Arriving back at the house, I put my master plan into action. Distracting Clifford with the TV, I make sure he's hooked before slipping out of the house with Xalale- who's been strangely quiet since we left town.

I guide him into the woods where I found my necklace and fell through the portal. The only problem: I don't remember the exact place I found the necklace.

"It had to be around here somewhere," I say searching for anything familiar. "I got snagged on a bush or something then fell through a hole."

The only sure, positive thing I know is that it has to be along the path to the shed since that was where I was heading that day.

It's odd to imagine what would've happened that day if things played out differently- if one or two factors were changed. What if my dad never called and asked me to get his toolbox? What if I never noticed my necklace hidden under the leaves and bush? What if I didn't go forward trying to untangle myself? What if I never got tangled at all? All these probabilities fly through my mind searching for the right bush.

"Okay, I must've checked every bush on this path," I huff. "I didn't go too far so there isn't much to look at."

A sinking thought comes into my head.

"What if the portal is gone?" I wonder aloud.

What are we supposed to do then?

I take a break, sitting down on a tree stump. All this time, I can't help but notice Xalale hasn't said a word about this issue at all. This is the kind of stuff he flips out about, but now he just seems mildly invested in this problem. His mind is elsewhere, but from his facial expression, I can't tell where.

"What's wrong?"

Leaning against a tree, the sound of my voice breaks him out of the spell he's in.

"Nothing."

"I hate that answer," I reply annoyed. "Just tell me the truth. What's wrong?"

At this point, he stares out into the woods instead of at me. I get no response to my question which frustrates me, but I don't let the anger kindle. If I've learned anything from being around Xalale is that patience is key.

"Are you mad?" I try.

"No."

"Are you annoyed?"

"No."

"Upset?"

"No." His tone displays irritation.

"Frustrated?"

Finally, he looks over with stormy eyes and glares at me.

"Why must you always jump to the conclusion that I must be angry or infuriated?"

I keep my voice calm and even. "You just always seem irritated."

He looks away again, rather angrily- in my opinion- and I let a brief silence go by before trying again.

"Are you sad?"

This time, he doesn't just glare my way, he pushes off the tree and begins to walk away, fuming about God only knows.

"Xalale," I start to follow, now genuinely confused. "What's wrong? Why am I making you upset?"

"Let's forget about the portal. We need a new plan."

I stop him by a gentle touch on the shoulder and once he's stopped, I go around and face him with puzzled eyes.

"We can make a new game plan, but first tell me what's going on? Communicate what you're feeling."

That might be easier said than done regarding him, but I need to know what's going through his mind.

We stare at each other for a few moments, him with eyes as hard as stone and me with clear confusion on my face.

"It's nothing."

With that, he walks back to the house leaving me dumbfounded.

"What does it matter? If he doesn't want to tell me then he doesn't have to." It's good to see that that negative, little voice in the back of my mind is still present.

Sighing in defeat, I silently follow him back to the house. He remains outside on the steps, like yesterday. At this point, I don't care what's bothering him; we go through this charade all the time.

Instead, I join Clifford in the family room plopping down, heavily, next to him.

"Where's Axel?"

The show he's watching is colorful and somewhat blinding- I glance away.

"Outside moping."

He gives me a puzzled look. "About what?"

"That's the billion dollar question," I groan getting up to fetch my computer. Clifford starts to get up as well.

"I'm gonna go find him."

"Uh, you might not want to do that," I warn. "He's in one of his mood swings or whatever."

Clifford merely waves me off, already heading to the front door.

"Maybe he just needs a pick me up."

"Yeah, but not from you."

I bite my lip wondering if I should stop him before all hell breaks loose or let him go. Clifford's the kind of kid who, once his mind is made up, won't be deterred easily. I let him go deal with the hurricane outside, leaving me time to head to my room to retrieve my computer and take it back to the family room (just in case I can hear Clifford's cries if Xalale snaps).

Fiddling around on my blog and the Web for a bit, I become so absorbed in my task that I barely notice the time passed. By the time I sneak a glance at the bottom of my screen, I'm shocked to find that it's nearly 7. Clifford's mother should be arriving shortly.

I get up to go call the both of them back into the house (assuming Xalale hasn't choked the life out of Clifford).

My hand's on the doorknob, about to twist it open, when the door begins to open.

Clifford's freckled face smiles brightly at me. "Hey, Mal."

As he skips inside, Xalale follows close behind. He doesn't appear in a foul mood like before, but I back off just in case. He glances at me without saying a word then walks through the kitchen to my room.

I join Clifford in the family room where he has turned the TV on back to his show. He seems happy enough which means nothing drastic went down, but still I'm curious.

"So, Clifford," I try to sound as nonchalant as possible. "What's up?"

"Hm?" His attention is glued to the characters on screen.

"What did you and Xalale talk about?"

