To Walk in His Shoes

August 11th.

Since my last encounter with Keith, things have, if possible, become more awkward than usual. I’ve never really liked Keith, for multiple reasons, of course. But at the same time, as much as I hate to admit it, I would have done anything for him, because he means something to my brother.

Up until now, at least.

Lately, I’ve wanted nothing to do with him. And can anyone blame me? He’s a pig with no boundaries. But I almost feel bad, comparing him to pigs. He’s worse, yet I don’t know if there’s anything to describe how bad Keith is. He’s a disaster waiting to happen, and I’m just now beginning to witness it. I don’t know what to do about it, honestly. Everything he says has become worse, and it’s always a reference made towards me, just very cunningly. My brother is a genius, but I don’t think he’s even figured out what Keith means, and how horribly revolting some of the things he says are.

Keith probably thinks I told Carter about what I witnessed nights ago. And although I should have, I couldn’t find it in my heart to do that to him. My brother, I mean.

So, here I am now. No one knows about that phone call except Keith and me. I guess you could include whoever was on the phone, but she didn’t really hear anything. Keith hung up right after I walked in. And thank God he did, because that was an embarrassing moment I would not like to relive again.

Keith has been avoiding me these past four days. Normally I would be happy about that. But the fact is we’re stuck as partners until the end of the summer, or maybe even longer. Until that house is finished and good as new, we’re glued to the hip. God knows how long that will take. Just my luck, it will catch on fire again and I’ll have to be within a five foot radius of Keith for several more months.

I hate thinking so much about Keith. I feel like I’ve been going insane. He hasn’t said one word to me since that night. That’s supposed to be a good thing. I mean, that’s been my dream since I can remember. I thought it would give me some peace or something. But truth be told, it’s about as unnerving as fingernails piercing through a chalkboard.

“Hey, Kat?” Carter asks, pulling me out of my dense thoughts. We’re in the kitchen, as usual. It’s late, maybe one or two in the morning, and I’m about ready to head up to my room. I need to get some more sleep to be able to deal with Keith later on in the day.

“Hmm?” I ask, making a grunting sound that resembles that of a Neanderthal. I haven’t realized until now how exhausted I am. Honestly I don’t really know why. All I did was paint today. I haven’t even had time to practice dancing.

“Is there something going on with you and Keith?” He asks. I wince at the sound of his name in the same sentence as mine. Carter takes a bite out of his sandwich and looks at me curiously, his gray eyes dark and cloudy.

“Going on? What do you mean?” I ask innocently. I really don’t feel like talking about this. And it’s not like I can tell him. Keith would kill me.

“You guys have been avoiding each other more,” he says. I’ve never realized how observant my brother is. Or maybe we just make it that obvious.

“Oh,” I mumble at a loss for words.

“Did something happen?” He asks, I shrug and push myself off of the kitchen stool.

“Not that I know of. It’s probably just his time of month or something,” I offer sarcastically. Carter rolls his eyes at me.

“Come on Kat. What aren’t you telling me?” He probes. He’s not getting anything out of me. I don’t even know why I’m so protective over this. It’s not like I care about Keith. Yet I have a feeling that if this got out, some pretty harsh rumors would spread. And believe me, I’d rather not hear about them if they did.

“I told you, I don’t know,” I exclaim, a bit too loudly to sound like an honest answer. “I’m tired Carter. I’m going to bed.” I crawl up the stairs and brush my teeth. Downstairs I hear the door open and close. My dad’s already home and sleeping. He has an early shift in the morning, so I know it’s only one other person.

Groaning I retreat to my room. It’s not really a good hiding spot, but it’s the best I have.

I fall asleep instantly, wrapped up in my blankets. I don’t remember any dreams except for one. And even that one wasn’t too vivid. The only thing that popped out was Keith. I think he was yelling at me.

But it’s too much of a blur, because by the time I wake up, I hear a loud ringing. It takes me a couple of seconds to snap out of my dazed state of mind to realize that the smoke alarms are going off. They’re much louder than I recall, and I’m instantly out of bed. I throw on a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. I don’t really wear many clothes when I go to sleep, and I reprimand myself for that. I could be killed if this is a fire.

