Page 20 of Nerdelicious
There is no sign of Beast as I exit the back patio. He’s hard to miss—a cursory glance is usually sufficient to locate him.
I take the narrow footpath between some trees and through the tall grass, shrieking and swiping at giant bugs flying around trying to attack my face.
The heat is oppressive and the bugs are plentiful, but still... Texas is expansively gorgeous. The sky is a giant dome that stretches on forever, a blue so brilliant it can hardly be real. And I can see for miles. My destination is a grove of trees about a half mile away. No concrete jungle here.
As if to punctuate that thought, a rooster crows nearby. Nope. Definitely not in New York anymore.
But I’ll be home soon, within the next two months. It doesn’t smell like fresh grass and wild flowers there. It smells more like sewer and hot dogs. It’s not quiet, not even at night. It hums with energy and opportunities. It’s where my family is. It’s where I’ve spent my whole life. It’s a city full of life and possibilities and, you know, jobs and a future.
Sometimes I wish I could stay here forever and just never go back. But what would I do in Blue Falls? I can’t live with Granny forever. As beautiful and quiet as it is here, as much as I’ve loved it, it’s not home. I don’t quite belong.
As I approach my destination, a weird bleating trills through the air, coming from somewhere inside the grove of trees.
Did Kylo Hen get out again?
I hesitate at the edge of the tree line for a moment and then step faster. What is that? There are other noises now... and it’s most certainly not a chicken. Growling and other odd sounds.
Maybe it’s an animal. Is it injured?
Injured animals can be dangerous. I slow my steps when it’s apparent the sounds are coming from around the next bend—near the tree house.
Someone coughs, not like choking but almost like forced coughing. It’s not an animal, it’s a person.
Leaning against the trunk, I peek around the tree toward the tree house and then jump back.
It’s not just any person. It’s Beast.
Is he trying to talk? Or make noises?He can make noises?
He’s sitting in the tire swing that hangs off of the thick branches. It’s a big tire. Hefty enough to support even Beast’s imposing frame, although he fills the space and then some.
What do I do? I can’t just stay here. I have to make my presence known.
Careful and quiet, I tiptoe back up the path a few yards and then turn around, stomping and whistling as loud as I can.
Except the song that breezes between my lips is the creepy one fromKill Bill. Which is also from the 1969 British horror filmTwisted Nerve. Either way, I basically sound like a psychopath and a serial killer.
“Oh, hey. I didn’t know you were here.” The words jangle with insincerity even in my own ears. “Uh, what’s up?”
I am so, so bad at this.
What’s up?What’s up? Have I lost my mind? I should just shut up. Forever.
A flush of red creeps up his neck. A muscle in his hard jaw ticks.
We scrutinize each other across the short distance of crab grass and errant white and purple flowers that are probably weeds. A narrow creek winds through the trees about twenty yards off, the trickle of the water and the buzz of insects the only sounds between us.
He stands suddenly, forcing the tire to sway behind him, and then it swings back and hits him in the ass.
He flinches, using one beefy arm to still the spinning tire. For a long beat, he stares at me, the tips of his ears going red. Then he paces away, disappearing behind another tree.
Well, that was brilliant.
I sigh and walk over to the vacated swing.
Sitting in the center of the black rubber circle, I push myself back and forth with one extended leg.
I guess that cinches it. Yes, I do suck. Yes, Beast hates me. Or at least strenuously dislikes me. And he’s within his rights. I hang out on the tire swing for long minutes, pushing myself back and forth, closing my eyes to enjoy the trickling water flowing nearby.
