I know it's really long and I apologize. I'll try to review back for anyone who reviews this!
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CHAPTER ONE
Oliver wiped his brow as sweat dribbled down his forehead. The air was humid and sticky. He was lounging out on the front porch steps, listening to his grandfather’s old radio. As his fingers drummed on the old wood of the porch, a few kids rode past his grandparents’ house on bicycles. The youngest shouted out to the others to slow down as the pink streamers hanging from her handlebars blew in the wind.
The front screen door opened with a familiar creak as his grandmother’s shaky voice rang out; “Oliver, you better be hungry because I made us a feast tonight!” She laughed and went back into the house, saying, “It’s almost ready, I could use some help in the kitchen.”
“Be there in a sec.” He glanced up at the vibrant blue sky, it was tinged by little puffs of clouds that resembled cotton balls.
He looked toward the many apple trees in the front lawn. They reminded him of when he was younger and would spend his summer vacations with his grandparents. Oliver used to climb the branches to find the best apples for his grandmother’s famous apple pie. Then he’d run into the kitchen with a basket full of fresh, juicy apples and she’d bend down to kiss him on the cheek and tousle his moppy brown hair.
As she baked her pie, he’d help his grandpa in the garage to fix up his old truck; it was always breaking down. When he was about seven, he earned the duty of the honorary flashlight holder. His grandfather would always look at him through his thick circle glasses and smile as Oliver stood on his toes to try and reach the hood of the truck. Then his grandpa would scratch the top of his head where there was a little tuft of white hair, and leave a streak of oil in it. Oliver wouldn’t tell him about it until after they went back into the house and had dinner. His grandmother would smile at Oliver knowingly until they both couldn’t hold back their giggles and decided to tell his grandfather.
“You guys! Wait up!” The shouting of the neighborhood kids brought him out of his reverie and he hopped off the steps and unplugged the radio. Although the last summer he'd spent with his grandparents was ten years ago, nothing seemed to have changed. When he was at home he often found himself painting those bright red apples that he used to pluck for his grandma.
He began to ravel up the cord but jumped slightly when a mocha-skinned hand unexpectedly gripped his shoulder. He turned to find that it was Amir. Oliver playfully pushed him away. “Thanks for scaring the daylights out of me, man.”
“No problem!” He knelt to tie a shoelace.
“Where’d you come from anyway? I didn’t see you coming at all.”
Amir glanced over at the bushes that were in front of the porch. “It’s so easy to scare you.”
“You hid in the bushes?” Oliver smiled. “How long were you there for?”
“Long enough to see you staring at the apple trees with your mouth hanging open.” He smiled his half smile. “Your grandma make dinner yet?”
“You came just in time. You have a habit of doing that.”
“I know.” Amir winked as he ran up the porch steps and swung open the screen door. He looked back at Oliver and motioned for him to follow.
Oliver shook his head, laughing at Amir’s antics. Once he finished packing up the radio, he followed behind. As he entered the house, he was immediately welcomed by all of the frames hanging on the walls of the threshold with old photographs. Oliver went into the living room to see that his grandfather was sitting in his recliner. He had been watching an old black and white movie, but had clearly fallen asleep. His glasses were sliding off of his face, and his mouth was hanging open. Amir had gone straight for the couch, his body sprawled out across the length of it as he watched the TV.
The kitchen was a warm and inviting place; there was always some delicious smell coming from the oven. His grandma was in a tizzy taking out serving spoons and knives and plates all at once. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, nodding to the excessive amounts of food laid out on the breakfast bar counter.
She smiled her toothy smile and simply shook her head as she pulled out some potholders from a cupboard.
“Grandma, I know that face, you’re hiding something. Tell me!” he chuckled.
She hesitated, turning to the sink. As she rinsed off a pan she gave in. “What if I were to say that your parents are coming home tonight?”
Several different feelings washed over Oliver all at once, but the most prominent was his feeling of total disappointment. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Really?” The word was flat.
His grandma hobbled up to him to pat him on the back. “Your stepmother and I spoke on the phone the other day for quite some time. I think that the two of them going to California has helped them a lot.”
He glanced at the clock above the stove: 5:02 PM. “When will they be here?”
“Laura just called me about an hour ago to tell me that their plane had landed. So they should be here soon, in less than a half an hour. Just in time for dinner.”
Attempting to forget about his parents, he looked over to Amir and his grandpa in the living room, “Amir came by, hope you don’t mind he stays for dinner.”
My grandmother grinned. “I don’t know why you even ask. That boy is always welcome here. He knows that too; he’s been over here quite often…especially at dinnertime. Besides, I already made sure to make enough for him anyway.”
Oliver smiled. “I know. He says that your cooking is much better than his mother’s.”
Clearly flattered; as his grandmother rinsed a head of lettuce off under the sink she mumbled, “Such a nice boy.” She loved to hear that she had good cooking, it was her favorite compliment. “Honey, can you set those out on the dining table?” She pointed to several plates of food sitting on the counter opposite them.