The ringing continues, blaring forcefully in my ears. I run downstairs as fast as I can. I remember checking the clock in my room. It’s only a little past six-thirty in the morning. My dad is already at the restaurant, so I’m quite aware this is the work of Carter and Keith.

I find them in the kitchen. Carter has a rag and is waving it uncontrollably below the smoke alarm. Keith is by the oven. He doesn’t really seem to be doing anything.

“What the hell?” I ask angrily, coming out harsher than I expected. They both look at me wide-eyed. Carter doesn’t stop flapping the rag around, and seconds later the ringing stops.

“Keith was baking a pizza and he forgot to take the pans out of the oven,” Carter says apologetically. I groan and glare at Keith. To my surprise, he’s glaring right back at me. That’s an improvement though. He hasn’t looked at me in days.

“And this is why Keith doesn’t cook,” I say, still looking right at Keith. He scowls and almost says something but stops himself. “Just next time watch him or something.” I grumble, trailing back upstairs.

I think I hear Keith call me a bitch, but I’m too tired to care, nevertheless yell back at him.

“Let’s just go to McDonald’s,” Keith suggests. I hear the door slam and that’s the last thing I can recall before I get back into bed and sleep crawls over me.

~~*~~
Despite the events that occurred last night, I’m over at the house early. I’m one of the first there, so I sit on the porch and wait for Mark to get here and give us directions or some overenthusiastic pep talk.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this job lately. I’ve been trying to block out Keith. He’s volunteering too, though, so it’s hard to get him off my mind. As far as I’m concerned, Keith is probably only doing this for the donuts that Mark brings us every so often.

Mark rides up the driveway in his old truck a few minutes later. He smiles at everyone that’s here and walks up to the porch. We’ve kind of established the porch as our unofficial meeting place. It’s convenient, and at the front of the house. And there’s also no damage. So that’s a plus too.

Mark begins talking about today’s tasks, and what’s in store for us. He gives us the normal greeting and then informs us about the days we’ll have off. I start to zone out when Mark drawls on. I couldn’t comprehend how tired I was until now, and it’s starting to get to me. I rest my head on my elbow and try to keep my eyes open.

Keith strolls through the grass shortly, giving nothing less than a highly public introduction. Mark sees him too, but he just clears his throat and continues. I don’t blame him. There isn’t really anything you can do with a guy like Keith. He shows up late no matter how many times he’s reprimanded. It’s worthless.

Mark lets us break off into our groups and we start the day just like usual. Keith follows me silently. I hand him a paint brush and drag the bucket to the back of the house. We start painting not too long after, swaying the brush up and down, side to side.

The bucket of paint is between the two of us. It’s a good excuse to use. It separates us, and it’s also a convenience. A couple of times our hands collide and paint splashes over our fingers. We don’t say anything though. The silence is almost suffocating, and I’m dying for a way out. Even yelling at me would be better than this torture.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Keith asks. I’m so astonished that he talked to me that I have to ask myself if it’s real. When I think it’s just a dream or something because of mild dehydration, Keith looks at me.

“What?” I ask. I mentally scold myself for saying something so blunt and stupid. Keith shakes his head and repeats himself.

“Why didn’t you tell Carter?” He asks. He takes a break from painting and sets the brush over the can. His full attention is on me. I’m too amazed to just gawk at him though, so I continue painting as a sort of distraction.

“You’re right,” I say. I brush my bangs out of my face and look back at him. “It’s none of my business.” For the first time in probably forever, he’s not glaring at me. He actually seems focused on what I have to say. I’m not prepared for this though. It’s as if he’s a completely different person. He’s not rude or bothersome or anything, and that’s out of the ordinary.

“Oh,” he says, as if he expected another answer. Like, maybe I’m blackmailing him or something. “T-thanks.” And just like that, Keith picks up his paint brush and continues painting.

I just stand there, my mouth open in shock, and I’m lost on what I’m supposed to say or do. But maybe that’s just it. Maybe for once, I’m not supposed to do anything. This is his chance to redeem himself.

And for the first time in our lives, I realize that maybe he’s not the person I thought he was.