Chapter 7
Seven
The Remington family moves into the newly built mansion, and Graham and I stand on their doorstep and ring the bell, hoping to introduce ourselves after Mom told us they had kids around our age.
Tremors somersault in my gut while I wait.
I wedge my sweaty palms into my front pockets then think better of it and rip them back out.
The massive wood door opens, revealing a boy with copper-orange hair and vivid blue eyes.
“Hi,” I mumble.
“We live across the street,” my brother blurts. “I’m Graham and this is Mick.”
The kid grins. “I’m Randy. Wanna come in?”
“Sure!” Graham says, charging over the threshold. He doesn’t have an ounce of bashful in him, unlike me. “We’ve been watching your house get built for months.”
A woman appears with light blond hair coiled into a bun with wavy tendrils framing her face.
Turquoise powder is painted on her lids above her light blue eyes, and she’s wearing lipstick resembling my mulberry crayon.
With her flowy jumpsuit, she looks so different from my mom, I can’t help staring.
“Hello, boys,” she greets. “I’m Randy’s mother. Who might you be?”
We introduce ourselves before Randy announces he’s going to show us around.
The house is a maze of rooms on three levels, and we trail after him, wide-eyed.
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” I ask, wondering how many people live here.
“Just an older brother. He’s probably out back with my dad. We’re putting in a swimming pool.”
A pool! “Man, that’s cool.” I can’t see my parents ever splurging on one. I’m almost positive we could afford it, but my father’s a tightwad. Not to mention he thinks we’re all worthless.
“You’re so lucky,” Graham says.
Randy shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You guys can come over and use it too.” He steers us into his bedroom, which looks three times the size of mine, and it’s all I can do not to gape.
He has bunkbeds, a desk, his own television, a closet for clothes and another for toys, plus a couple of bean bag chairs plopped onto his thick shag carpet.
There’s even a shared bathroom with the room next to his, which he says belongs to his brother.
If we had that setup, my stupid brothers would lock me out every chance they got.
He finishes the tour, ushering us outside. We meet his dad, who sports the same copper hair and blue eyes as Randy, and the fair-haired, older brother Raymond. I like that Mr. Remington shakes our hand, like we’re grownups or something.
“You guys like to swim?” he asks, standing before a roped rectangular section of dirt.
“Yes, sir,” I say.
He claps me on the shoulder with a chuckle. “Sir? Oh, son, you don’t have to be so formal. We’re pretty loose around here.” He winks.
I don’t argue, except silently. My father will tan my hide if I don’t say sir and ma’am to elders. Still, I like Mr. Remington immediately. He’s friendly. Easy. And acts like there’s no such thing as a wrong answer.
He gestures to the outline of where the pool will go, explaining which end will have a diving board, how a patio will surround it with lounge chairs and tables, and his plans to add something called a gazebo.
Randy grins, his elbow knocking into my side. “Isn’t it gonna be great?”
I nod dumbly, a smile etching my lips as excitement surfs through my system. I like it here. I think I’ve made a new friend. And if it all works out, maybe coming over here gets me out of my own house more often, away from the unpredictable minefield it’s become.