Clay |kla| noun; a stiff, sticky fine-grained earth, typically yellow, red, or bluish-gray in color and often forming an impermeable layer in the soil. It can be molded when wet, and is dried and baked to make bricks, pottery, and ceramics. – New Oxford American Dictionary.

Chapter six; clay

After a lot of begging and promising a return of a full gas tank, my mom finally agreed to let me drive her car but I have to quote un-quote "drive under the limit." Well, guess what mom? Driving under the speed limit is just as illegal as going over.

And I'm eighteen years old for heaven's sake. I've been driving for two years; I think I can handle a fifteen minute drive.

"Where's your car again?" My mom asks me for the millionth time.

"Mom," I start, "you told me at the beginning of the summer that I needed to get it a tune up, remember?"

"It should not take them two weeks to check a car over. This is ridiculous."

She sighs through the phone and I can practically hear her starting to change her mind. "Okay thank you, Mommy, I love you. I'll see you later, bye." I chirp, not giving her a chance to talk herself out of it.

I haven't driven in two weeks. It sounds like something that wouldn't be a big deal but, trust me it's harder than it sounds. And I've biked so much in the span of fourteen days that I'm practically a professional cyclist. Or whatever they're called. But, somehow I'm too unfit to make it up the stairs without my heart pounding in my chest. How does that even make any sense?

My mom's keys jingle on my fingers and I revel in the sound, excited to get back behind a wheel.

I unlock my phone, opening my photos and tapping on the screenshot I took earlier today. I type the address into the GPS but leave the screenshot there in case I need it.

Lila left about an hour ago with most of our snacks stashed in her car for "emergencies" so I mentally remind myself to remind mom to do some grocery shopping or we're going to be the ones to give up all junk food. I contemplate telling Josie about Lila cheating on their diet but, then again, Lila is about as subtle as an elephant so I'm more than confident that she'll give herself away before the end of the week.

I follow the GPS's monotonous directions but when I make it to the address Arthur gave me I almost pick up my phone and call Arthur to yell at him for giving me the wrong address and making me pay more gas money than necessary because, standing before me, is a freaking gigantic house.

Okay so maybe it's not like billionaire playboy giant but it's pretty darn close. The gate I had to drive through should have given me an indication on what I'm dealing with here but I guess I can be pretty slow at times.

The house eerily reminds me of Will's house on The Last Song and once the similarities add up in my mind I can't get them out.

The scary part is ringing the bell; the sound of chimes ringing through the entire home, heard from my place on the overly large front porch. Which is the size of my bedroom, I might add...possibly larger.

My eyebrows furrow as I spot a quant love-seat wicker porch swing dangling by two thin chains on either side. I look back at the door, waiting for someone to pull it open, as a bite my lip and then my gaze slides back over the swing.

I shouldn't...

Maybe for a few seconds...I doubt anyone's even coming. And Arthur probably wouldn't mind me being a couple minutes late, right?

I look once more at the door before darting towards the swing and sit myself gently onto the creaking wooden swing. A seed of a smile plants itself on my face and as I begin to push myself with my feat, the swing beginning to creak under me, the smile grows and grows until my face hurts from the effort.

Memories flash one at a time through my mind. My father and mother cuddling up together on our very own wicker chair before he passed away. My father and I at the park eating Spider-Man popsicles with gumball eyes from the ice-cream truck, watching it drive away as my little legs dangle away on our old wicker swing.

Unfortunately, the old swing filled with loveable memories passed away shortly after my father. I guess we've never bothered to fix it.

Suddenly, the door swings open to reveal a confused looking Arthur, his hair obviously wet and his Beetles T- shirt ruffled like it was thrown on in a hurry. His eyes search the porch for a moment before landing on me.

"Oh gosh, Lovely, I'm so sorry. I was in the shower and -" I hold my hand, cutting him off with a small smile.

"Seriously don't worry about it. I was having a perfectly good time right here."

One of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows shoots up. "Oh yeah? And just what have you been doing?" His eyes scan me and my surroundings for anything slightly interesting, like he couldn't find the simple joy in swinging on a porch swing.

"This." I gesture to my seat, kicking off slightly and swinging gently. "See? Most fun I've had all summer." I joke but clear my throat a little because it's actually partially true. The last two weeks have been unbelievably boring.

He still looks unimpressed by when I look closer he also looks a little...curious. He shuffles forward and awkwardly sits next to me. As soon as he sits down I scoot over to make more room for him but when I do his head shoots over to look at me, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "What? Am I repellent or something?" He spreads his arms slightly before dropping them back to his knees.

I chuckle at how sensitive he's being. "I was trying to make room for you." I tell him in fake seriousness, him replying by looking down at his feet with a ghost of a smile on his face and pushing us off.

