September 2nd

        Reporting the first infiltration of rival operatives. Agent A. Harris and Agent K. Masters performed standard protocol. R. Harris was a witness.

       3. The Project 

       Date: September 2nd

One of the reasons I was so invisible to everyone in Crawford High School is that I wasn’t attractive. I’m not saying that I was ugly, because I really wasn’t. I just didn’t try to make myself the least bit appealing.

       I didn’t see the point to it; it was just high school. I didn’t care what people thought of me.

       But Mom did. She used to force me to go on makeover trips to the mall with her every time she got the chance. Those trips, usually, were torture for me. She wouldn’t let me eat until we were finished shopping, claiming that I wouldn’t fit into anything in my size if I “fattened myself up with food”.

       My protests didn’t do a thing for me, either. If I recall, Mom didn’t even care if I was sleeping. And I relive those moments all the time.

          .         .          .

       “Come on, Rachel, let’s go out tonight,” my mother pleads, struggling to remove me from my bed.

       I clutch onto the bed frame as if it’s my lifeline. “No, really, I’m fine, Mom.”

       I always wondered what it felt like to be removed from somewhere by force. I guess I have my answer then. Because at first glance you wouldn’t be able to tell, but Nicole Harris is a strong woman. And it isn’t a good strong, either. It’s a weird strong.

       The woman picks me up and throws me over her shoulder as if I’m nothing but a backpack she would sling onto her back.

      Fighting to get back on my own feet, I want to say, “Well, sure! Why not go out and celebrate that my only friend is my mother?”

      But I know I can’t possibly say that without my mother scolding me for it, so I just get myself back onto the floor and turn to see Aaron behind us.

      “Actually, Rachel, I was hoping you would come and help Kyle and me with our project,” Aaron intervenes.

      Observing his expression, I can see everything that he wants to say but doesn’t. And I know why he chooses not to say it. Mom would freak. You can tell, from his slightly furrowed eyebrows pushing down into his green eyes, to his short sandy hair sticking to his forehead, to his pink lips pulling into a frown.

       His handsome face is twisted into the “I really don’t want to do this” look.

      I know better than to believe that he really needs my help with his so-called “project”. His real intentions are to save me from my mother’s antics. Mom refuses to stop remaking herself, and she decides to drag me everywhere she goes while she’s at it. But she only drags me because she hopes I’ll suddenly change my mind about my appearance.

       I wonder if she’s ever going to realize her hopes will always be crushed when it comes to that.

       As I eye her reaction to Aaron’s words, I watch her flip her dark hair over her shoulder, exposing her completely smooth forehead and letting her hazel eyes – unlike the spring green shade of Aaron and mine – twinkle in the light.

      Mom scoffs, thinking that I’ll obviously refuse Aaron’s offer. She thinks I’ll be glad to go out with her and endure heaps of hair curling, nail designing, and face painting – or makeup, as the rest of the world calls it.

       She‘s wrong.

       “Well, Rachel, do you really want to spend your night doing the boys’ homework for them, or would you rather have a night out with your cool mom?”

      She doesn’t have to ask me twice. “As tempting as that sounds, Mom, I think I’ll go with doing the boys’ homework.”

       And so that’s how I end up watching the game with Aaron and Kyle.

       Hours later, I stare intently at the large TV screen before me with narrowed eyes, trying to comprehend what’s going on. And then someone makes a touchdown.

      All at once thoughts of regret enter my mind. Maybe saying yes to Mom would have been the better choice.

       Maybe then I wouldn’t have to sit here stiffly as Aaron and Kyle jump up – spilling popcorn on me as they do – and cheer at the screen. And I can’t even eat the popcorn being poured all over me; Kyle left it in the microwave for too long, and the kernels are so burnt that they’re all black.

       And Aaron won’t let me go upstairs and take a shower. I’m soaking wet because he decided to spray me with a hose during a water fight between him and Kyle earlier, and he won’t let me go upstairs to take a shower, because apparently, "I should be interetsed in football". Me.

        I suspect that by now I’ve stained our couch.

        I lean off the couch and turn to see if I’m right. Sure enough, where my back once was, a dark patch of brown lays. Mom is definitely going to kill me.

