Nightfall ✓

Chapter 4

• chapter four •

In the evening, I was woken by my landline ringing. Yeah, the landline. My parents hadn't allowed me a mobile phone since they are too distracting. I had to pick it up before Stan could do that and tell the caller that I'd fallen from my balcony and died or something. Believe me, he'd done that once. Sharon had called when I was gone for my badminton coaching. Stan had picked up the phone and told her that my hair had caught fire and I was in the hospital. And when I'd asked him about it, he'd said defensively that my red hair always looked afire. I'd shot him in the eye with his Nerf gun for that.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. And then I remembered where I was. I wasn't at home anymore. My new mobile was ringing with mom's call. I pulled it out of my pocket.

"Mom, I know I promised to call you everyday, but I've been busy, I'm sorry," I said in a single breath.

"It's fine, sweetie. Just wanted to see how you're managing alone."

"I'm alive."

"A miracle, if you ask me. I hope you haven't been surviving on chocolate."

"Of course not, mom," I lied. She kept talking for fifteen minutes, and then handed the phone to dad, who, after asking about my studies, gave it to Stan. He awkwardly told me about a movie that he'd watched, and then, I can bet that because our parents had gone from the room he was in, he hung up.

Living alone sure was a lot of work, but I wasn't ever going to admit it to them. It had taken a lot of convincing to get my parents to agree to letting me come here. On the day when it was announced that I'd won and I had made that deal with Sharon and Sana, I came home, dumped my bag in my room and knocked on their door. "Mom! Dad! Can I talk to you?"

"What do you wanna talk about, huh? Huh? Huh?" Stan said from behind me, dribbling his annoying football. I turned around to show him the middle finger, but before I could do that, he kicked the ball. I wasn't ready. It came flying and hit me in the face, causing my head to jerk backwards and hit the door. For a split second, I couldn't feel anything, but then I fell on the floor with the ball in my hands. Pain shot down my spine.

"Goal!" Stan laughed and ran away. I wanted to get up and run after him, but he was much faster. I would never be able to catch him. Besides, I didn't want to create a ruckus and annoy my parents right now. Not when I wanted to talk to them about something important. Very important. Very, very important.

"Won't you run after me, Hazy?" Stan called from the living room.

Oh yeah, laugh all you want. In a week I'll be away from you, living my own life. Let's see what you do then.

I stood up and turned around. "Mom! I need to talk to you!"

"What about?" came her reply.

"About . . . um . . . Can you just come out?"

"We'll talk after lunch, sweetie. I'm busy."

"Please!" I begged.

"Later, Hazel."

I sighed and went to my room. Stan was sitting on my bed. "Get out," I said. I hated it when he came to my room. My room was like my personal space: all over the walls were painted quotes. On one wall I had made a huge painting of a couple dancing in the rain. It covered the entire wall and had taken me six hours to finish. Him sitting in my room was like him invading my mind: he could read everything that was close to my heart, and I hated that.

"You can't order me around. I'm two years older than you."

"Get. Out."

"Make me." He grinned.