We swing monotonously at the same pace for a few moments before he picks his legs up, us coming to an almost stop but still rocking enough for it to be relaxing.

I look out at his lawn, running my eyes over the giant gate shielding us from the world. "Can I ask you something?" My head turns to look at him but my stomach flips slightly when I see he was already looking at me. Not in a creepy love-sick kind of way because that would be weird; but in a way that he's trying to figure something out, his dark brown eyes boring into my soul.

"Sure." He answers without hesitation.

"Is there a specific reason why your parents put up a giant fence around your house or was it just because they're simply rich enough to do so?" I ask, nodding in the direction of the large monstrosity.

His eyes squint slightly as he peers into the distance at the subject, shaking his head slightly. "They had it put up before I was born but I've asked once or twice. The reason seems legitimate enough for me."

"And what is the oh-so-legitimate reason?"

"Look, my dad owns a lot of banks and whatever." He shrugs before opening his mouth to talk again.

"Woah, I'm going to have to stop you right there." I cut in, eyes wide.

         His sighs, running a hand through his still slightly wet hair, the roots fry and looking unfairly voluminous but the ends are left looking damp. "What?" He sighs.

         "Your dad. He owns separate banks? Like franchises or something? Or are you saying he owns a literal bank name?" I ask in shock.

         Arthur looks down at his hands, blowing out air through his cheeks before looking over at me with a flat smile. "Ever heard of Garrison Banking and Co.?"

         I can't help it; my hands fly to my mouth. "Wait, wait, wait. Be serious right now, Arthur."

        He laughs slightly and holds his hands up in mock surrender. "I promise, Lovely. Why would I lie about something like this?" He asks.

        I laugh a little at myself for freaking out over something that should be no big deal. "I wasn't saying you were lying it's just – it's weird, okay? My mom and I use Garrison."

         He doesn't look surprised but instead gives me a satisfied look.

        "What are you thinking?" I glare at him.

          He shrugs and leans back against the wicker. "Oh nothing. It's just kind of satisfying knowing I'm sort of kinda in control of the great and powerful Lovely's money."

         I scoff, folding my arms in front of my chest. "Yeah right, the only thing true about that sentence is the part about me being great and powerful."

         He laughs loudly, throwing his head back, a deep and raw sound that somehow brings a smile to my face. "I'll give you that one." He smiles at me.

         I smile back, wondering how this moment even came to pass. Only a week ago I hated his guts but right now I feel like he might even be cool enough to be my friend.

        "We should probably get to work – well, you need to get to work. I just need to follow you and sit quietly." I mutter but nonetheless he hears me loud and clear.

        He presses his lips together, his dimples suddenly so prominent I suddenly get the urge to poke one with my fingers to see how deep they really are. "Yeah that sounds about right."

         I roll my eyes and stand up, grabbing my satchel and throwing it over my shoulder. This time I didn't make the mistake of forgetting a book and other things to occupy my attention, the weight of all my belongings weighing on my shoulder.

         But before I could even start walking through the door, my bag is pulled away from me. I twirl around quickly to see Arthur, adjusting the strap over his own shoulder without a second thought. "Arthur I can carry my own bag, this isn't the eighteen hundreds, you know." I try to be dry and pretend I'm bothered by it but I know it's hopeless when he grins and walks right past me.

        I trudge along behind him until we make it to the door and before I can stop him or see it coming, he gracefully spins and holds the door with one arm, a slight smirk on his face as if he's completely aware that chivalry makes me uncomfortable and loves every moment. "Who says chivalry is dead?" He winks.

        I stick my tongue out at him before scurrying into the house, not checking to see if he's behind me, before gawking at the foyer before me. Who needs a ceiling so high? I'm tempted to yell or possible yodel just to see if it echoes.

        "Yes, it echoes." A voice brings me out of my stupor. I look to my left to see a beautiful woman descending an endless and equally beautiful staircase, wearing a tight peach colored pencil skirt and a cream blouse, a matching blazer draped over her arm along with white stiletto heels with complicated looking straps and a black briefcase in tow.

        "How did you know that's what I was thinking?" I ask curiously, an eyebrow rose in question.

         I have to admit, I didn't think she would be as pretty up close but I'm proven wrong as she makes it to the bottom of the stairs and before I know it, she's standing before me, a wave of Elizabeth and James perfume hitting me in a delightful wave. Her red hair is pulled up and twisted in so many directions that I lose track of how she could have possibly done it and her flawless skin, void of wrinkles, is naked except maybe a little eyeliner and mascara, her freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. Her piercing blue eyes bore into mine.

         With her aura of grace and obvious power, I should feel intimidated. But, for some reason I hold her gaze and pull back my shoulders. "You must be Arthur's mother." I give her a kind smile.

