Gatorade

I walked through SoHo a little longer before finally deciding that there was nothing to do but go back home. My best friend, Ryn, was somewhere in Paraguay, Easton was still in Spain, and mom was back home reading E!
I walked through the Upper West Side to my penthouse home, the home I've known for sixteen years now. And in ten months, I'll be free, living in my own penthouse with Ryn as a room mate, partying until there was no more party left in the world. I smiled at the thought of me finally being independent, away from my mom's constant nagging about my life, and Easton teasing me for liking any guys. Sometimes I wish I had a sister, but Ryn has a younger sister, and Rebecca is just evil.
"I'm here," I said to no one in particular, closing my front door and heading to the kitchen. I got my favorite thing to eat, and apple, and plopped myself down on the couch, turned on the TV, and the channel was tuned to ESPN. What the hell? Easton wasn't here. And mom certainly doesn't watch sports. She wouldn't know the difference between a baseball and a rugby ball. I decided to leave the TV on and knock on my mom's door to find out if she was here, when suddenly, I heard a loud thump inside of her room.
"Mom?" I called out. Another thump, followed by an unidentified noise. Quietly, I ran to the kitchen and took the broom, holding it out in front of me. Then, in a second I stabbed the broom into my mom's bedroom door, which swung open with ease, and saw a man inside, who had his back turned to me. He turned around and widened his eyes, taking a step closer to me.
I screamed, running into my room, and heard a mouthful of curse words. The hell? I looked around, my familiar room comforting me, with its green wallpaper and posters covering the wall. I looked at my laptop, open, the screensaver playing, which was various pictures in my iPhoto library. The picture of Ryn and I at Six Flags showed, her laughing, me sneezing. Then Easton when he was nine or so, smiling with a soccer ball tucked under his arm.
"Hello?" I heard the man's voice. I snapped my head towards my closed door, opening it ever so slightly that I could barely see through the crack, but I was able to see shadows. "Hello?" Huh. Usually, when a serial killer sees a potential witness, they like to barge and kill. This one was careful and sly.
"I have a gun!" I lied, holding onto the broom tighter, my knuckles turning white. Was this the way I would die? By being chopped into pieces by a man whose hair was actually very nice, gelled back yet natural looking? With also a white classy shirt? Did I have to be slaughtered by a man with such class?
"I'm not here to hurt you," he replied. I rolled my eyes. Sure, pal. I've seen enough movies. I know how they end. And I am not ending up with my head in a sewer and the rest of my body in the Atlantic ocean. "I- I'm here for Marie?" he continued. Marie? Why was he suddenly talking about mom? "She gave me an address and told me to meet her here. I'm her realtor." Realtor? I slowly opened the door, with nothing but a broom, and looked at him. He was standing a few feet away, hands casually in his pockets, trying to look at me. "Are you a friend of hers?"
"Did you say realtor?" I asked, opening my door entirely. He nodded.
"Jeffrey Szolberg," he said, extending an arm. I raised my eyebrows, and he got the hint. "I'm not here to hurt you, I swear. Just here to help her house hunt."
"I never implied you were here to hurt me," I said, using my endless hours of watching CSI: Miami skills. You learn a lot about being smooth from actor David Caruso.
"Well I just assumed..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind." I expected him to say "I'll be going now, since I'm making you extremely uncomfortable and petrified at the same time and I seem like a threat besides my amazing hair and choice of clothes." Well, maybe not all of that, but at least the first part.
"Stand right there. Do. Not. Move." I said sternly, giving him a death glare, because I darted to my phone on my bed.
"What are you doing?" 'Jeffrey' asked. I dialed the number and held the phone to my ear, leaning against the frame of my bedroom door, staring at him. Him and his stupid hair that looked like it belonged in a magazine.
"Hello?" mom asked on the other line. I decided to have a little fun.
"Hi, there's a strange man in my apartment, and I think he's armed-" I started.
"What?" Jeffrey asked in horror. "Is that the police? I swear, I'm not armed, look!" he started patting himself everywhere, including his hair, which managed to stay perfectly put.
"What? Lyla, are you screwing me over?" I heard mom ask.
"Yes," I continued on with my play, giving out my address. "Come immediately. I want to see him with cuffs."
"What?" Jeffrey asked again, looking horrified. I smirked. "I'm not a harmful person, I swear! I'm just the realtor!"
"Lyla Carter, what is going on?" Mom demanded. I laughed, Jeffrey looked confused, and Mom sounded pissed.
"Do you know a man named Jeffrey?" I asked her, ignoring 'the realtor' as he tried to get my attention by flailing his arms. No reply. "Hellooo, earth to mother?" through my peripheral vision, I saw Jeffrey put his hands on his hips and look at me, figuring out that I had screwed him over and made himself look like a fool.
"Jeffrey?" she asked. I nodded, realized I was still on the phone, and answered yes. "He's... uh... my date. Tonight. We're going out."
"Uh huh," I said, nodding, not taking the bait. "What if he was, oh I don't know, a realtor?"