“No problem.” He grabbed a large pot of spaghetti and a plate of chicken and took them out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Just as he set down the plates, the front door swung open.
“Hi!” The voice was familiarly irritating. He slowly looked up from the dining table to see a bronze, light haired woman with several bags hanging from her thin wrists. S stiff and somewhat chubby man stood awkwardly behind her.
“Oliverrr!” Her nasally voice rang out his name shrilly. “Give me a hug! It’s been so long, honey.”
He walked over to the couple hesitantly and she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, managing to jab him with one of her long, plastic nails. “How was California, Laura?” he mumbled.
“Well, it was not what I expected at all! It was fabulous when we were at your Aunt Lisa’s house, but the city was a bit dirty, I won’t lie. So many Mexicans.”
He tried to ignore her racist remark, but a sarcastic “and?” slipped out under his breath. She glared at him slightly but quickly dismissed what he had said.
“Your father had a lovely time,” she said as she pat his dad’s stomach. “Didn’t you, pookie?”
Oliver gagged a little at the remembrance of such a disgusting pet name for his father. His father, Edgar, blushed a little in embarrassment. He coughed in agreement.
“That’s good.” Oliver’s words were hollow.
Laura let out a short breath, a huff, as she set down her bags and strode over to the dining table. She frowned in disapproval as she inspected the dark mahogany surface. “Oliver, that table’s dirty; take these plates back off of it and wipe it down.”
He glanced at the dining table. It seemed to be fine, but nothing escaped his stepmother’s critical eye. Walking back into the kitchen, he set down the plates and gripped the edge of the breakfast bar in frustration. While his grandmother’s back was turned to him, Oliver put his head in his hands. Not much time had passed before he felt a frail hand on his shoulder. He looked up to meet his grandmother’s aged eyes. He sighed slightly and nodded in agreement to her reassuring motion. He grabbed a rag and entered the dining room.
Laura was picking at her nails, sitting cross-legged at the table, opposite her husband. “Your mother’s house smells, Edgar,” Laura said under her breath.
“It’s from the cooking,” Oliver said, glaring. How dare she insult his grandmother’s home so blatantly?
Laura looked up at him, surprised, almost as if she had already forgotten that he was there. She smiled, lips pursed, and in a condescending tone said, “I suppose so.” Then she cleared her throat. “How was your summer, Oliver?”
“Fantastic.” He made sure the word bit the air a little as he left back into the kitchen to grab more plates of food.
As they all sat down to eat, Laura forward and asked his grandmother, “have you had any problems?” Her eyes darted to Oliver.
His grandma smiled, her eyes crinkling. “Not in the very least. The boys have been great, very helpful.” She looked to Oliver and Amir. She liked to think that Amir was another grandchild, which he very well could be since he stayed over so much. Oliver’s grandfather patted Amir on the back, and he smiled when he realized that she was talking about him.
“That’s good.” Laura looked down at her plate as she cut some chicken. The room was silent for a while after, with only the muffled sound of the television that Oliver’s grandfather had left on and the clinking of silverware to fill the void. Then, Laura cleared her throat again. “Your father and I have something to discuss with you after dinner, Oliver.”
He never understood why she did that. “Why not just tell me now?”
“Well, now is not-”
His father spoke. “Laura, we might as well.” He coughed, then smiled feebly at his wife.
Her eyes narrowed. “Have you ever heard of The Ralfour Academy of New York?”
Oliver shook his head.
“Well, your cousin Phillip goes there and your father and I looked into it and we believe that it would be an excellent school with enough academic rigor to keep you focused for your senior year.”
Oliver almost wanted to laugh as this feeling of surrealism wafted over him. She spoke as though she were reading straight from the pamphlet of the school. She had to be joking. “I go to Jefferson High,” was all that he could say.
His cousin Phillip was the son of his aunt and uncle on his stepmother’s side. Aunt Lisa and Uncle Robert, with their darling little son, Phillip, were the one’s that Edgar and Laura were visiting in California. His Aunt Lisa and Laura were sisters and they might as well have been twins, they were exactly alike. Which was why, when given the option to either stay with his grandparents or spend a month with not only one Laura, but two, Oliver gladly chose to come to Massachusetts rather than go with them to California. He still wasn’t sure which personality was worse, the Laura/Lisa personality, or the Phillip one. ‘Darling little Phillip’ was a pompous, know-it-all kid, with thick rimmed glasses and a mighty case of acne. Not to mention his salivation problem which gave him a strong lisp, or rather “lishp”. He liked to challenge Oliver on everything whenever he visited, but Oliver was always able to outwit him.
“Yes, but next year you will be going to Ralfour Academy.” She looked to Edgar for reassurance.
“I go to Jefferson High,” Oliver repeated in disbelief.
