Izzy, Not Isabelle

Backstory

The weather had been dark and dreary. It had been pouring rain. The lightning was blinding, and the sky had roared with thunder. Funny how the weather sometimes reflects the mood. It certainly had that night. I've never much cared for thunderstorms. Give me snakes or spiders any day, just no storms.

All of the lights had been on at Jake's house across the street. I could just barely see shadows in the windows through the rain. A towering shadow seemed to be walking around, picking up certain items and throwing them all into some sort of box. Only later did I learn that it was a suitcase. A slightly smaller shadow was following the largest one, but it wasn't moving anything. The smallest shadow stayed in the same place the entire time, shaking. Then all of the shadows had disappeared through one side of the room, through the doorway leading to the hallway.

The front door to Jake's house had been thrown open and his father had lugged the suitcase towards the old Volkswagen. Once the suitcase had been shoved into the backseat of the car, Jake's father had climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. The headlights had flashed, too bright for me to see anything. I had closed my eyes, and when I looked back at the house across the street, both the man and the car had vanished.

Jake's mom had been standing completely still in the doorway when Jake had run past her. She didn't even seem to notice. Jake had been sprinting towards my home as fast as his legs could carry him. Instead of coming to the door, as I had expected him to, he had climbed up the rope ladder into the treehouse my dad built in the huge oak tree in the front yard.

I couldn't leave him there alone. I had shrugged on my blue raincoat---not bothering to zip it up---and yellow boots then snuck downstairs and very gently opened my front door. Once I had silently shut it behind me, I had dashed towards the ancient tree and up the coarse rope ladder, past the spray-painted outer walls, and into the treehouse. The walls were home to many misadventures with paintbrushes. From leering smiley faces to accidental splatter paint to song lyrics, the walls told the story of us.

Jake had been curled up in a ball in the far corner of the treehouse, sobbing. I had run to him and wrapped him in my arms. He had laid his head against my shoulder. We stayed like that for a while. His shirt was soaked, and mine was becoming quite damp from being pressed against his, but I didn't mind.

After about thirty minutes, once Jake had calmed down some, I had suggested we go inside. He had agreed, and, seeing that mine was the only raincoat, I had taken it off and given it to Jake. We had sprinted towards my house and, once under the shelter of the enclosed porch, we'd snuck inside.

We had gotten to my room before I'd noticed a trail of wet footprints leading up to Jake's position. I had jogged to the bathroom to grab him a towel, then I had gone back to my room and handed it to him. I had opened the drawer marked "JAKE'S STUFF." It was a culmination of all of the clothes and possessions he'd left at my house over the years. I had grabbed him some clothes then pushed him into the bathroom to change before going downstairs to grab the roll of paper towels. I had finished wiping up the wet tracks just as he'd come out of the bathroom wearing the shirt and shorts I'd given him. He'd handed me his other clothes wrapped in the towel. I had brought them to the dirty clothes bin, grabbing my clothes on the way out of my room, and changed my own clothes.

When I had gotten back to my room, Jake had been curled up in the fetal position on my bed. I had laid next to him, stroking his hair until he'd fallen asleep. Then I'd checked the time on my old Minnie Mouse alarm clock that I kept forgetting to replace. It had been almost one in the morning. I had closed my eyes and fallen asleep immediately.

When I had woken up in the morning, Jake had still been asleep next to me. I had gently woken him up and, after the grogginess disappeared from his features, gave him the toothbrush that he'd left at my house after our last sleepover. We had brushed our teeth in silence, neither of us wanting to bring up the events of the previous night.

Eventually, after we had finished with our morning preparations, I'd left Jake to change and went downstairs to the kitchen. My mom was at the table already, working on her laptop. She was a high school tutor; she helped students with math and science. She had worked a lot back then, but she always found time for me. I guess Dad had still been asleep.
I had opened the freezer and pulled out two frozen Eggo waffles and popped them into our old white toaster. We'd had that thing since I was born. Jake and I are pretty self-sufficient; neither of us likes to ask for help. I had gotten out plates while the waffles were cooking. The plates had matching blue spirals. Once the waffles finished and the toaster dinged, I used a butter knife to get them out and put one on each plate.

After putting away the toaster, I had brought the plates and bottle of syrup up to my room, where Jake had been sitting on my bed. I had silently given him his breakfast and sat next to him. We had eaten without speaking.
Once we finished, Jake had looked at the ground with a defeated expression.

"I need to go home," he had whispered. I had nodded and hugged him.

"Do you want me to come with you?" I had been concerned for him. He had looked like he was on the verge of tears, but he'd shook his head. I hadn't wanted to force my presence onto him, so I'd stayed behind.

My mom had confronted me afterwards and told me that she and Jake's mom had talked and that Ms. Roberts knew Jake had been here.
Jake and I haven't mentioned that night since.

A/N
Sorry this is sad! I just wanted to show how close they are and how my sweet babies will stick together no matter what. 💕