\o.o\ /o.o/

I sat on the couch across from Mom and Jeffrey. Mom looked uncomfortable, while Jeffrey seemed perfectly content, watching ESPN on the TV. I wanted to snap at him that this was our TV, and he should not be taking advantage of it seeing that he could've been a potential threat to me.
"Lyla," Mom started, exhaling slowly. "I guess there is no other time to tell you this except now." I raised my eyebrows, something I did that said "Go on," without having to speak.
"What's going on?" Jeffrey asked.
"Shut up, Jeffrey," Mom and I said in unison. He obeyed and focused all his attention on the hockey game. "Lyla. I have decided, completely on my own, that maybe the city isn't all that great of a place to live anymore."
"Why? This is a great place to live. We've lived here our entire life. We both know the neighborhood well enough we would navigate through the entire Upper Side in our sleep. Including the Lower East," I said. She exhaled again.
"I just... I need change, Lyla," she continued. Mom looked so vulnerable right now, while the rest of the time she was her usual lawyer self, intimidating and rough, scaring people off before they reached ten feet within her territory. I have that effect on only some people. I don't think I- much less anybody else- could climb up to my mom's standards. The President of the United States would look puny and worthless next to her. "We're moving out."
"To where? Please don't let it be TriBeCa. That area is way too crowded and its racial status is horrible," I commented. My mother rolled her eyes, and I saw her normal self come back inside of her.
"Lyla, we're moving to New Zealand," she said.
"Pardon?" I asked.
"New Zealand. Oceania? Ring a bell? We're moving there, so get your things packed and wrapped up, because we leave tonight," she said, standing up.
"Tonight?" I asked, appalled, standing up along her. Jeffrey was out of his trance, saw us standing, and copied.
"I've got a great selection of houses ready for us," he smiled, the first time since I've seen him. He also had perfect teeth. He was so perfect, he could be a Ken doll. Damn, he was hard to hate. "All very nice, up to your standards, nice neighborhoods..."
"That's what they all say," I spat, referring to his career field.
"Get what you need and meet me downstairs when you're done. Don't take too long," Mom said, leading Jeffrey to the door.
"What about Easton? Is he flying down there too?" I asked. Mom shrugged.
"I told him if he could,"
"How come he couldn't be the definite?"
"Because you live with me," she said, walking out the door with Jeffrey, who silently closed the door. It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. The hallway was carpeted, which meant slamming the door was impossible. Trust me, I've tried.
I stomped to my room (literally) and got out my suitcases, which Ryn had gotten me for my birthday two months before. I started shoving clothes in violently, wondering why I hadn't made a bigger deal out of it. I mean, Ryn could visit me whenever I asked her too. Not like I had a boyfriend or anything. Maybe that was the reason why. Were New York boys too... low standard? Were they really so bad that I couldn't get one? I decided to call up Ryn. As the phone rang, patiently waiting for the other line to answer, I continued lashing my anger out of my clothes, except my sweaters. My hoodies were precious to me.
"What up, bitch?" Ryn answered.
"I'm moving!" I whined.
"Ooh, where? Is it near the High Line? I heard it's this really cool place now, apparently. But I have yet to go there," she said. I heard scratching in the background. She was probably doing her nails.
"New Zealand," I sneered, shoving jeans in my second suitcase, not really sure how much clothing to take.
"Ooh!" I heard Ryn squeal. "I hear their guys are super hunky."
"Ryn! I am living there! Do you not understand?"
"Uh, yeah. You. New Zealand. Going there. Living there. Sexy rugby players,"
"Oh my God, you are no help whatsoever," I replied, rolling my eyes, finally zipping up my suitcases.
"Think of it as an experience, Lyla! Isn't it always hot down there?"
"Yeah, so hot it rains like, two days a year," I spat. I could practically hear her roll her eyes.
"Ugh, you're such a downer. It's not like we won't see each other again. I could pretty much live with you, that's how much I can be there. And you have no hubby to leave behind. I don't know why you're such upset." she had a point. Why was I so upset? I guess I'm just that kind of girl that can't stand being away from home too long. I mean, I've stayed at three week sleep away camps with no letters to my mom or Easton and vice versa, and I survived. It's not like the city is burning down in pieces (now that would be the ultimate, worst tragedy of my life. Literally) and New Zealand is the only option.
"Goodbye, Ryn," I said, hanging up. I got out a carry on bag and nicely put my laptop inside, and a few packs of gum. I go through those things quickly.
With no assistance, I left the house, locked the door, rode down the elevator and tugged my two suitcases behind me, my laptop hitting my hip in my carry on every time I took a step. I saw a white Beemer outside, with Mom in the passenger seat and Jeffrey leaning against the car. He saw me, cleared his throat, and took my suitcases from me.
"Thanks," I murmured, getting into his car. His seats were not comfy. You can tell everything about a person not only from their shoes, but also from their car. He didn't know how to let loose and have fun.
"And we're off to JFK airport," Jeffrey said as he buckled his seat belt. Mom and I did the same, and Jeffrey put the car into drive.