Crossing her legs, she looked back down at her plate as she cut her chicken. “Not anymore.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand.” Oliver looked to Amir as if he could shed some light on this. Amir looked dubious.
“What’s not to understand? Your father and I enrolled you at Ralfour Academy so that you can have a brighter future. You can thank us for looking out for you.” Her eyebrows rose.
“What’s wrong with Jefferson?” Oliver suddenly didn’t feel good. His stomach turned thinking about leaving the school where he knew everyone, where he had a name for himself. Leaving all of his friends.
“I feel like I’m speaking to a toddler,” she muttered.
His father cleared his throat. “Oliver, Laura and I want a good future for you, and Ralfour Academy will provide you with the skills to get into a college like Harvard or Yale.”
Oliver sighed. “Dad, we’ve talked about this countless times. I’m not going to some stuffy Ivy League school. I’m going to an art school.”
Laura snorted. “That’s the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard! You’ll have no future as an artist. You need to give it up and become a doctor, or a lawyer like your father. We’re not going to let you bum off of your father. You need to make your own living.”
Oliver’s grandmother started to speak, saying something about how talented he was, but Laura shot her down, rambling on and on about financial things.
Oliver could feel his temper rising. They never supported him. The fact that Laura wanted to send him away to some school in New York pissed him off. He knew it was because she wanted to have the house all to herself and his father. Oliver wanted to scream as his hands clenched on his fork and knife.
The anger boiling inside of him, Oliver dropped his silverware loudly on his plate, pushed away his chair, and stormed out the door.
The screen door closed with a thwack as he got into his car. His fingers gripped around the steering wheel and with his eyes closed tightly, he took a deep breath, then let it out. It was his way of decompressing.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the front door of his grandparents’ house open. It was Amir, his brow was furrowed in concern.
It was strange to see Amir’s usually cheerful face so solemn. It made him feel awful for having caused a scene like he had, but he couldn’t bear to go back in the house at this point. He jabbed his key in the ignition and peeled out of the driveway. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew that he needed to get away. The vibration of the engine felt soothing to him as he sped down the country roads. As he drove, he lost track of where he was, whizzing past barns and houses until he found himself parking at a familiar place.
He walked through the tall grass, past the abandoned tractor, and sat upon a bridge that overlooked a crick. His grandparents used to take him there all the time when he was little. It used to be a cider mill, but went out of business a few years back.
Reaching into his pocket, he found his notebook. He grabbing the small pencil that was nestled in the rings of the binding to the notebook and began to draw his surroundings. He drew for what seemed like hours, trying to find some peace of mind.
It wasn’t just the fact that they were forcing him to go to a new school in a new state that bothered him. It frustrated him that as soon as they just waltzed right back into his life they were able to ruin it again in a matter of seconds.
Jefferson High School wasn’t the best school; the girls were catty, the guys were jerks. But it still felt like home. Oliver had been in that school district his whole life. He was there even when his real mother had left him when he was in kindergarten, with only a note to remember her by.
His mother had gone off with some other, richer family, and after years of depression, his father had married another woman. His second marriage had only lasted a few years, until she started cheating on him with the pizza delivery man. When Oliver had turned fourteen, his father, Edgar, found Laura at a Night Club, and married her within the first few months of dating her. He told Oliver that it was true love, but Oliver knew that it wasn’t. His parental figures were not the best role models for true love, but he knew that what Edgar and Laura had was definitely not something called love.
At a young age, Oliver had found that Edgar had a habit of being with selfish women that lacked empathy. In a way, he almost felt bad for Edgar, for his incapability of ever advocating for himself. He tended to take the backseat in relationships. Laura had obviously only married him for his money. Why else would a woman as young as twenty-eight year old Laura want a fifty-something year old man like his father? In a way, it really disgusted Oliver. It made him feel as though his own father was a pig. He had vowed early on to never follow in Edgar’s foot steps.
A frog that was hidden in the lilies by the crick croaked loudly and snapped Oliver out of his thoughts. He looked at the sky; it was getting to that time when the sun turned everything a honey color. Closing the notebook, he glanced at his phone. It said that it was 7:36 PM. There were several voicemails from his family. He decided to go back to his grandparents’ house before they began to worry about him.
When he pulled up to the familiar two story house with the white picket fence and blue shutters against white siding, he saw that Amir was sitting on the front porch while his grandmother was sitting in her rocking chair, knitting.
Amir hopped off the steps as the car parked and he walked up to the passenger’s side window. As Oliver rolled it down, Amir asked in a very knowing tone, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Oliver lied.
Amir frowned. “Let’s get out of here.” Then he opened the door to sit in the passenger seat.
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Thanks so much for reading. Want more?
One half of the Dynamic Duo here. Sorry about the delay! Your chapter just intimidated me so much that I flitted around cleaning the house to avoid doing it haha 
Seriously though. The reason why you haven't received natural reviews on this isn't because this is a bad piece of work, but because it's so HUGE. Mind numbingly huge. Gigantic.
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