The next afternoon I got a call from Michael, asking if I wanted to hang out at his house. I had spent the entire day doing school and was definitely ready to get out again. 

I hopped on my left foot over to my closet and found some white denim shorts. Slipping on a red tank-top, I grabbed my aviators and made the journey downstairs. 

Before I managed to get to the bottom Michael knocked and walked in the door. 

"Hey, do you need help?" he asked. 

"No, I'm good," I lied, giving him a reassuring smile. Curse you, stubbornness. 

Once I reached the last step I looked up to find him intently watching me. His hair was damp and scents of men's shower gel wafted through the air. He wore black Adidas joggers and a heather blue t-shirt, along with a pair of tan Air Maxes. 

"I just got out of lacrosse practice," he said after seeing me notice that he had taken a shower.

"Ah."

He motioned to open the door. "You ready?"

"Sure," I said. Adjusting my stance a little to the left, I yelled into the kitchen where Mom was attempting to bake cookies and told her we were leaving. 

~~~

Michael pulled his Mustang into a very expensive looking neighborhood. There were a few couples out walking their dogs along the sidewalk. At almost every home there were tall gates in between large brick columns. 

One house was especially eccentric, with three peculiar dolphin fountains spread across the front yard and a lime green door. Attached to the gate was a name engraved on a gold plaque. I squinted my eyes to read the name. 

"That's the Haven's - Nicole's house," Michael explained. 

"I should've known," I spoke lowly. 

He gave me a funny look and slowed down, pulling into a driveway about a block away from Nicole's. I hid my slightly wonder-stricken expression and took in the view before us. It was a huge, southern-style home, with a long porch and balcony right above. Past the columns that upheld the balcony were two elaborate french doors. 

At any moment I expected a St. Bernard to come prancing around the corner, holding a watering can in its mouth to tend to the flowers that lay out front. 

"This is your house?" I asked. 

He smiled a little at my dumbfounded tone. "Yeah." 

Rolling down his window, he typed in a code on a keypad attached to the gate. The gate opened up and he pulled around the house, where there was another large building that I assumed to be the garage. Beside the garage was a pool and a basketball hoop. 

"I like your house," I said with wide eyes, not realizing I sounded like five year-old who had just witnessed a circus show. 

"Thanks," he chuckled. 

We walked in the back door to be greeted by a man in his sixties. He gave me a bit of a Vegas vibe with his short-sleeved paisley button-up and overly tanned skin. His eyes were a carbon copy of Michael's: a medium brown color with flecks of hazel that made themselves present in the light. Although the hazel didn't appear as vivid in his eyes as it did in Michael's. 

He held out his hand and shook mine lightly, as if he was afraid of breaking me. "So you are Larissa. I'm Jeff - you can call me Mr. Albertson." 

I had known his name before as Director Jeff, never Director Albertson; so I was put off by his sudden change of formality. Resisting the urge to reply with "And you can call me Miss Taylor," I nodded and smiled politely. 

"Michael tells me that you work as a mechanic for the Speedway," he continued, "What kind of job is that for a pretty little thing like you?" 

My eyebrows lifted in offended shock at his bluntness. Michael didn't seemed surprised at all or ready to defend me, so I tried to wave it off and replied with, "Uh, I like working with cars." 

This time he raised his eyebrows and gave a small shrug. "I was going to say, I'd be happy to give you a job under Michael and Nicole, who are my two main assistants. Nicole would train you well; she's a lovely woman." 

It was all I could do to keep my eyes from popping out of their sockets. Nicole, a woman? She couldn't be more than a year older than me.  

Unable to respond to that "offer," I looked to Michael, trying to give him a hint. Against my intentions, Mr. Albertson was the one who understood my hint. 

"Okay, I'll leave you two be. Have fun," he said, giving Michael a non-obscure wink. 

If he didn't walk away at that moment I might've punched him. Again, Michael didn't seem as horrified as I was at his dad. He just smiled and led me down a hallway. 

Me and my sprained ankle were presented with a marble staircase. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. 

But me and my sprained ankle, along with me and my stupid independence, reached the top soon enough. 

I looked around the second floor and saw a family picture framed on the wall. 

Michael came up behind me. "That's my sister and my step-mom," he said, pointing to the two women next to him and his dad. 

His sister had his same features, only they were softened into a feminine aura. Her straight brown hair gave off a warm glow and I admired her no-makeup look. 

The step-mom, however, had cinnamon-streaked blonde hair with pale green eyes. Her bright red lipstick stood out like a sore thumb next to her step-daughter's natural beauty. Not to mention she looked at least ten years younger than Mr. Albertson. 

"Is your sister here?" I asked. 

"No, she's a software developer in Chicago. She lives there with her husband." 

I nodded, deciding not to make a comment on his very à la mode French step-mother. "So-"

There was a loud squawk coming from another room that caused me to flinch in surprise.  "What was that?"

"Ah, that's Yesmin. Here," he said, opening a door half-way down the hall. 

I walked into a huge bedroom to find a bird restlessly fluttering within its cage. 

Birds. 

My harrowing enemy.

"You have a... bird." 

"Yeah," he said happily, "she's a cockatiel. Her name is Yesmin." 

My head bobbed slightly and I stayed put in the doorway. It was a chunky gray bird with an orange splotch on each side of its face. 

"Do you not like birds?" he questioned perceptively. 

"No, no,"—yes, yes—"birds are cool. I've just... had a bad experience with them."

"Why's that?"

"You know the old Alfred Hitchcock movie The Birds? That's why."

He looked amused. "You're afraid of birds because of a movie."

"No! I'm not afraid of them," I objected, "I could just... do without their existence." 

"Sure," he teased.

~~~

The rest of the afternoon we hung out around his house. After Yesmin's introduction we went downstairs again—oh, those lovely marble stairs—and played Uno. 

To no surprise, I annihilated him. Three times, actually, I annihilated him. Then I abominated him by winning within two minutes. What can I say? I'm talented. 

He took me home around seven. When we walked back into my house, Dad was in the living room. 

He looked up from his Popular Mechanics magazine. "Hey Lis, hey Michael."

"Hi," Michael said, "I'm just dropping off Lissa." 

He gave me an awkward hug and left, not explaining his rush to leave so soon. 

I rested my crutches against the wall and plopped down on the coach. 

"Hungry?" Dad asked, looking up from his magazine again. 

"I could eat a cow. All he had there was sushi," I scrunched my nose. 

He laughed and got up from his chair. "Alright, pizza it is." 

~~~

Sorry this was so late - I've had a tiny bit of writer's block along with some crazy stuff going on. I'm finally out of quarantine, which is tightening up my schedule again, but I hope to keep my once a week updates. Please vote if you liked it and tell me your thoughts, as always. 
Elle ♥