\o.o\ /o.o/

The plane ride was forever. No, really. We didn't arrive there until the next day, since we took a night flight. Or two days later, actually, since this part of the world was a day ahead or something. After leaving the airport, Jeffrey drove Mom and I into the "wealthier part" of the city, since that's "where we belong." What a stereotypical guy. Then again, Mom probably asked for it.
Jeffrey pulled up in front of a large, white yet sandy looking house. I could tell by mom's face she liked it already. No, she did not smile. You could see it in her eyes, past her rock hard, most-of-the-time expressionless face. They seemed lighter, somehow.
Then again, maybe it was from the blinding sun overhead that wouldn't go away although it's probably irritating everybody.
I got out the car and everybody walked inside. It was a mini mansion, I automatically noticed.
"Why a house?" I asked mom. I never lived in a house. Only apartments. How often do you see a modern day house in the city? Chances are none to none.
"I told you, we need change," she replied, not looking at me. When you walked in, there was a grand staircase or whatever they're called in the center of the room, where it stopped at another level of floor. To the right, as I soon found out from Jeffrey, was the kitchen, which was tan marble with smooth tile floors. Definitely a place to have sock races (I'll explain later). Then, a door in the kitchen led to the backyard, which had an in ground pool and a trampoline, along with a hot tub in the corner of the pool and two diving boards. The grass was green, and it was real grass, not the artificial kind you find in the fields along the FDR. There was a pier with two jet skis attached on ropes, bobbing in the water with nothing better to do. There are abiotic, after all. There were also beach chairs, no umbrellas, and a shed with tools if we wanted to garden, Jeffrey asked. I had to stop myself from snorting.
Psh.
Me.
Mom.
Gardening.
Yeah right, Jeff.
He led us back inside to the left side of the staircase, with had granite steps with a sleek banister, where we found a guest bathroom and room (not together) with a closet. Then it came to a dead end, where there was a small lamp desk with a flower instead of a lamp and an old fashioned light above it.
"How are you liking the house so far?" Jeffrey asked us. I nodded, and Mom didn't say anything. She definitely liked it if she had nothing to criticise about it. Jeffrey looked a little unease, but he continued on anyway. There were five bedrooms in total, which I have no idea why if there's going to be only two people living here, possibly three if Easton decides to visit, and six bathrooms. One in each room and one on its own down the hall. Each door was tan, which complemented the white painted walls, and inside each room were the basics of a bedroom. Bed, dresser, mirror, window, closet. The bathrooms had all the bathroom essentials, but asides from that, they were empty.
Then we took the less extravagant staircase, this time old and brown and made out of wood, to the attic, where the walls were made of glass windows. I almost gasped. You could see everything. There was a lake across the street, more rich houses like this one, parks, bike riders, everything. The only thing I didn't like was the sun, which was still beaming. It was like it wanted to annoy me. Damn sun. I wish I had a bottle of Gatorade. Besides the glass walls, there was nothing else special, unless a dusty drawer counted in the corner. Obviously, this isn't a place where you'd want to sleep and change. No form of privacy up here.
We ended up back in the main hall/entrance, and Jeffrey looked hopefully at mom. She looked at him. He looked at her. I looked at both of them, feeling thirsty. I took out a gum and started chewing.
"How much," Mom asked, but it came out more like a statement. Jeffrey told her the whopping price, which was something in (I guess) New Zealand dollars. But it sounded expensive. "Fine. I'll be ready to make a deal."
"Fantastic!" Jeffrey said, smiling. "But are you sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Mom challenged.
"There are more houses to look at,"
"But I like this one,"
"Yes, Marie, I understand but-"
"So there's nothing else more to talk about. Let's go," Mom walked out the front door. I smirked at Jeffrey, who glared at me, and walked out the door. What's up his ass?
We drove to a hotel we'd be staying at until the house was officially ours. Mom started making a bunch of calls, and I turned on the TV. It was on the news, and the thick New Zealand accent with a bold face and a mustache started talking about the hot weather. No kidding. I was sweating even with the AC on.
"Well," Mom looked at me.
"Yes?" I asked.
"Did you like the house?" she asked.
"Eh. I'd make a deal," I said slyly, something I learned from mom. She slightly smiled and went to the bathroom.