I was slowly making my way toward my last period class, history. I had almost made it there when a large hand clasped around my shoulder and pulled me backward. I fell to its grip and turned around to face the human that it belonged to. 

"Miller, right?" a familiarly deep voice asked. 

"Yeah, who's this?"

"Uh... Bayley Wicker. I'm in your science class. Anyway..." I must have let out an audible groan, since he paused for a moment, then continued in a softer tone. "What are we... I mean... you... doing about this afternoon?" I thought for a moment and realized that I couldn't have him to my house since my mom was having her friends over for her book club. So it was going to have to be his house, to my dismay. 

"My house isn't really an option..."

"Er... I guess you could come to my house. You're blind right?" What kind of a question was that?

"Yeah, but you didn't have to be so upfront about it." I huffed. 

"Just so you know, I live at 350 Walnut Lane." I heard him walk away, and I tried to make my way to history without being late, though getting to class after the bell was sort of inevitable for me. 

350 Walnut Lane... ugh. Walnut Lane was on the scummy side of town, opposite where I lived. My dad was always there picking up criminals. And I know I shouldn't be judging people by the street they live on, but I've seen many a bad thing emerge from there. 

...

"Okay, honey. I think this is the house." my mom said as she pulled up to Bayley's house. 

"What does it look like?" I moaned. 

"It's pretty small, much smaller than our house." she answered. "There are two boys playing basketball in the driveway. Be careful you don't get hit with the ball, please."

"I'm fine, mom." I sighed, slinging the bag that held my typewriter over my shoulder. I opened the car door and slowly exited, hoping that I wouldn't get run over by something. I walked a few painfully hesitant steps away from the car as I heard my mother drive away. Apparently, one of the basketball boys noticed me, as I felt footsteps vibrating through the ground and getting closer. 

"What do you want here?" a harsh voice sounded. I was taken aback for a moment, but mustered up an answer within seconds.

"I'm here for a-a homework project with Bayley..." I replied almost silently. There was an awkward silence, then the guy started talking again, though not to me. 

"Bennett, come keep the pretty lady company!" he yelled to the other boy. The other boy, who's name I assumed was Bennett, came running over to where I was standing while dribbling a basketball underneath his outstretched hand. The ball pounded hard into the ground, producing vibrations so strong that I nearly jumped every time that it hit the ground with a hard thud. 

"I'm gonna find Bay." said the first boy, scampering off into the house. 

"Who are you?" Bennett asked softly, still dribbling the deflating basketball. 

"Er... Miller Bloom. I go to school with Bayley." I stuttered and rubbed my hand over my opposite arm. 

"Huh, Bay's never had a girl over before. I was actually pretty sure he was gay. So are you two dating or something?" I practically spit all over poor Bennett. 

"God, no. And I wouldn't even be here if I didn't have to."

A door could be heard creeking open, and footsteps pattered the place where Bennett and I were standing. I heard as Bennett and who I assumed was the other boy went back to playing basketball. Bayley grabbed my wrist and started pulling me, causing me to flinch and fall to follow his grip. 

"Not even a simple hello?" I demanded. An annoyed puff of air came from his lips and he let go of my wrist as my foot rammed into a hard, concrete stair. 

"Hi. Can we please just get this over with as soon as possible?" he whined. I tried rolling my eyes but obviously did it wrong since I didn't even know what it looked like. But seriously though; what was this kid's problem with me? I never did anything to him!

"Sure, I guess..." I moaned. I followed his footsteps cautiously, falling behind as he sprinted up the stairs. I, however, took my sweet time, navigating the porch stairs hesitantly until I was safely inside of his house. 

A smell of dirty laundry and overall men hit me nostrils like a punch to the gut, and I almost threw up when we passed the bathroom on the way to what I assumed was Bayley's bedroom. The air was thicker in here than it was in the outside world, making it more difficult to breath without holding my nose. I choked on a fly that grazed my tongue, spitting it out with a hard cough and an exasperated sigh. The tiled floor should have given off less traction, but there was a layer of dirt and dust coating it, which caught my feet in its sticky tug. 

We finally reached Bayley's bedroom after a few minutes of extremely cautious walking, just plain walking. I felt around for somewhere to sit, my hand eventually landing on a firm, but still slightly cushioned matress. I sat down slowly, feeling around in my bag for my typewriter and pulling it out to set it on my lap. 

"Sorry, I know it smells bad. Bennett hasn't done his laundry in a month." I wrinkled my nose my nose in disgust. 

"I take it they're your brothers?"

"Yeah. But they aren't the only ones." he groaned. "I have two others, too. There's five of us."

"That makes for an interesting home life." I said, trying not to sound like a complete jerk.

"Not really. The oldest, Brad, he's 26. He's a jerk. And instead of supporting the family, he ran off with his model girlfriend." he complained. "But he still lives here. He only comes home at night, which is sort of good, I guess... He's just a big jerk."

"How old are your other brothers, if you don't mind." I almost whispered. He let out an audible sigh, then continued. 

"After Brad is Benjamin. He's 23. He basically took over the family after my-" He cut himself off. A faint sniffle come from the other side of the room. "He acts like the dad. Then there's Brandon who's 20. He's the one that was first talking to you outside. He not that great either, but mostly to me. I don't know what his problem is. Bennet is the youngest, and he's 13. I don't really know what his deal is. I don't really talk to any of them... only when I'm forced to."

"Oh... well we should probably start going over the notes." I suggested. He grunted a little before rustling papers through his backpack and pulling out what should be the notes. 

"Yeah... notes..."