His Game

Chapter 7: Elsa

I sit on the bench in my corner of the garden, thinking over what had happened.

Jack slept in. Papa was angry, scowled at everyone and everything, answered shortly to all questions and comments, and refused to respond to me at all! It was all Jack's fault, too. 

So, of course, I was mad.

Then, after Mama left, I pulled an Anna (Is that what they say? Pulled someone? Such weird slang!) and listened at the door.

My father, the old, retired Marine, prim, proper, and strict, roasted  that stupid boy. I have never been prouder to call myself Agnarr Winter's daughter.

I grin, biting my lip to keep from laughing, and stare at the white rose in my garden. I love white because it is clean, sharp, and beautiful, like snow. Snow is beautiful. So is ice. But, because it is summer, this rose will have to do.

The edges of its petals are tinged light blue, because our old gardener showed me how to water it with water and natural blue dye, so it wouldn't hurt the flower. 

My fingers stretched out, gently stroking the petal. I love how flowers feel. Soft, like there are small, teeny tiny fuzzies or hairs on the surface.  

I love flowers, I think, They're so simple, but people are captivated by them all the same.

Other people, like Jack, can't appreciate the things like this. The softness of flower petals. The pattern in the breeze. The smell of the rain. Jack is incapable of understanding things like that.

Footsteps.

Speak of the devil.

"What are you doing here, Jack?" I ask warily.

"What do you care? Besides, you already know. I'm in trouble." Jack shrugs, his blue eyes resting on me, the wind blowing his silver hair around lightly.

"You have to weed the garden," I say smugly, "And you have to start in my  corner. Just take care, the blue tulips are genuine and very rare."

"I'll make sure to crush every one of them."

"What?"

"Nothing." Jack smirks and kneels, combing his long fingers through the soil, tossing the weeds into a lazy pile behind him.

"I see you're wearing the uniform," I say, hoping to annoy him. I do, apparently, because his expression darkens.

"Doesn't take a genius to figure that out, sweetheart." He says coldly.

"Sorry, but you can't bother me today," I say cheerfully, "I get to go ice skating today, so everything is perfect."

"Can't bother you today?" Jack grins at me, showing teeth as white as freshly fallen snow. "As in, I've only been here three days and I've already succeeded at annoying you for two of them?"

"Yes," I snap, then smile brightly, refusing to get upset. "Ice skating makes everything better."

"Figure skating?"

"Yes. It's a very challenging sport." 

Jack rolls his eyes at me, picking a dandelion out of the ground, and then scowling as the roots remain firmly in the dirt.

"What was that?" I demand, "Why did you roll your eyes at me?"

"Because figure skating isn't a real  sport." Jack says it like it's obvious, yanking the roots out of the ground.

"Of course it is!" I nearly shriek, "It's most definitely a sport!"

"The sport of looking pretty and wearing a dress while you skate around in circles," He gives me a ridiculous crooked smile, making me want to hit him. 

"Like you  know anything about skating." I say to him, trying to grasp back my cheerful mood.

"I used to play hockey, actually."

"Oh? Why don't you anymore?"

"One, I got bored," Jack explains, "And two, I got kicked off for fighting. The kid had to go to the ER. Apparently, I'm 'lucky' his parents didn't sue." He cracks a grin, wrestling with an unruly vine.

"Would you even have cared if they did?" I ask. "That could have been a lot of money."

"I almost wish they had. It would have made mom mad, and then something interesting would have happened."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, maybe she would yell at me, I'd have a kick-ass comeback, and she'd shut up." Jack smirks as he says this.

I suddenly feel bad for his mother. It must be extremely difficult, loosing her husband, then her son going insane, and then her daughter, Emma, having coughing fits. 

Emma is Jack's little sister. She has always been a bit sickly, but she still has a lot of energy and spunk, according to my mother. The sweet little thing is even close to Jack, something I could never pull off, even if I was in her place!

"Don't you ever feel bad?" I ask. "Your mother works hard."

Jack scoffs, "She's barely worked a day in her life. Dad is the one who got money, and all she had to do was stay home and watch Emma."

"She watched you, too, at one point. And there's a lot more to it than that." I say, quietly seething. "She was the one who handled the finances, and she was the glue that held your family together, even after your father died."

Jack yanks a weed out of the earth with a swift, angry motion. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned his fathers' death. It is probably a touchy subject for him.

"Don't pretend that you know everything about my family," Jack says, "People like you always pretend that they know everything, but they don't, so stop."

"Fine." I say. "Have fun weeding your garden. I'm going skating now, so if you'll excuse me."

I step around the pile of weeds lightly, humming the music to my routine. 

I look back, and see that Jack doesn't have anything to offer me, not even a glare or rude phrase. He must be ignoring me.

Good.

Once I get to the front door, I ask Kristoff to take me to the skating rink. Everyone there knows me well enough, and Mrs. White, the owner, always leaves it open so I can practice.

"Sure thing," says Kristoff, and gets in the front seat. We pull out of the driveway and start down the road, which has small, evenly spaced bushes all down the sides.

"So... " He starts.

"Jack." I say.

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

"Anna tells me he scares her," Kristoff looks at me in the rear view mirror. "Apparently he was a jerk to her this morning."

"He was." I say, "All she did was go up there and ask him to get up."

Kristoff's grip on the steering wheel tightens. "He better knock that out, or I'm going to-"

"Don't even say that," I moan, "The last thing I want is for him to think he can get to you using Anna."

"Still, he better not touch my girlfriend."

"I'll make sure he doesn't." I promise, smiling. "No one touches my Anna."

Ever. Or they will die.