Protectors - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Dear daughter and that insufferable, despicable, vomit inducing, untrustworthy, smelly, specky, know-it-all,

         Everything is happening here. There is a crew of weird men dressed in weird clothing prowling the city. At least, according to the news, that is. I'm telling you, I even talked to one of these men. Appeared right on my doorstep, this one did, believe me. Asked me if I have caves, in my roof. I told him to check caves in old Martin's house. If you haven't seen old Martin's house, know that there are humongous anthills in the attic.

You're missing everything. Its Sam's holiday, come here for a break. That could do him some good. What he need right now is good fatherly advice, and I daresay he's lacking it.

                                                                                         -George

PS - Maria says hi.



I pushed away the letter that had accompanied the 7th postcard my grandparents had sent, the small piece of yellowed paper etched with the minuscule handwriting of my grandpa. Out of all the seven postcards (and letters) by them, this was the only one that had me mentioned, although all of them had spoken a lot of odd things happening in Florida, where my grandparents live. The contents being unbelievable and smelling like made-up-crap, my parents kept ignoring the postcards and letters, magnetizing them to the refrigerator door so that only the tropical beaches on the front showed.

I took a mouthful of cereal, not really wanting to, but knowing that mum would not hesitate to force it down my throat if I did not. She thinks that I don't have the will to live any longer which couldn't differ more from the current situation. If I had lost my will to live, she should understand that I would not be here anymore. But I had no such idea of suicide. What sickens me is why anybody would throw away somebody you knew for a freaking long time, for a much more attractive person you never knew before.

I took another mouthful of cereal just as my mum entered the kitchen with the usual morning paper on hand.

"'Morning Sam."

I wordlessly held out the letter to her, my mouth full and eyebrows raised. Mum groaned.

"Not another one." She read the letter quickly and looked at me. "Ignore it, Sam, my parent are joking."

I shrugged, stuffing another spoonful in my mouth.

"I'd like to see your dad's reaction to this," mum went on. "I think they might've gone a little too far with the description." She took the letter and the postcard to the fridge and stuck it there, postcard to the front, and the letter to the back.

I stood up, having finished my cereal, and picked up my bag.

"Have a great day," mum called after me.

* * *

I guess it's not a matter of fact that I should have a great day or not, nor do I think it's my choice. Generally, I don't have any great days. Not since I became unbearably moody for my "friends" after my breakup with Brittney. My friends ditched me about six months ago and I quit basketball. This became the main reason to lose all my popularity, since I was the team leader. Coach Raymond threated to call my parents when he heard my decision (and he did too). Only that, my parents supported this wholeheartedly. They thought I should be concentrating more on being sane than chasing a ball, and they didn't hesitate to inform this matter to coach Raymond.

Today is the last day of the semester, and the summer holidays will start, to which I showed less than zero enthusiasm. Going to school gave me something to focus on, to busy myself, so that I got no time to think of her. Next year would be the senior year, and I'm yet to give any serious thought on the matter. My only aim was to go through the day, giving no thought of tomorrow.

         The day was spent after a series of shouting, screaming, and promises of at least a dozen parties, half of which I could guess were going to get caught.

At dinner, however, something in the form of a surprise came. We ate in silence (well at least I did! But my parents talked), when out of nowhere, mum said, "Your dad and I, thought of moving to Florida."

"Wait," I said, "Like now?"

"Don't be silly," dad said. "Somewhere in between the summer holidays."

"Florida where?"

"St. Petersburg. So that we can stay close to your grandparents."

"Why?" I asked, the reason not entirely lost in me.

"Because," dad replied, "we have the feeling that your grandparents are going a bit senile."

"Rod!"

"Fine, fine. I had the feeling that they were going seni-"

"Sam," mum interrupted, "They're a little old. I need to take care of them. Look at all those letters. I'm not saying that weirdness is bad, no, just that it should have a limit."

"Okay," I said. "So this isn't about me or anything, right?"

"Wha-No!! It's very much about your obsolete-"

"ROD!"

"Does this mean that I have to see Nicole again?" I cut in.

"Well, honey, you're not kids anymore. I would be glad if you could forget about the fighting and start being friends with her. She could help you a lot once you go there."

Nicole, whose mother, Aunt June, was mum's sister, was so distant from me that I could no longer remember her face (but maybe the fact that we fought every second we were kept in the same room).

"Alright, then."

My parents looked at each other.

"No conditions?" dad asked, "You don't need a pet or anything?"

"Don't give him any ideas," mum said, but she looked a bit revealed.

I laughed. "Nope. No conditions."

They probably thought I wanted to see Brittney's face every day I went to school, smug, yet still stunningly beautiful, hanging on to the arm of that piece of crap. On the contrary, I desired the exact opposite. A day I don't get to see her face is a day better than otherwise.

All the while I got prepared to go to bed, I kept thinking of Brittney's new relationship. But not the way I had looked for the last six months. Finally, I was able to think of the matter as an outsider.

I had never thought of punishing him, Roger somebody, for her choice. He had even asked her to sort out what was going on between us before she got tangled with him (probably because the dude was scared of me) and I saw it quite unnecessary and pointless to even pick a fight with him just because she chose to be treacherous. No, the fault lies with her alone.

* * *

We moved two weeks later, with surprisingly little for me to do in order to pack and even less to say goodbye. I had no regrets on my decision of agreeing with my parents, and I realized this as we sped down the road, and spared what had been my home for 17 years a single glance. Mum had informed Johnny's (one of those who ditched me) mother of the move, trusting Johnny to pass in the message. I guess I didn't care either way. No thought of Brittney invaded my mind for the first time, and I was determined to keep it that way.

Mum and dad had already looked up a house Aunt June had showed to It was only a small distance away from the school (which was evidently named as Tea Tree High) and I could actually see the sea from my bedroom. The sunrise would be a gorgeous view up here. Only problem is not being able to see the sunrise at the time I got up.

Pity.

I turned to look at the rest of my room. It was a little bare, the walls blank, bed stripped, no deco's. I felt some work on the way. Maybe with some bright colors and a little help from my forks, it would even be presentable. After a few minutes of exploring up and down the house, (I found that there were four bedrooms, three bathrooms, one tiny nice-looking kitchen that put mum into hysterics and a spacious living room combined with a dining room) I went outside.

I both heard and smelt the sea both at the same time. Non-stop wind gushed over the back yard, and the sun was unbearable, given that it was summer. I turned a full circle over, and was considering of throwing out my hands and feeling the wind and all that amazing stuff, when the front door of the house next door opened and a good looking guy of my age stepped out holding a cap in his hand. He noticed me (he either did not notice or chose to ignore my weird posture, with my hands half outstretched) and came over to the fence.

"Oh, so you're one of our new neighbors," he said, jamming his cap on a mop of light brown hair. "I'm Alex Miller." He held out a hand. "I moved here a few months back myself. I'm starting senior year."

I shook it. "Me too. I'm Sam Timmons."

"Nice meeting you, Sam Timmons. You wanna come down the beach or something?"

"Um..."

"C'mon. There are loads of pretty girls there."

I made my decision. "Sorry, no. I should...help my parents. You know, with their...stuff. "

"Oh, well. Hope we'll fall into same class, Sam Timmons." With a last nod, he broke into a jog and sprinted out of sight.

I looked up at the sky, which was unbelievably blue.

Maybe Florida might not be that bad.