VI - 20 Question

“I survived!”

I jolt awake when I hear someone screaming. On instinct, I jump to my feet. All traces of sleepiness vanish. My eyes adjust themselves to see Mr. Driver – I mean, Keith – dancing. He has both his hands on his hips while hopping around a tree.

I have to admit it is ridiculous.

It is a good thing that I’m already awake because he starts to play his bagpipes. The musical instrument is so horribly loud that I have to cover my ears with my hands.

Why am I stuck to this guy again?

“I will survive! I will survive! Yeah, yeah!” he starts to sing when he finishes playing with his bagpipes.

I want to smack him and yell at him to shut up so I can go back to sleep.

“Take that Miss Shelly’s ghost! Aha! You are nothing but a scary tale that I now know is nothing but complete nonsense!” Keith yells out like a nutcase.

Rolling my eyes at him, I mumble, “Weirdo.” Keith is too busy yelling at the imaginary ‘Miss Shelly’ to hear my comment.

“We should continue our journey,” I say, slinging my knapsack over my shoulder once I packed the mats.

Keith nods in agreement. The two of us set to walk towards a different direction this time. It is about ten minutes later when I feel boredom. Playing ‘I spy’ with myself is not enjoyable since I can’t see anything other than something green or blue.

“I’m bored!” I whine, slowing down a little bit more so I’m walking next to him.

Keith looks around us as if he is afraid that something will jump out and yell ‘Boo!’

“Why don’t we play a game?” Keith suggests. He jumps when he sees a squirrel run past him with a nut in its mouth.

“20 question?”

Keith nods. “I’ll start. What is your name, Bipolar?”

“If I give you my name, will you stop calling me Bipolar?” I compromise.

He gives me a sly grin, which is not the timid Keith I know. “It depends.”

“On what?”

He shrugs. “It depends on my mood.”

I pout at him. “That’s not a good thing.”

“You called me Skirt Boy! And for one last time, it’s a kilt! K-I-L-T.”

“It still looks like a skirt to me,” I say, grinning. It is quite entertaining to annoy him.

Keith huffs out loud in frustration. “Back to the question, what is your real name?”

“Kaya Harrison. What is your full name, Mr. Driver?”

He scowls at me. “I’ll make you a deal. If you don’t call me Mr. Driver, I won’t call you Bipolar.”

I grin victoriously. In my head, I have another plan… “Deal!”

“Keith McGregor,” Keith says and then frowns. “I thought I told you my name last night…?”

“You just told me Keith. Not McGregor, Skirt Boy,” I say, pausing before taking a giant step over a log.

“You promised not to call me that!” Keith tells me.

I give him an innocent look. “No, I promised not to call you Mr. Driver.”

Keith scowls and makes a childish ‘hmph!’ sound. “You suck.”

“Whatever.”

“My turn! What made you decide come to Scotland?”

I suck in a breath. Should I tell him the truth? Will he judge me? “I – I’m here – ”

Keith seems to sense my discomfort. “You don’t have to tell me, Kaya,” he says gently. This is the first time Keith has been nice to me.

My stomach does somersaults when he says my name.

“I’m here to do research,” I answer, not telling the full truth or a lie.

Keith hums. “Interesting. What on?”

“I believe it’s my turn,” I say quickly, not wanting to talk more about it.

Keith raises his arms in surrender.

“Do you believe in anything?” I ask with genuine interest.

The redhead takes a moment to think about his question. “I believe that everything happens for a reason. Even if it can wound you deeply, there’ll be someone who will slap sense into you. That person changed my life.”

When he says this, he looks deep into my eyes as if he’s trying to figure me out. I look away, blushing unwillingly.

“Anyway, my turn. Do you have a boyfriend?”

I shake my head. “No. Never had the time to do so.”

Liar, my brain snarls at me. No boys ever paid attention to you.

Shut up, brain! I snap back.

“Do you like – Err – waffles?” I ask, pathetically. Seriously, Kaya? Out of all the questions in the world, you must ask about waffles?

It is the only way to avoid the topic of boyfriends, so don’t judge!

He frowns at my weird question. “Their okay, I guess. Do you like waffles then?”

I nod. “I love them. My mum used to make me some when I was – ” I let the sentence hanging when a tsunami of memories hit me.

Keith looks at me, concerned at what just happened.

Clearing my throat, I ask another question, “Why are you always like… you know?”

Keith tilts his head at one side in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Like…” Keith looks around when we hear a hawk squawking above us. “That! You always so cautious and you jump at anything that catches you by surprise. Is it normal?”

Keith watches the hawk like he’s about to get eaten by the bird. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says sternly, giving me a look. I can’t help but shiver at his gaze.

“Okay,” I say meekly.

Neither of us says anything.

I keep thinking of our conversation just now. It turns out that I’m not the only one who’s keeping secrets so it is fair. It still wonders me why he behaves this way.

Is it a psychology thing? Did something happen? Or is he simply born this way?

My stomach grumbles, reminding me that we hadn’t have breakfast yet.

The last I ate was yesterday’s chocolate. My supply of chocolate is lowering. We need real food. Fast.

“Look!” Keith says, making his way towards a tree.

I look up to see bright red fruits.

Apples.

I stare at the juicy apples hungrily. An evil plan pops in my head.

“Okay, so one is going to have to climb the tree and drop the apples while the other is catching them at the bottom,” I tell Keith my plan.

“So who’s going to climb?”

I put down my knapsack. “Scissors, paper, stone. Two out of three. Winner gets to stay at the bottom,” I compromise.

Keith cracks his fingers as if he knows that he’s going to win this fight after putting his bagpipe down next to my knapsack.

Think again, redhead.