       I start to think of ways I can possibly escape the couch without Aaron dragging me back like the last time. Sneaking away won’t work. Neither will claiming that I need to use the bathroom, and even if I fake cramps they’ll just bring me some Advil.

        Lost in thought, I don’t even notice when the boys have stopped cheering. At least not until they sit down.

       The boys' eyes don't break contact with the screen at all as they sit. I guess this is why Kyle's landing is a bit off. Instead of sitting on the couch, Kyle is sitting on me.

       “Oh, sorry, Raquel,” Kyle says to me, his eyes glued to the TV screen as he shifts to move next to me instead of on top of my lap. I stare at him. In a moment I catch a glimpse of a smirk, but then it's gone.

       I narrow my eyes. He must have done that on purpose. I open my mouth to say something, but I realize if I speak I’ll basically be talking to a brick wall. That and the fact that I’d probably just stutter some incoherent response that no one would understand.

        After a few seconds, I tear my gaze away from the side of Kyle’s face. He’s not worth it anyway, I tell myself.

       But I know I’m lying.

       As soon as the game ends and the TV is shut, Aaron’s phone rings. He excuses himself from the couch to go answer it, leaving me and Kyle alone. I feel awkward and vulnerable as I’m left sitting on the couch next to Kyle. The moment Aaron leaves I feel the wet clothes that I’m wearing seep into my skin.

       I want to say something to Kyle; anything.

      But instead all I do is sit remarkably still as Aaron begins yelling profanities into his phone. Kyle is too engrossed in his texting conversation to notice the way that I’m fidgeting, or the way my stomach is churning, or the way that my face looks – which is probably something along the lines of a constipated expression.

       I can’t tell if my heart is beating this fast because I’m upset that Kyle sat on me, or because I realize how small the distance is between the two of us.

      “Well, I don’t have time to get there!” I hear Aaron shout into his phone from the kitchen. “It’s too late of a night for me or Kyle to go out now, so you can forget calling him in. Get someone else to do it.” His conversation piques my interest, and I turn my head towards the sound of his voice.     

       There is something going on that I don't know about. And that's a problem. Because this has been happening for longer than I know of, and it needs to stop.

       Who would be calling Aaron out of his house at a time like this and why would Aaron mention that Kyle can't be called in either? Aaron is so determined not to say exactly what it is this person wants him to do that he must be hiding something from whoever might hear him.

       And since Kyle was mentioned in the conversation I would assume he already knows of this secret. That leaves only me. Something isn't quite right here. But how can I explain it?

       A job. That's all I can make of this. Aaron has a job. But he doesn't want me to know what his job is.

       My suspicions only become higher when someone knocks on our house’s front door. Multiple someones, actually. I feel Kyle shift to turn towards the sound, finally looking away from his phone.

       Now I crane my own neck to look at the front door. Because this, apparently, has gotten Kyle’s attention much more than I have.

      I peer through our floor-length side windows, trying to make out figures in the darkness. Through the glass I can see four men in suits looking anything if not serious standing stoically in front of our house. They don’t look like they’re here to sell us Girl Scout cookies.

       As I look at them I start to wonder what Aaron and Kyle could have done to bring these guys to our house.

       And that's when I see it. Something that glistens slightly, tucked away into the corner of a man's pants. It looks almost like . . . a gun.

      I’m so busy thinking the worst that I don’t notice when Aaron walks back into the living room. “Go upstairs, Rachel,” Aaron orders. I blink at him.

      “But, Aaron—”

       “Go upstairs.”

       I sigh angrily and stomp all the way to my room. When I get inside I slam my door so hard that the picture I have hanging on the wall falls to the floor. I stare at the fallen picture frame. It’s going to be a long night, I think to myself. 

       Little did I know, it was going to be an even longer one for Aaron and Kyle.

                     *          *          *

       Long chapter, huh?

      So, what do you guys think of the characters? Especially Kyle and Aaron? I like them. Although Kyle is a little . . . okay, a lot debatable. You know, considering he sat on Rachel . . .

     Well. Don’t hesitate to let me know what you think! Vote and comment! Free dedications go to those who do comment! :)

      ' AwesomelyBlaze