Day Seven

I'd always been a Sunday person.

Sunday was the one guaranteed day of the week spent with my family.  Neither of my parents worked on Sunday, and Emett didn't have soccer practice, so over the years it'd become 'Sunday Fam-Day'.

Sunday was also the day Hunter's family threw the Hollingsworth BBQ's, events to which dozens upon dozens of families regularly showed, kids frolicked on the shores and in the waves of the Hollingsworth's lake, and more barbecued foods were cooked than able to be eaten. 

With a soccer ball tucked underneath his arm, my toe-head blonde little brother bounded through the french doors into the garden where I knelt in the damp soil. 

"Whatcha doin?"  He chimed, examining the flower bed in front of me. 

I wiped my forehead with the sleeve of my floral-printed glove and smiled at him.  "Hanging out with the plants.  What's up?"  I shoved the garden spade into the soil and looked up at him. 

"Hm..."  Emett puckered his lips and glanced down at the ball underneath his arm.  "I wanna kick some ball." He sported an endearingly confident smile.   "Let's play."

"Emett, I can't.  Who's going to plant these petunias?"  I protested, pinching the packet of seeds as I leaned back on my foot. 

"But, but, but-"

"No butts will plant any petunias, Emett."  I suppressed a cheeky grin as Emett giggled at my puerile comment. 

"Your butt probably could."  He squeaked in between chortles. 

I didn't know whether to take it as a compliment or not.  My mouth fell open as my lips broke into a massive grin.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

Emett closed his lips and snickered impishly.  He bent down and scraped a clod of dirt between his fingertips as his green eyes flickered down to meet mine. 

"Emett,"  I started, holding my hands in front of me defensively.  "You better not."

He was silent for a moment before raising his chin and muttering, "Play soccer with me, or face the conspequences." He'd meant to say 'consequences', but I didn't have the heart to correct him.

I opened my mouth and began to say, "I can't-" When he advanced and crumbled the clod of soil into tiny speckles over my head.

I recoiled away from him and hissed in disbelief, "I can't believe you just did that."

"What are you gonna do about it?"

In a flash, I dug my fingers into the flowerbed and chucked a wad of soil at him.  It hit him square in the chest and crumbled into hundreds of pieces.

Emett clutched his chest dramatically and threw his head back.  "I've been shot!"

Just then, Dad came treading into the garden, his thick golden hair tucked underneath the navy Ralph Lauren polo cap he always wore on weekends.  It was nice to see my father in casual clothes as opposed to a three piece suit, lawyer attire.  It was more personal this way.

"What are you two crazy kids up to?"  He chuckled, grabbing Emett from behind and tickling him.  Emett writhed and wiggled, a series of giggles erupting from his chest. 

"Stop!"  He squeaked in between chortles, doubling over in laughter.  Dad chuckled and ruffled Emett's platinum tufts of hair. 

Standing side by side, our father was a skyscraper and Emett merely an ant in comparison.  Emett looked up at Dad sourly and proceeded to stick his tongue out.  Dad widened his eyes and mimicked my brother's expression, pulling his tongue out and tugging on his ears, sending both Emett and I into hysterical giggles.

I gathered myself and rose to my feet, discovering my faded denim jeans were completely soaked at my knees.  I carelessly brushed off the excess dirt and straightened my spine, meeting my father's bright eyes. 

"I'll bet you're excited for the Hollingsworth's Barbecue this evening. I know I am."  He smiled and wrapped his strong arms around Emett.

I drew in a breath to reply just as Emett interrupted, "I am!  It's gonna be so fun.  Nikolas is gonna be there and we're gonna go swimming in the lake." 

"Oh, really?"  He chuckled.  "The same Nikolas that gave you the 'I <3 Boobies' bracelet?" 

The corners of my lips upturned gradually as I looked between the two of them and adjusted my ponytail. Neither of us had told him about the bracelet, but Dad was a lawyer, after all.  We couldn't get anything past him.

Emett nodded enthusiastically, his cheeks rising.  "Mhm.  We're homies."

Dad and I exchanged skeptical glances before Dad agreed, "That's great, buddy." His upper lip curled, grin apathetic causing me to break into a fit of laughter.

--
5:13 p.m.

"Hey, where you guys at?" Mark's voice sounded through the phone as I buckled myself into the backseat of the family car.

"On the way. Are you there yet?"

A cracking, muffled noise came from the phone before Mark answered, "Yup."

