that, I went up to my room and laid down to try to catch up on some sleep, since I wouldn’t be sparring for a while.