He shrugs, "Nothing much. I did most of the talking, but we mostly just sat without saying anything. It was really boring but we needed it."

Not too surprising he did most of the talking, but I was confused about the last part.

"So you guys just sat there saying nothing?"

"Yeah. Like I said, really boring."

It's hard to believe he kept his mouth shut for a majority of the time they were out there.

I wait for him to explain himself more, but apparently nothing can be assumed with this kid. He continues to mindlessly watch what's happening in front of him.

"Clifford."

"What?" He finally glances at me.

"Did you make him mad?" I ask slightly annoyed.

"Who? Axel? No. He's actually more relaxed, that's why we sat in silence for so long."

Now I'm lost. "Huh?"

This time it's him who's slightly annoyed, and he sighs returning his full attention to the screen.

"I sat next to him and we didn't say anything because he needed to calm down. My grandma told me that if you sit there and wait with someone, just to keep them company, that they'll calm down naturally without you having to talk. So that's what I did."

"So you just...sat there with him and kept him company?"

He nods at the screen. "Yup."

"Oh."

In all honesty, I'm dumbfounded. Looking back on all the times Xalale was upset and needed to calm down, never once did I think to take that approach of sitting and saying nothing. I mean, if I think about the times I was upset or angry, my mom would come and soothe me quietly, with very few words- but I'd feel relaxed.

In another odd sense, I feel slightly envious that Clifford- of all people- figured that out before me. An eight-year-old talkaholic managed to understand someone as complex as Xalale in two days, whereas I'm still trying to figure him out.

We sit watching the colorful cartoon for the remainder of the time until his mother arrived at 7 to pick him up.

Even after he'd gone, I remained in the family room absentmindedly surfing the Web on my laptop in thought.

My thoughts eventually fade and soon I'm numbing my mind with funny YouTube videos of epic fails involving toddlers.

All is well until a disturbance in the bathroom causes me to investigate.

"Xalale?"

I press my ear against the door and listen for any movement.

"What?"

"It might just be me, but he always sounds irritated."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

I linger for another minute before calling out again.

"Do you need help cleaning your wound?"

The door unlocks and he's looking at me with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

"I'm fine."

"Okay."

He raises an eyebrow as if asking me what else do I want.

"Just call me if you need anything," I say pushing my hair back.

"Fine." He closes the door, leaving me feeling slightly stupid for standing there so long.

Retreating to my room, I play on my laptop until he enters the room a few minutes later.

He doesn't say anything to me, instead sitting with his back against the bed staring out the window. Shutting my laptop I want to say something- anything- to him, but strangely enough the words don't seem to come.

Then an idea forms. At first, I'm a bit hesitant about it- even a little confused as to where it came from- but then I glance down at him with his back to me and I decide to take a leap of faith.

Opening my laptop again, I type what I need into the search engine and click on what I want.

"So...what's your favorite animal?"

It's so painfully spontaneous and random that it sounds forced even to me. He glances up at me with confusion apparent on his face.

"What are you going on about?"

I shrug trying to act casual. "I just thought we get to know each other better. I mean, if you think about it, we don't really know each other at all; at least the little details."

He looks away, a slight air of annoyance lingering.

I sigh, "I won't be like Clifford- killing you with questions- I just wanna know what's your favorite animal."

There's a prolonged stretch of silence and I'm prepared to close down my laptop in defeat until he speaks up.

"A hawk."

He's still not facing me and his tone sounded a little stony, but he answered. That's a start.

"Cool. Why a hawk?"

"They're powerful creatures with accurate precision." He replies. "They can also fly wherever they please."

That last reason causes a question mark to pop into my head.

"Uh, don't most birds fly? What's so special about a hawk flying?"

"Yes, but unlike most birds a hawk is a predator which means it can go wherever it wants without worry."

"True...but aren't eagles and vultures the same way-"

"You asked me what animal is my favorite and when I answer you scrutinize it." He turns around and snaps at me. I must've pushed his defenses up by mistake.

I back down, choosing my battles carefully.

"Okay, fine, a hawk." Damn.

He returns his gaze to the window, leaving me to hold back a sigh.

"My favorite animal is a swan. They're very magical."

When I receive no feedback on that, I glance at the list of questions to pick another one. I go with a more unusual, intriguing one.

"What is the last dream you had?"

"Last pleasant dream or last dream as in nightmare?"

"Either." I clarify. Though I'm not sure I want to hear the nightmarish things that come from him.

He appears to be in thought and reclines back on the mattress.

"The last dream I had wasn't very interesting." He begins. "I was in the middle of a thickly wooded forest surrounded by pine trees. The sky was bright. It looked white if you looked up at it. When I looked up at the blinding sky, three crows or ravens flew across the sky rapidly. I watched one of the feathers float down to me and I reached out to grab it, but I never reached it."

