Need book title: Chapter 1-Stress and Puppy Love [part #2]

I had to split this in two because posting it all in one was really, really long. I added a tad more to the end but that's it. I'm in the process of chapter two, and that will probably be done sometime around Friday, maybe Saturday. Thanks! ♥Chrissie.

’d retreated to the kitchen after dinner, still feeling feverish and stressed out. I leaned my elbows on the counter and looked out at the dark pasture through the window, thinking about how my dad wouldn’t even look at her. I didn’t know the details, but the way he didn’t even seem to want to look at her made me think that it wasn’t his decision. My mother didn’t love him anymore. Every time I thought those words, I winced. I guess I was still kind of in shock. I mean . . . maybe I was too young to understand love but . . . I thought that when you married someone you knew that they were the only one for you. Sure I've had my share of puppy-love and I take it as a search for ultimately the girl I'll marry someday. I always thought that when you married, you were totally certain that there was no one else out there for you. Maybe that’s how my dad felt, but my mother didn’t feel the same way. Another shiver ran up my back.

That must stink.

I ran my fingers through my hair and instantly sneezed hard three times. I’m stressed and sick. Nice.

“Look how upset you made mom.” Derrick said, still smug. I’d been so wrapped up in thought that I didn’t hear him come in. I turned around.

“I made her upset? You’re the one who was acting like a moron for no apparent reason.” I snarled.

“Well it’s true you do look horrible most of the time.” He said. His smugness was eating away at me.

“Just shut up, alright?” I said wearily, leaning against the counter again.

“You know you’re not the only one that hates this situation.”

I glared at him. “I know, just shut up, okay?”

“Don’t tell me what to-”

“I’ll do what I want.” I growled.

“Yeah when you have all your teeth knocked out you won’t-”

“Oh go ahead and beat up your own brother, that’s nice-”

“I wouldn’t waste an ounce of energy on you-”

“Then you can’t leave me alone-”

“But it’s just so fun to watch your face when I do say something-”

“What kind of person are you-”

“The kind that’s gonna knock you into next week if you keep talking-”

Derrick was four seconds away from really knocking me senseless until my dad came in.

“BOYS!” he yelled, wrenching Derrick away from me. “Derrick-go.” He said sternly, pointing to the door. Derrick glared at me and stalked out.

Dad looked back at me. I was red in the face and panting from being so angry. He looked at the pile of dirty dishes.

“I wash and you dry?” he offered gently.

“Fine.”

In the silence in which only the faucet and the occasional squeak of the sponge on the plates pierced, I couldn’t seem to get a grip on my brain. It felt like several dozen bees were buzzing around, making it hard for me to think. All I knew was that I hated Derrick.

“You know I could talk to him for you.” My dad said quietly.

“Don’t. I can handle it.” I lied quietly. I sneezed hard again and my head gave a nasty throb. I winced and sucked a breath in through my teeth. “I’m fine.”

He stared at me. “You’re so stressed your sick, Tony, it’s not good. I’ll talk to Derrick for you.”

I brushed my bangs out of my eyes again and sniffed. Was I getting the flu? I usually don’t get stuffy noses . . .

“Alright?” he asked, looking at me again.

“Do whatever you want.” I said.

There was another pause.

“So . . . um . . . how’s Mary Walters?” he asked. I heard the grin in his voice. I blushed like mad and smirked helplessly.

My dad laughed. “Greg was right: you do blush when someone says her name.”

It was hard to keep my smile back because I had a crush on the girl down the street. Like the biggest crush in history of big crushes. The whole family knew it and teased me about it constantly. She was just so . . . sweet. She had long curly blonde hair that blew in the wind when she walked. Her pasture is right next to ours and sometimes we’d race horses. She always makes me laugh and she never complains about anything. I get all nervous around her and half of what I say I don’t know it’s coming out of my mouth until it is out of my mouth. The only problem is that I don’t think she likes me like that.

My dad nudged me in the ribs, grinning teasingly. I shook my head.

“You ain’t getting anything out of me.” I said, still smiling.

“Aww, c’mon, Tony.” He whined animatedly.

I just grinned and blushed some more. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Really? You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately.”

I shrugged, fully embarrassed. “Sure but it doesn’t mean anything-”

“It’s all over your face, Tony.”

“What is?” I challenged.

“‘I am in love with Mary Walters.’”

“So what if I am . . .” I muttered.

“Ha! You admit it. I knew it. I knew before anyone else.”

