pretty boy // rodrick heffley

seven

Saturday. Thank God!

"Good morning, Dad," I greet him and grab a bagel. I pop it in the toaster as he kisses my head.

"Good morning, MarMar," he says.

"Where's Mom?" I ask.

"She's at work," he replies. "The firm needed some extra filing done or something like that. I don't speak lawyer very well."

"But she was supposed to have the day off," I sigh, grabbing my bagel out of the toaster and spreading cream cheese over it.

"I know," his lips form a tight line over his face before he takes a drink of his coffee. "But at least now she can't force you to go tutor that crazy boy."

"I suppose," I shrug.

"I'm sorry," Dad says. "I shouldn't be so rude. He's still a kid."

"Believe me," I say, taking a bite of my bagel. "It's okay to be rude to Rodrick. He's an assho- no. I didn't mean - I'm so sorry."

My dad laughs before taking another drink of his coffee. I quickly swallow my bagel and feel my face turn bright red. I never swear in front of my parents. "I'm really sorry."

"It's alright sweetheart," Dad smiles. "You're 16 now. Can't keep babying you forever."

I nod and continue eating me bagel in silence. It's my dad's phone that disrupts the quietness. "What do they want?" He mumbles.

"Hello?" He answers, looking annoyed. "Well, I'm with my daughter, why? What? Where? Yeah. Yeah, I got it. I'll be right there, cheif."

He hangs up the phone and turns to look at me with a disappointed look on his face.

"You don't have to to explain," I say, holding my hand up. "Good luck."

"I love you," he says, kissing my head and rushing toward the door. He kicks his shoes on before racing out the door and toward his truck.

My dad is a firefighter. We live close to the station, so he still gets to live at home and he usually just ends up figuring out the insurance for families after their houses burn. Sometimes though, he gets a phone call from the chief and he ends up running into burning buildings. He risks his own life to ensure the safety of others. It terrifies me, but I'm incredibly proud of him for being so selfless.

I walk into the living room and sit on the couch, holding my legs against my chest. I don't turn the TV on in fear I'll end up watching the news and seeing the fire filled building my dad could be in. I impatiently stare at the clock up on the wall and wait for his return.

*****

It's 1:47 when someone finally knocks on the door. I go to answer it, figuring my dad must have left his house key when he took off in such a hurry. I open the door to see a tall, skinny boy standing on the other side.

"Rodrick?" I ask. He quickly spins around and grabs my hand.

"Come with me," he says, guiding me out of the house.

"What's going on?" I ask, stomping a pair of shoes on.

"Your mom called my mom," he explains. "She told me to come pick you up."

"You're going to have to give me more details than that Rodrick," I say, getting into his van with him. "Did something happen?"

Rodrick can't answer fast enough as I begin to panic. "Was it the fire? Was it my dad? Is he okay? Where is he? What happened?"

"Calm down," Rodrick says, taking my hand. "Your dad is okay."

"What happened then?" I ask, slowing my breathing.

"Brandon Ferris? Does that name ring a bell?" He asks.

"My dad's best friend," I nod. "Did something happen to him?"

"The ceiling collapsed on him," Rodrick says, starting to drive. "He's in the hospital now. Your mom is already there with your dad."

"Oh my god," I mumble, covering my mouth. "Oh my god."

"Marleigh?"

"Oh, my heart is beating so fast," I admit, putting my hand over my heart. I feel tears forming in my eyes and I try to blink them away.

"Just breathe," Rodrick says, putting his hand gently on my back. "It's gonna be alright."

I take a deep breath, focusing on Rodrick's hand on my back. I close my eyes and try to calm myself down.

"Hey, we're here," Rodrick says after a short while.

"Thank you," I say quickly. I get out of the van in front of the ER entrance and rush inside. "Mom?"

"Oh sweetheart," she says, hugging me.

"MarMar," my dad sighs, hugging me. "I turned away for two seconds and-"

"It's not your fault, Dad," I say quickly, hugging him tighter. "This is not your fault."

Brandon is like a brother to my dad, like an uncle to me. I've known him since I was a baby. Him and my dad have been fighting fires together for 20 years now. He has to be okay, if not for my family's sake, at least my dad's.