"Why!?" For some reason, his dream fascinated me and I mistakenly showed too much enthusiasm in wanting to know more. "I mean, what happened?"

He never once looked over at me and instead stares up at the ceiling.

"Because I woke up," He says it like the answer should've been obvious. "As I said, not a very intriguing tale."

I'm glad he didn't catch onto my peaked interested, or just relieved he didn't mention it.

"What was your last dream?" He asks.

"Uh, I'm not really sure," I admit honestly. "Probably something odd like riding a dragon and going to school with a talking backpack."

I close my mouth wishing I could take back my words. I sound like an idiot telling him these things. Why is it that he's sometimes eerily easy to talk to?

"I must say, your dreams are more vivid than my ever were." He sounds amused, which relieves some of my embarrassment.

"Well, I'm a strange person," I choose another question. "Do you have a weird habit?"

"I'm not quite sure what qualifies as weird."

I shrug. "Not weird like you make horse noises whenever you're nervous weird, but more like...like I used to carry two pennies in each pocket when I was little because I thought it would keep me safe from trolls and witches."

There I go again blabbering to him about something personal. I need to learn to zip it.

"Trolls and witches? So you've always been a strange person from what I gather."

"Hey," I nudge him in the side, playfully, with my foot. "Judge me as you want, but we all had stupid fears as children."

"But trolls and witches?"

"Oh right," I say feigning acknowledgment. "I forgot. You were the perfect child with no fears or flaws."

He sits up and looks at me. At first, I can't tell if my joking comment offended him, but his tone reveals he's taken no offense to the jab.

"I was as close to the perfect child as one could get."

I couldn't be sure, but did I possibly hear a playful tone coming from him? I must be going insane.

"The perfect child, eh? You did all your chores without complaining?"

"I tried."

"Were kind to everyone you met?"

"Of course, even if they weren't the kindest to me."

I smirk. "Didn't punch anyone in the face because they angered you?"

"I wasn't the violent type." He sounds mighty pleased with himself. I have to try harder.

"Alright. What was your first curse word?"

"I don't recall."

"Really?" I raise my eyebrow dubiously.

He sighs. "I didn't know it was a vile word at the time, but bastard."

"Really? That was your first curse word? Mine was so much worst than that?"

"I wouldn't doubt it. You curse like a drunkard."

I playfully nudge him again. "Hey, I'm not that bad. Am I?"

"When you're like this, no. When you're mad, yes."

I roll my eyes. "So back to being the perfect child. You never rebelled?"

"I had valid reasons for doing so."

"Okay," I laugh, "So let me get this straight, you were clearly God's gift from above as a child who never sinned and was as close to Jesus as one could get? Am I understanding this correctly?"

"Why is that so hard to fathom?"

"Because, you're you."

Any trace of humor was gone from his voice. "What do you mean?"

My smile fades. "I mean, we're all different when we grow up. Like I don't get scared of stupid stuff anymore like I used to when I was younger. We all change when we grow up."

There's a brief, tense silence that follows what I said.

"Of course." He replies lying back down.

"Crap." I ruined the lighthearted banter going on there. It was actually enjoyable there for a second.

With a new, unwelcome mood in the atmosphere, I return to the list of questions to ease some of the strain.

"What is your secret talent that you've never revealed to anyone?"

A few moments pass and I'm worried I've shut him down for good, but he speaks up- not with the same playfulness as before, unfortunately (I'm starting to think I imagined such a thing).

"I don't really have a secret talent. In fact, I have no talents."

"Everyone has a talent," I say with certainty in my voice but clear doubt in my mind.

I'd like to believe everyone has a talent, but I have yet to find mine. My mom believes I'm looking in the wrong place for it, but I say it doesn't exist. I have no talents to display.

He then proceeds to ask the question I dread he would. "What's your talent, Mallory?"

"I'll answer only after you have."

Still staring up at the ceiling, he responds in a matter-of-fact manner, "You don't have one, do you?"

I hesitate which gives him all the answer he needs. Scoffing, he glances at me with those piercing blue eyes of his.

"So you speak hypocrisy? Well, that's fine, we can both be talentless." He returns his gaze to the ceiling once more.

His words get under my skin and I try not to comment on it, but, really, what can I say? He's not too far off the mark. Maybe that's why it got under my skin so much.

Strangely enough, a small part of me felt comforted by that statement. There's finally someone stuck in the same boat as me. I just wish it wasn't Xalale.

Another stretch of silence unravels between us and I'm prepared to move until he interrupts me again.

"I will say that when I was younger I enjoyed singing and would do so every night." I couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in his tone as he mentioned this. An almost nostalgic mannerism to it. "I never sung around anyone because I figured I didn't sound any good. But it's also so much easier to sing to yourself than in front of others. The only person I'd ever sung for was my moth-"

He must've realized he's said too much and goes silent. I can relate to the feeling.

