And We're Back Where We Started

Chapter 2 - You Can Run, But You Can't Hide

Chapter 2 – You Can Run, But You Can’t Hide

His footfalls were becoming less subtle; he was coming closer. No place to hide. Damn. So I did the next best thing. I ran.

I was good at running; running away from my problems, life, and family.

Why did I run away? Michael could’ve comforted me. He knew me inside and out. He knew me better than the back of his hand. He knew more about me than my mom, dad, brothers, and sisters do combined. We were closer than two peas in a pod. Closer than white on rice. Closer than peanut butter and jelly. Closer than Oreos and milk. Closer than SpongeBob and Patrick. (Okay, I think you understand our proximity….) Michael was the brother God forgot to give me. My partner in crime. My closest pal. My best friend.

We’d been destined to be besties since the diaper days. We had been born in the same hospital and on the same day. We were put in neighboring incubators too. Our moms had said they had found us smiling and waving (flailing arms and legs, really) at each other. We had totally worked out our own babbling language and trust me, we understood each other. 

Throughout preschool, elementary, and middle school we were inseparable friends. There wasn’t a single friendship as special as ours. Even in high school, when Michael became the biggest jock out there; we were together as if attached by the hip. Even when he had all those slutty cheerleaders and all his sports buddies chasing after him like squealing girls chasing Justin Bieber; he always, always, always talked to me. The unnoticeable, typical, bookish me.   

After high school, things changed. I got three new sisters. I mean, I already had three brothers, so big whoop, right? Well, my mom died giving birth to my three new sisters. And my whole world, life as I knew it, was altered. Altered as in, my dreams and hopes crashed and burned, my future was guaranteed to be a failure, and I changed. I would never, ever be the same again.

Before the death of my mother, we had been pretty well-off. Actually, well-off isn’t the right word. We were filthy rich; easily could overflow an Olympic-sized swimming pool with all our money. We lived in one of the classiest, costliest, and coolest condos Manhattan had to offer. It was aloft; high above the Lego-sized people and skinny strips of gum-splattered sidewalks with the perfect view of New York City. I loved it. But of course, all good things come to an end. We had to move.     

The Bronx. Ever heard of it? The poorest of the five boroughs in New York City. We went from one of the richest families in New York, one of the richest families in America, to nearly bankrupt from the abrupt absence of Mom’s monthly paycheck. My mom, Amy Anderson, had been an actress.

I never got to talk to her that much, but—

SMACK!

“What the…?”

I sat on the sidewalk staring up at the culprit who bumped into me.

“Oh, jeez, I’m so sorry!” He held out his hand to help me up, but before I took his hand, I noticed a book at my feet. Probably his book. I scooped it up and he pulled me to my feet.

“Thanks. Is this yours?” I asked, offering him the book; How to Win the Heart of That Special Someone. Huh. Maybe I should ask to borrow it.

“Er, yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. I handed him the book and he gave me a crooked smile, “My name is Adam.”

I nodded, “Ariel.”

“I gotta go. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, that’d be cool.”

He jogged away, flipping through the pages of his book as he crossed the street. I turned away to find myself at the doorstep of my apartment.

Funny how things turn out. If he hadn’t bumped into me, I probably would’ve kept running. Maybe I should’ve kept running anyways.

The apartment my family lives in is an old, ugly, brick building. It makes me want to empty my lunch into the surrounding, dying bushes at the sight of it. But it gets worse.

I cautiously nudged the vomit-colored door open, just a crack. The last time I entered, a metal bucket full of freezing water was drenched upon me. Aren’t my little sisters great? I let out a sigh of relief; I’m still dry.

I cross the living room’s scratchy, stained carpet over to the kitchenette. Well, I attempted to.

SMACK!

I’m on the floor, inhaling the unidentifiable odor of carpet. High-pitched giggles floated from the triplets’ room.  

I shrieked, “YOU LITTLE BIRDS!” Yeah, I’m not allowed to cuss. Not at home, and aloud, at least.

I untangled my foot from the almost-invisible fishing line that had been strategically anchored from one couch, to the TV across the room. I limped my way to the fridge to pour myself a glass of milk when I noticed the carton was gone.

“ALEX! We’re out of milk!”

Alex swaggered into the kitchenette, milk carton in hand, and claimed, “No we’re not,” and then proceeded to chug the last of the milk straight from the carton.

“YOU—”

Alex smirked, “Bird?”

“You wanna bird? I’ll give you the bird,” I shook my middle finger angrily at him.

He feigned surprise and hurt (yeah, a sixteen-year-old cannot pull that off), “Ariel! Daddy told us not to do that!”

I sneered, “Well, Daddy isn’t here, is he?”

Andrew appeared in the doorway, “I’ll go get some milk, Ariel.”

I smiled sweetly at him, “Thanks, Andrew.”

Then I turned back to Alex and jerked a thumb in Andrew’s direction, “Why can’t you be like him? You have no idea how many times I wished you were more like him.”

I slammed my bedroom door shut, causing the feeble building to shudder.

“No slamming the door, sweetie pie!” Alex mocked.

I yelled through the door, “You’re not my…,” and my voice faltered.

I whispered, “Mom.”

I have three brothers: Ace is the eldest, relieved to be in medical school, and is one of my best friends. Alex is the brattiest sixteen-year-old you’ll ever meet. Andrew is my youngest brother at a cute ten years.  He’s got an adorable baby face, but is the most mature out of us all. Then come the three spawns of Satan: Abbie, Allie, and Annie who look so similar I sometimes get then mixed up. Everyone’s got the signature Anderson hair. All the boys have wavy sandy hair that result in obsessed female stalkers. The triplets have perfect little golden curls that make all the other kindergarten boys drool at their feet. And lastly, there’s my dad; a handsome, chivalrous man who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer; complete with blonde locks.

Oh wait! I forgot one little unimportant puzzle piece to the huge family tree. The ginger oddball with a mortifying disarrayed splatter of freckles across her pudgy nose. Who could it possibly be, I wonder? Of course! It’s me; the unfortunate, ugly duckling.

While my mom’s fans would all smile and wave at the rest of the fam, they whispered and pointed at me, most likely assuming I was some orphaned beggar who decided to tag along. My mother assured me they were talking about how beautiful I was. I believed her… for about two seconds because one of my mom’s admirers shouted, “My, Amy Anderson is so kind! Look at her, talking to the beggar girl!”

Yeah. So kind.

Maybe that’s why Michael likes Leah better; she doesn’t look like a beggar girl because she isn’t one.

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Note from the Author:

I dedicated this chapter to Ocean101; she's an amazing Wattpad writer! Her works are just fantastic. Read them! Go along, now. *Makes shooing motion with hands.* Vote&Promote!