"Hey, girly!" A high pitched voice chimed from Mark's side.

"Hey, that was Gwyn." Mark chuckled.

"Hi, Gwyn." I smiled at her unrelenting enthusiasm.

"Hi, Gwyn!" Emett squeaked into my phone, leaning across the backseat into my lap.

I leaned away from him, scrunching my nose. "We'll be right there, Mark."

With some more crackling and a few voices mashing together, Mark's voice broke through the line, "A'ight. See you." He hung up the phone.

My parents climbed into the car, Mom in the passenger's seat while Dad took the wheel.  My mother's dark locks were tucked down her back in a single fishtail braid.  Her crystal eyes gleamed with excitement as we pulled out of the driveway, "Everybody buckled?" 

"I think so."  I replied, glancing over at Emett.  His grin widened as his hands gripped the seat belt.  It was apparent he had no intention to buckle it.

"Emett?" Dad peeked at him through the rear view mirror.

Emett's eyes twinkled with mischief as he dribbled a soccer ball between his feet.

"Zoe, honey, make sure your brother has his seat belt on."  Mom cooed as she and Dad broke off into a side conversation.

Emett raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms as he slouched into the upholstery. "I don't need a seat belt. I'm indestructible."

"Did Hunter tell you that?" I laughed.

Emett gave me a lopsided grin. "Maybe."

"Well, who's cooler? Me or Hunter?"

Emett blew air out of his cheeks and sideways glanced at me. "Well, Hunter's pretty rad, but I guess you're radder."

A prideful smile played to my lips as I tugged at the belt across my chest. "And I wear a seat belt, see?"

He squinted. "Mhm."

"So if I'm cool, and I wear a seat belt, then that must mean that wearing your seat belt is cool too, right?"

"Yeah. Darn it!" He slapped the seat and muttered to himself as he pulled the seat belt over his shoulder, "The things I do to be cool."

--

5:42 p.m.

There were very few things I was better at than my parents.

Parking was one of them.

"Dad, back up! There's, like, ten feet of space behind you." I instructed while the car jerked left and right. 

"This is taking forever." Emett threw his head back in exasperation and kicked the back of Dad's seat.

"Emett, careful." My mother cooed, trying to lessen the intensity of the situation.

"How close am I?" Dad grunted.

I poked my head out of the window and sighed. "You're fine. Keep going."

And he kept going until finally, we shimmied into the parking spot.

There was a massive turn out today, seemingly hundreds of people. Parked cars were lined for at least a quarter of a mile all the way up to the Hollingsworth mansion, which stood mountainous and looming as the pine trees. Music blasted from speakers set at various locations around the property, providing an enticing vibe.

I took everything in as my family and I made our way past the columns of cars. The savory aroma of barbecue filled my nostrils and mixed with the sounds of laughter and party music.

I recognized quite a few faces among the crowds and politely waved upon making eye contact with a group of kids from Art.

Ribbons of sunlight streamed through the scarlet leaves of the gigantic Japanese maple tree set on the edge of the outdoor courtyard, where large barbecue grills steamed and sizzled.

I'd worn clothes that I was okay with getting dirty, a white tee and my gardening denim's for the sole hope that everyone would be in high enough spirits to fight in the usual paintball war. Behind the mansion was an entire paintball range, equipped with dozens of guns and pads. Before eating, Hunter, Mark, Gwyn, a few other classmates of ours, and I usually participated in said paintball warfare. In my opinion, it was the highlight of the event.

With the soccer ball hugged firmly against his torso, Emett blinked up at Dad and chimed, "Can I go find my friends, Dad?"

Our father's smile mirrored Emett's as he replied, "Knock yourself out, bud."

"Yes!" Emett pumped a fist into the air and sprinted through the woods toward the lake. My parents smiled knowingly in my direction.

"Be safe!" Mom called after Emett before turning to me and nervously asking, "Is Mark looking for you, sweetie?"

"Yeah..." I sighed and looked between the two of them, a twinge of guilt pulling at my stomach. I wanted to spend time with my parents, but I also had spent barely any time with Mark since Gorveau's chemistry test had been put into action. I pressed an apologetic smile through my lips, "I'm sorry. I really do want to spend time with you-"

"It's okay, kiddo. Go find your friends, we'll be all right." Dad winked, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

I blinked up at them in gratitude. "I have the best parents a girl could wish for."

