Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 8 - Wednesday: The Art of Shouting with Your Mouth Closed

Willow

I hurry down the patio steps, my bag already settled on my back in anticipation of the motorcycle ride to school.

Day two, and I'm no less nervous than I'd been yesterday, possibly even a little more so. It's Wednesday, and I'm ridiculously tired already. I wish we'd arrived in Briar Cove over the weekend instead of on a Monday because I really need some rest to get over our long journey. I'm sure my mother does too. I am looking forward to the weekend though I know I'm going to have to spend most of it catching up on schoolwork. My mother and I both hit the ground running by starting work and school the day after we arrived in town. Like me, my mother didn't want to wait and settle in for a couple of days.

I was sluggish getting out of bed this morning, and I really don't want to keep Hunter waiting today. I've forgone creating one of my usual intricate braids, tying my hair in a simple but tidy ponytail instead. It follows every move I make, like the playful tail of a frolicking pony it was named after.

I'm surprised to find Aunt Beth's small, metallic pink car waiting in the driveway instead of Hunter and his motorcycle. Realting@Beth.com is printed in large white letters on the sides, along with a picture of Aunt Beth's smiling face and the phone number she uses as a real estate agent. Hunter straightens up from the open trunk, meets me on my way to him and helps me take the backpack off my back.

"Ma doesn't have any appointments today, so we have the bug mobile," he explains, putting my bag in the trunk. His own bag is already there, as well as a gym bag and a large art folder. I smile at the name. He's right; the car does resemble a big pink bug. Wanting to be helpful, I scurry away to open the gate.

"We have to hurry after school today if we can, okay? I have MMA training every Wednesday and Friday after school," Hunter informs me when I've closed the gate behind us and am climbing into the passenger seat.

"What is MMA?"

"Mixed Martial Arts."

Oh, my word! The boy is a deadly weapon!

So, on the days that he doesn't have training, he simply tries to kill his friends in the park? What has my mother gotten us into?

"Don't worry; I'll drop you off at home on my way to the gym."

There's no way that the house could be on the way to any gym. Even if it might possibly be in the same direction, Hunter would still have to leave the main road and twist through the maze of smaller streets to reach their house. It's not going to be convenient for him at all.

I'm becoming more and more of an additional responsibility to bog him down. My mother might be right about Hunter being a considerate person. He is also rather kind when he's not being a pest... or being violent.

Last night when I was watching TV in the living area, I got distracted by him attacking the sparing dummy in the backyard. I now know what that was about too. MMA practice. The dummy has all kinds of protruding, moving parts that would definitely hurt you when you slam your body into them the way he did.

He'd been at it for a very long time. Watching him through the living room windows was mesmerising. I've never seen a person move quite like that. I would not want to be on the receiving end of those moves. One punch or kick, and I'll be dead. I'm surprised that nobody ended up in the hospital after their ball game in the park on Monday.

Watching him, I realised that there was no way that Uncle Ryan and Aunt Beth would've been able to tackle him to the ground and cover him in mud the way they had yesterday if he didn't let them do it.

How is it possible for someone to be so violent one moment and so sweet and endearing the next? At some point yesterday evening, I'd been looking for my mother and not only did I find her in the upstairs living room, but I also found Hunter there, stretched out on the couch, lying on his side with his head resting in his mother's lap.