The Girl Next Door

Part 4

London, England. July 1961

            Clara and John raced down their street, each with a backpack filled with food, books, and art supplies. Their tree house was finally finished; their fathers had each worked on it almost every day in the past month. After much hard work, Clara and John’s new place was done at last.

            They turned into the lot and Clara was the first to leap onto the rope ladder leading up to the tree house. She pushed open the trap door and slipped through. John came up right behind her. “It looks too empty in here,” he said, looking around.

            “Yep, that’s why I brought these,” Clara replied, pulling the art supplies out of her bag. She had paper, scissors, glue, and colored pencils.

            “Awesome!” John said. “I brought these.” He fished into his bag and pulled out a few bottles of paint and some brushes.

            “Oh, nice!” Clara exclaimed. “We’ll make this place look amazing!”

v

            Splat.

            “Hey!” Clara whipped around to see John trying to suppress a giggle, paint dripping from his had. Clara touched her hair and gasped when she felt the wet paint covering the back of her head. She gave John a mischievous smile. “You’re going down!”

            Quick as a flash, John reached into the paint can and whipped another handful at Clara, hitting her shoulder. The paint splattered all over her shirt.

            Clara squealed and scooped up some paint, flinging it at her friend. He ducked, just in time, and the paint hit the wall behind them, exploding in a burst of blue.

            They both stared at the paint burst, mouths hanging open, then looked back at each other. “We’re so dead,” John whispered.

            “You started it,” Clara said.

            “Yeah, well you’re the one who threw that!” John shot back, pointing at the wall.

            Clara put her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who ducked! You should have stood your ground like a man and taken that shot!” She laughed.

            “Oh, and end up like you, with half a shirt covered in paint?” John retorted. “Yeah, fat chance!”

            Clara giggled. “You hit me twice!”

            John opened his mouth to respond, but Clara stopped him by planting a kiss on his cheek. John glanced at her and blushed when she pulled away. Clara smiled. “Don’t worry about the paint. Look, it’s kinda cool. Maybe we should paint the rest of it like that.”

            John shrugged. “Yeah, that would look pretty great, wouldn’t it?”

            So they continued their paint war, eventually missing hitting each other on purpose so they’d get more paint on the walls. After a couple hours, the tree house had every shade of color imaginable on its walls.

            Clara and John stood in the middle of the room, looking around at their work. Both of them had as much paint on their bodies as was on the walls. They glanced at each other and smiled. Clara held out her hand. John took it and gave it a brisk shake. “Excellent work, Miss Oswald,” he said, smiling.

            “Same to you, Mr. Smith,” Clara replied.

v

   Every day for the next few weeks, Clara and John met at the tree house during the day, and sat on their rooftops and talked at night. Today was Clara’s birthday, and John had something special planned.

            Clara made her way down the road, having agreed with John the previous night that he would meet her at the lot rather than them walking together. She arrived at the end of the road to find the tree house looking dark and deserted. That’s odd, she thought. Usually if she or John were there, they would have battery-powered lanterns or candles for light. Clara cautiously approached the tree and climbed the ladder, slowly pushing the trap door open. She hopped up onto the floor and stood.

            The lights came to life and John jumped out from behind the tree trunk. “Happy Birthday, Clara!!” He ran up and hugged her tightly.

            Clara laughed and hugged him back, looking around the room. Streamers and colorful decorations were draped around the branches of the tree. John had even gotten balloons. All the colors stood out brightly against the paint-splattered walls.

            “This is amazing, John,” Clara said, unable to stop smiling. “Thank you.” She hugged him again.

            John grinned. “Wait, one more thing! Well, two.” He let go of her and disappeared behind the tree again.

            “Okay, close your eyes,” John said, poking his head around the trunk.

            Clara did so, and held out her hands. She felt John place something in them.

            “Okay, open them!” John said.

            Clara slowly opened her eyes and saw a large wrapped present in her hands. “Oh, John, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

            “Of course I did!” He said. “It’s your thirteenth birthday! My parents made a big deal out of mine, so I’m making a big deal out of yours. Go ahead, open it!”

            Clara sat on the ground across from John as she pulled the ribbon off the box and removed the lid. Inside was a brand new sketchbook and set of charcoal pencils. Clara gasped and looked up at John, who was grinning. “Oh my stars, John! Thank you so much! I love them!” She leaned forward and hugged him.

            John chuckled. “No problem, Clara. I have one more thing for you, but I’ll give it to you later.”

            Clara was even more surprised to see that John had baked her not only a cake, but also a soufflé, knowing that they were her favorite and she just couldn’t get the hang of baking them. They sat next to each other on the branch at the very top of the tree, like they had when they’d first come here.

When it started to get dark, Clara and John walked back to their houses, their hands clasped tightly together. Clara walked into her house and immediately went up to her bedroom, climbing out her window and onto the rooftop. John was already seated on his. He smiled when she sat down in front of him.

“I love how we can do this,” Clara whispered, looking at the sky. For the first time since she’d been here, the sky was cloud-free and the stars were visible. Even the faintest hint of them reminded Clara of home.

“Yeah, it’s great,” John replied. “Hey, I have something else for you.” He pulled an old-looking sketchbook out from behind his back and opened it.

“What’s this?” Clara asked as he handed her a sheet of paper from it. She looked down at it and her mouth dropped open. It was one of John’s drawings. But it wasn’t just any drawing. John had drawn her. It was almost perfect. “John…”

“Do you like it?” He asked, smiling.

“It’s amazing, John,” Clara replied, feeling like she was going to cry. “I can’t thank you enough. It means so much to me.”

"You're welcome, Clara," John replied. "It was the least I could do for my best friend."

            Clara grinned at him. She stood up and hopped over to his rooftop and threw her arms around him. Clara wasn't sure how it was possible, but somehow being here, in John's arms, made London feel more like home than Canterbury ever had. 

            She never wanted to leave.