          She smiles back but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "And you must be..." She drifts off as if trying to remember but I catch her trying to catch Arthur's gaze. "...Arthur's friend. I'm Josephine, glad to meet you."

         She's not glad to meet me.

        I clear my throat and hold out my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Josephine. I'm Lovely."

         Josephine looks behind me at her son with raised eyebrows and I'm confused until he speaks up, "That's her name, Mom." He says awkwardly and suddenly she bursts into laughter, making me jump slightly.

          "Well that must get awkward. You should really find a new introduction, sweetheart, you sound like a narcissist." She waves a delicate hand as if she's joking but I have to try my very hardest not to lash out.

           Instead I give her a sweet smile. "It's been working fine for the past eighteen years, ma'am. But I guess, now that I think about it, there have been a few slow people who didn't quite catch on. Everyone else thinks it's a lovely name. No pun intended." I force a laugh and don't fail to notice the fire that lights in her eye at being indirectly called slow.

        "Well," She says sharply before plastering a fake smile on her beautiful face and turning to face Arthur, "I should go. I only came back from the office to get your father's brief case. He's got this new intern who's supposed to do this kind of thing but – no – instead he sends his overworked wife to do it." She murmurs more to herself than to Arthur and I. We exchange a slightly worried glance but shrug it off as soon as the grand front door closes.

         "Um..." He clears his throat, his arm coming up to rub the back of his neck. "I'm so sorry about that. She can be a little...yeah."

         I press me lips together and try for a smile. "Yeah..."

         "So." He claps his hands together once, the sound echoing off the walls and ceiling. "Shall we begin my lovely assistant?" He waggles his eyebrows.

         I roll my eyes but I can't help laughing and suddenly my annoyance towards his mother is forgotten.

         "You see what I did there?" He nudges me with his elbow and I playfully push him away with a grunt.

        "Get away from me, Baker."

         "I'm afraid I can't do that. We have work to do." He tells me as we walk up the endless beautiful staircase.

         "And just what are you working on today?" I ask.

         "We." He corrects me as he stops abruptly and turns around, causing me to stumble into him.

         "What?"

        "We. Us. You and I are like a team now. My work is your work." He taps my nose with a wink and I smack his hand away.

         "Okay fine. What are we working on today?" I look around the hallway we just entered and try to recall how we got here but one moment we're at the top of the stairs and the next we're down one hallway and into another. It's like a freaking maze in here.

         "Sculpting. I – sorry we – have to sculpt clay. Abstract to be precise. This is, quite frankly, not my area of expertise." He winces as if remembering a bad memory before shrugging it off. "Oh well, I guess I'll do my best and hope for something decent. Okay, here we are." He says quietly before pointing behind me.

         My eyes land on a white door with a gold doorknob – which I pray isn't real gold because that would be way too insane – with a chalkboard sign hanging by thick thread and a nail saying,

         SHUT UP, ARTIST IN PROGRESS.

          I chuckle a little and Arthur furrows his eyebrows at me before seemingly realizing what I find funny. "Oh. Yeah I should have flipped it before I left last time. Oh well, it's just there for my satisfaction. No one's ever here anyway." He drifts off.

        I walk towards it, flipping it to see the back out of curiosity.

         DO NOT ENTER.

         "How original." I toss behind me as I open the door and walk into the room, the smell of paint and brush cleaner hitting me instantly.

         "Ha – ha. Aren't you clever?" He mutters. I watch him walk over to a coat rack in the corner and pick one of the many paint covers jackets, coats, and T-shirts shoved and thrown on there in a hurry. He slides his arms into a baby blue sweatshirt and pulls it over his head before pulling it down, his hair slightly messed up.

          I laugh a little and his head darts in my direction. "What?"

          I point to his hair and he quickly runs a hand through it but I'm guessing he has a cowlick because his hair remains standing up. I roll my eyes and stomp forward until I'm almost toe to toe with him.

        "Here." I huff, reaching my hands up to his hair and running both through his hair, pulling it to the side and working with his cowlick instead of against it. The blonde strands are softer than I expected and I find myself fixing it longer than is actually necessary.

       "There you go." I chirp and take my hands down. I was tempted to "fix" it longer but I started to lose the feeling in my hands. "All better – AH!" I exclaim as I lose my balance when leaning back. I guess I got closer than I thought.

        Arthur quickly grabs me by my wrists, stopping me from falling. "Woah there, Clumsy." He laughs and I shoot him a glare and tear my hand from his grasp.

         "Shut up. We have work to do." I hold my head high, though my cheeks feel like they're on fire.

         Arthur just smiles and shakes his head at me. "Alright then. There's a chair over there, make yourself comfortable. This could take a while."