Dad chuckled and tipped his baseball cap. "Don't you forget it."

--

I found the gang at the paintball range. Hunter's 'bigger than life' grin brightened my spirits as I made my way over to he, Mark, and Gwyn.

"Hey, you're here!" His unruly tangle of dark curls bounced like springs as he set his paintball gun down and leaped over to me.

"Sorry, I'm so late." I apologized.

"No worries." He flashed a pearly-white smile and embraced me briefly. "Glad you're here."

A couple meters away Mark and Gwyn stood in front of the gun rack in the middle of what seemed to be a heated discussion. Gwyn flipped her bleach-blonde locks toward the ground and tucked them into a high ponytail, as Mark held a paintball rifle with caution in one hand and gesticulated with the other. He looked to be explaining something important, judging by his furrowed brow and the prevalent appearance of his lisp. Meanwhile, Gwyn fiddled with a lighter, only halfheartedly listening to him.

It didn't take long until her focused had drifted from Mark's lecture and she'd allowed her eyes to meet mine. She pushed herself past Mark frantically and flung her bony arms into the air, waving the lighter willy-nilly as she squealed, "Hey, girly!"

Gwyn's arm smacked into the rack of paintball guns, unleashing an eruption of thunderous chaos, and as if in slow motion sent dozens of loaded rifles and activated paintball grenades soaring into the air.

I interpreted the scene as one from a movie. Gwyn's jaw hit the deck, Hunter's face dropped in panic, Mark's eyes widened to golf balls as the boys cried out in a delayed, monotonous drawl.

"NOOOOOO!"

Time sped up the second the first grenade hit the ground. All of us watched in despair as the roar of the grenades filled the entire paintball arena, their mustard yellow fumes emitting into the atmosphere. The next four grenades exploded viciously, billows of disgustingly bright smoke surrounding all of us in an inescapable bear hug of exhaust.

I gasped for air only to double over in a fit of violent coughing and wheezing. My lungs constricted and burnt as if someone had lit a match inside of them and drizzled gasoline.

After ten seconds or so the dust settled and all of us rose, hacking our lungs out in a chorus of unpleasant croaks.

"Babe, what the hell?" Mark wheezed, kneeling next to Gwyn, whose face was half purple and half green as she struggled to sit up.

"It was an accident." She whined, rubbing her temple. Her fingers trailed over her cheekbones, exposing streaks of skin. She looked down at them and giggled. "My fingers are green. See?" She held her palm in front of her for all of us to look.

"Are you okay?" Hunter and I asked in sync. We looked at each other for a brief moment and smiled at our synchronization before trotting over to Gwyn.

"Maybe we shouldn't do paintball today." She proposed. The tension lingering in the air dissipated as we broke into laughter.

"I think that's a good idea." Hunter chuckled. Gwyn blushed up at him and made an attempt to rub the powder from her face. He flashed her a smile and extended his hand to help her up. She placed her delicately manicured fingers into his palm and rose to her feet.

Mark took this as an opportunity to greet me. "See what you caused?"

"Oh, sure, blame it on me." I laughed. Mark's lips broke into a wide grin before he pulled me into a hug. The familiar scent of his Old Spice deodorant gave me a sense of comfort as it filled my nostrils.

"At least she was happy to see me."

"She's always happy to see you." He pulled away and gazed warmly at me, his chocolate eyes shimmering with content.

"She's always happy." I stated, my eyes drifting over to where Gwyn and Hunter stood. Gwyn's full, pink lips were stretched into a beaming smile as she giggled at Hunter, who reenacted her clumsy interaction with the paintball gun rack by stumbling over his feet and flinging his arms in the air. He mimicked her panicked squeal and collapsed dramatically onto the deck.

Hunter's positive attitude never ceased to make light of stressful situations, which was something he and Emett shared in common, and was probably the reason that we'd been friends for so long.

Mark watched the two of them and snorted in amusement. "One could say she's trigger happy."

Man, that was a bad pun.

I wrinkled my nose and suppressed my grin as Mark hesitantly peeped over at me, raising his eyebrows and smiling one of his huge 'Mark smiles'.

"Get it?" He bumped my shoulder with satirical emphasis. "Get it? Get it?"

"Get over yourself." I teased, bumping his shoulder in return. The two of us shared a chortle before reuniting with Gwyn and Hunter.

"I do not sound like that." Gwyn crossed her arms at Hunter, failing to sound serious.