I smile. "You can sing?"

"Everyone can sing." He replies a little snippy.

I roll my eyes. "Not me. I sound like a dying seal trying to gargle acid. I will destroy your eardrums."

Setting my laptop aside, I go to lie on my stomach, looking down at him with pleading eyes. "Can I hear you sing? You said you didn't know how good you sounded, maybe I can give feedback?"

"No," He sits up. "I told you I only sing to myself and I haven't done so in years."

"There's no better time than the present."

"The answer remains the same."

I give an exaggerated sigh, "You're so boring. You don't have to sing a whole song, just like a line. I'll be fine with just a Do Re Mi. Come on. Please."

"You are a very headstrong individual," He replies annoyed. "But I'm rather stuck in my ways as well, so we're equal."

"I know that much to be true." I roll my eyes at that thought.

Sliding off the bed, I join him on the mattress.

"What if someone was holding a gun to your head and the only way to save yourself was by singing?"

He shrugs. "I'm not understanding of what a gun is, but it sounds lethal. I suppose I would die then."

I toss my hands in the air.

"What do I have to do to hear you sing?"

"Why does it matter so much to you?"

"Because," I say staring at him. "You don't strike me as the type to sing so I want to hear what you've got. Plus, I don't know too many decent singers. Cauldron is not known for much, but it's definitely not known for its singers."

"I'm not going to sing."

"Okay, what if I show you how I sound then you sing to me afterward? Deal?"

He scoffs. "You just told me you sound like a dying animal and my eardrums would be destroyed if I heard you sing and now you want to sing to me? You are a very poor haggler indeed."

Burying my face in my hands then looking at him, I sigh. "So that's it? I'll never get to hear you sing?"

He smirks at me. "Maybe if you dream it, it might happen seeing how vivid your imagination is."

"You're no fair."

He lies back down, staring yet again at the ceiling. I lie back as well, mostly out of curiosity to see what's so interesting about the ceiling. So far, nothing seems to be of interest.

"So, the mood's pretty good here," I think to myself. "A nice moment to risk asking a rather unpleasant question. Gotta slip it in like a bad pill to your cereal."

"It sounds like you and your mom were close before." I begin, trying to act nonchalant. Underneath I'm starting worry I'll push the wrong button.

"Once." The replies comes out bitterly.

"Tread carefully."

"It's nice to have family, even when they annoy you," God, I sound like an after school special. "And you know what they say: 'Blood is thicker than-"

"Get to the point." He cut me off tersely.

"Boat's a little rocky with the wake. Reel it in."

Sighing, I sit up, looking down at him.

"What happened between the two of you? Why such animosity for each other?"

He not only sits up but gets to his feet, shaking his head. "It's a complicated situation."

"Okay," Keeping voice low and steady. "If you explain it carefully it might not be so complex."

He stares out the window. "It will always be complex. Besides, you're asking the wrong person for the answer. I'm surprised you didn't question her about it when you had the chance. She prefers your company far better it seems."

There laid a familiar accusing tone in his words that mimicked his mother's; I don't think they realize how similar they sound. I push it away and continue to watch him stare out the window.

"Well, when did it first start? The bitterness between the two of you? It didn't just occur overnight."

"It did."

"What?"

"Occur overnight. In fact, it was shattered in the course of one hour."

There's so much to this story- I can already tell. I scoot over on the mattress so I can be closer to him standing by the window.

"How?"

No response.

Cautiously, I try again. "What happened that day- that hour- that changed everything?"

"Let's not play these games," He sounds distant in a way I've never heard him be before. It unsettles me for a moment. "The moral of this tale is that everyone betrays. People who you thought cared about you, they leave. They turn their backs to you because they never cared. If you think they won't, they will, they're just waiting for you to lower your defenses before they strike."

I blink. "That's what you think? That's your...outlook on life? Everyone that walks into your life is going to stab you in the back?"

He turns halfway away from the window to look at me.

"I've yet to be proven false." He replies flatly.

This time, I stand to my feet, determination flashing in my eyes and voice.

"Then how come I'm still here? I guess I'm an outliner."

"You're different."

"That's nothing new. If I was normal we wouldn't be here right now."

"How?"

He faces the window again without answering my question.

I step closer. "Why am I different? Not everyone is going to betray you. Hurt you, yes they will eventually- purposefully or accidentally- but if that relationship is strong enough you'll forgive and the hurt will go away."

He still hasn't said a word in relation to this, but I can hear a car pull into the driveway, so I turn and head for the door, pausing to look back at him. Still glued to the window, his face is unreadable.

"You know," I say casually. "It would help if you knocked down a few of those defensive walls. You'll be surprised to find that not everyone is looking to betray you."

With that, I breeze out of the room, leaving him standing by the window.