“Marci knew.” I said, laughing a little.

He grinned at me. “Puppy-love.” He teased.

I raised my eyebrows. “Puppy-love? What’s that supposed to mean?”

His expression faded a little. “You don’t know what love is, really, Junior.”

I shrugged. “Maybe not.”

There was another pause.

“So how . . . how do you like livin’ here . . .”

What? I gave him a look.

“How do I like living here?”

“Like Morresville. Like Montana.”

I looked up at him, still slightly confused. I thought about it as I dried the last dish.

“I . . . I like it I guess . . . it’s a nice town . . . small. Why?”

“No reason.” He said far too quickly. I gave him a suspicious look and hopped up on the counter.

“Are you okay? You look kind of gray. Maybe you should go to bed or something.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a bug or something.” I insisted.

Suddenly a slow, quiet acoustic guitar filtered in through the door to the living room.

“’Night.” He said. “Try to relax a little, alright?”

I nodded and almost ran into the living room. I found Marci playing softly in front of the fire. I took my guitar off the rack and sat down next to her. She stopped and looked up at me.

“Oh God you look tired.”

“I am.” I said wearily. I sneezed hard again. I shook my head like a dog. “I think I’m getting sick, too.”

She smiled. “Play. It heals the heart.” She always said that.

Music is a big part of the family. In our tiny town we’re known as the music people. Beth sings like an angel, my dad can play guitar like you don’t even know, and my mother has written some beautiful songs. Music is almost everything I have. Sometimes I’d take a guitar out to the far barn and just play and sing up there all day. I think that I sing pretty well, even though my Mid-western accent makes me sound like Gary Levox. The thing is that I really don’t wanna see my family’s faces when they hear me. I like to know that I have my own little musical escape. It’s mine. And I can go away from everything and everyone for a little and do what I love. My voice is all mine and I can do what I want with it.

Marci started playing again and I joined in.

We actually cranked out a pretty good song by midnight until I had a sneezing fit.

She glanced at me and stopped playing. “You really are sick.” She said, squinting at the tab I wrote out and trying a phrase.

I brushed my bangs out of my eyes and coughed. “I told you.”

“What was dad talking to you about in there?” she asked. She was trying to make it casual, but the way she was glancing at me gave her away.

I shrugged. “Nothing really . . . he asked me how I like living here, which I thought was weird-”

“He did?” she looked worried.

“I don’t really think he meant anything-”

Her eyes washed over my face as if trying to read my mind. “Yeah . . . yeah I guess so.” She trailed off, looking into the fire again.

“This song is going to drive me crazy all week.” I said smirking. “I already have it stuck in my head.”

She smiled. “We make a good pair.”

I nodded, looking over the words again.

“Now go to bed . . . you look sick.”

Just when she mentioned it, I now felt it.

I trudged up to my room that I shared with Derrick and could barely get into my roomie pajama pants and a sweatshirt I was so tired. Derrick was already snoring like a chain saw when I climbed up the ladder to my top bunk and fell asleep immediately.

I was having this awesome dream that Lady Antebellum was singing in my living room. That apparently could change into a stage at will . . .

I woke feeling drained and achy. I rolled over and looked at the luminescent clock on the dresser below me. 6:47 a.m. I groaned. Why do I have to wake up so early?

I tried going back to sleep but it was no use. I sleepily got dressed and tried not to fall down the stairs as it was so early in the morning.

As I neared the door to the kitchen, the voices of my parents became clearer. I know I shouldn’t have ease dropped, but I couldn’t resist the urge. What if they were talking about all of those reasons why they weren’t together anymore? I had the right to know.

“. . . They won’t go for it, Anthony, you know that-”

“They have to. They need to get out of this town, to see the world-”

“You want to take children who’ve only known farms and family and throw them in California and expect them to be fine?!”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from gasping. I couldn’t think of anything, I couldn’t process what I has just heard. All I could do was listen.

“I don’t expect them to be fine. I expect them to adapt and deal with it.”

I felt like melting into the floor.

“What are you doing?” Marci asked. Her hair was all messed up and she was in her pajamas. She was licking a Popsicle.

I gave her a look.

“I didn’t feel like eggs.” She said indifferently. I rolled my eyes.

“Shh.”

She crouched down next to me. We put our ears against the door to hear better.

“ . . .Why all the way out there? What about . . . somewhere in town, or something. Anything, Anthony. Can you really picture our children on California?” I heard my mother say.

Marci gasped and dropped her Popsicle. On me.