Hunter imitated her stance and whipped his curly locks in a sharp motion for extra effect. "You totes sound like this." He teased, his voice at least an octave higher than normal.

Hunter and I exchanged glances before loosing our composure and cackling. Gwyn puckered her lips in a duck-faced expression, still subduing the urge to laugh until Mark picked up where Hunter left off.

"Hi, everybody!" He shrieked, kicking his heal to his butt as he pranced around. "I'm Gwyn Ryann Harris and I love everything!" He shimmied his shoulders and smiled over at Gwyn, whose plump lips were struggling to contain an oncoming grin. Just when I thought she'd be able to keep it together, he cocked his head at her and puckered his lips like Donald Trump.

All of us guffawed.

Mark's arm snaked its way around her waist as he pressed his lips to her forehead. She leaned into his display of affection and smiled. Standing side by side they made quite the attractive couple, Gwyn's oval face complimenting Mark's prominent, sharp features. Usually he wasn't one for PDA when it came to her, so the gesture didn't go unnoticed.

It was then that my stomach emitted a deep, rumbling growl, which, to my despair, also didn't go unnoticed. Hunter's russet brown eyes widened at the sound. "Someone's hungry."

I let out a nervous giggle, my hands instinctively clutching my waist. "Maybe a little."

"Say no more." He bent his elbow in an invitation to slide my arm through his. "Let's get some food. I'm famished."

I puffed my chest and matched his attitude, looping my arm with his.  I looked back at Mark and Gwyn and nodded them over. "You guys comin'?"

"Yup." Mark chimed, popping the 'p', his trademarked phrase. He noted mine and Hunter's interlocked arms and cocked his elbow for Gwyn to slide her arm through. She giggled like a schoolgirl and joined us as we made our jolly way in the direction of the Hollingsworth mansion.

Once we'd reached the enormous outdoor dining area that was the side yard of the estate, I found myself gawking at the number of people who'd shown up in just the past half hour. There had to be a thousand people in total, judging by the magnitude of the crowds. I was used to the couple hundred who regularly showed once a month, but the turnout today was breathtaking.

I found it strange how many middle aged, professionally dressed men made up the crowds. It was customary that Hollingsworth Law Incorporated employees showed, at least the ones that were friends with Hayward Hollingsworth, Hunter's father, but it seemed as if every employee in the company was here today.

Maybe, for the first time in years, they'd run out of hot-dogs, I thought to myself.

The four of us pushed our way through one of the masses to find the end of the line. I glanced over at one of the fry cooks, who looked as if he was about to pass out from exhaustion.

"There are so many people today." I murmured.

"Yeah, Dad wants to get to know everyone a little better." Hunter shrugged.

"I think he might be in over his head." I muttered, still goggling at the turnout.

Hunter's eyes met mine in warm acknowledgement, his bicep tensing against my arm. "I think you might be right."

"Guys, wait up." Gwyn squealed. She skipped over to us, leaving Mark tripping over his feet to keep up with her. Hunter and I slowed our pace until she and Mark flanked my left.

"I was just about say," Hunter's eyes skimmed over all of ours, "I invited someone to join us."

"Ooh," Gwyn cooed, locking eyes with Hunter across Mark and I. "A girl someone?"

"Not this time." Hunter sighed. I raised my eyebrows, surprised it wasn't a potential love interest, like usual. It was no secret that with Hunter's ravishing good lucks and charismatic demeanor he had girls falling over him left and right, not to mention the fact that his family owned Hollingsworth Law Incorporated, one of the largest law firms in Oregon state.

"Who, then?" Mark's eyes narrowed in curiosity.

"Oh, there he is." Hunter announced.

I watched as his eyes locked on someone located in the far side of the courtyard. All of us searched frantically for the individual.

Hunter began to flag the guy down, waving his arms above his head to grab their attention. I followed his line of vision and not a moment later, Mark and I saw him.

Standing just 15 meters away, with a hamburger stuffed between his gargantuan sausage fingers, a black West Burrow High sweatshirt engulfing his mountainous upper body, was a figure of at least 6'6". Positioned just beside him was the oh-so-familiar bulk of a tripod and camera equipment. His black eyes found our group and flickered with sadistic satisfaction.

"No." Mark growled. "You've got to be kidding me."

Tossing the burger into the trash with disdain, Damon licked his lips and stormed toward us.