Chapter One--Clyde

The first piece...hopefully there won't be too many more! (:

"Do you remember that time last year when you threw the penny in the well?"
Golden light was falling over Henrietta’s back, making her look as if she were standing in a natural spotlight.
"Sure," I felt strangely helpless, as if she were pinning me against the wall, not staring at the sunset.
"What did you wish for?"
"I don’t remember."
"You’re lying."
There were three clocks in the kitchen and I could hear their separate ticking keep track of the seconds in their own way. I saw an ant crawling among yesterday’s newspaper, still spread across the chipped white table top, making its way towards one of four cereal bowls.
"You’re dad’s going to be mad when he sees how messy you’ve let things get." Mad? He’d set fire to the house when he opened his mouth!
Henrietta’s spotlight was becoming an orange-pink. It shrugged around her as her shoulders moved icily into a gesture of complete not-caring.
"What did you wish for, Clyde?"
"I told you," I said earnestly. "I can’t remember." But my voice rose a little–in volume and pitch.
She turned then and I remembered all at once how her eyes had always freaked me out. The blue was bright enough to be electric and in her average, pimply face it seemed as if they didn’t quite belong to her.
I stared, feeling a drop of sweat trickling down my nose, trying to make my own brown orbs as honest as possible.
"Henrietta...." I almost choked on the name, did choke on the lie that came surging up my throat.  
"What did you wish for?"
‘What are you, a parrot with a single sentence?! Why does it matter?"
She looked away then, and I felt my breathing become almost normal. The white room, smothered in a week of unrestrained Henrietta-order had such an odd feeling to it...almost Twilight Zone-ish. The feeling was enhanced by the brilliant sunset lighting, gleaming on the pale walls, counters, dishes...
"It just...does." Her words were low, almost unintelligible through the hair that had fallen over her face. If there was something beautiful about Henrietta it was her hair. It was shoulder-length with a bit of a wave to it and a deep blonde mixed with light brown. The kind of hair that made you think of Summer, Summer in a place where there had never been smog or airplanes. A place with sunflowers as tall as oak trees.
"Well, I just don’t remember. Can we work on the village now, or should I go home?"
She shrugged again. Not icy now, but indifferent. Totally indifferent. Penelope washing her gray-striped fur was more interested in my presence.
"Alright, then." I stood up and shoved in the chair. It scritched over the tiles and Penelope gave me a very unfriendly look with one emerald eye. I’d better stay clear of her next visit. She had a long memory and a tooth for revenge.
"I’ll see you Monday, then. Right?"
She didn’t look up.
"Right?"
I was starting to get annoyed. What was going on? And why wasn’t she telling me about it? Weren’t we friends? Best friends? The thousands of painted rocks, the hundreds of pictures our parents had taken, the secrets we’d shared, all said we were. But Henrietta was saying something else.
"What’s going on?!" My irritation shook the room and Henrietta as much as the ant in the cereal bowl would’ve if he decided to stamp a pin-head foot. "Are you going off to become a fairy godmother and need to know what I wished for to pass some kind of test?"
"Sort of...." The mutter barely made it to my ears but it made my blood boil the way a two-story bonfire might.
"Somebody kill me with a cardboard sword!" I had stomped inches from her, from the fading sky behind her in the window, from the Summer hair hiding a crooked, zit-peppered face, and a pair of otherworld eyes. "What are you up to?"
"Why does it matter?"
"I guess it doesn’t," I said after a minute of just standing there, then I laughed. It was such a crazy thing. Mr. Talbot’s immaculate house was in complete chaos and my best friend could’ve been an alien for all I knew her.
Her eyes snapped up at the sound of my laughter and I felt frozen by their electricity. Gray and blue sparks shivering over an iris of intensity.

"Here..." something warm and round was pressed into my hand. I looked at her serious, half-hidden face, in complete wonder but at the same time already knowing...knowing everything.

"What is it?"

"You can open your hand and look."

"I know," I said, "But I want you to tell me. Or aren’t you willing to explain anything anymore?"

"It’s a penny," Her mouth had a funny twist to it. I’d seen it before when she didn’t want to lie and at the same time wanted to make an attempt at getting around the truth.

"It’s not just a penny, Henrietta. Come on, does a genie come out of it if it lands on heads, or what?"

"Why don’t you see for yourself?"

"I will. But, hey, I’d like to get that village finished in time for the show at school, okay?"

She shrugged again. It was almost the friendly, bemused, ‘whatever’ shrug I was used to. Almost.

"Come by later, then."

"Like, after school Monday?"

"Sure," she sat down next to Penelope and scratched the fluffy head. Emeralds blinked and glimmered in satisfaction as the purring machinery started up.

"Hey, it’s a little dark," I could get understatement of the year award for that. The stars were out already! "Could I borrow a flashlight?"

Henrietta laughed. "You’re three houses down, Clyde!"

"I know but..." I shuffled uncomfortably. "You know..."

Those electric eyes sparkled at me with amusement. It almost made me laugh, the pure amusement that radiated out of the freakish things. But I only grinned back at her as she said,

"I don’t see why you’re so scared of the dark. It’s not even like it’s completely dark. There’s always the moon."

"The moon is called ‘pale’ for a reason, Henny."

She stuck out her tongue. "Well, make sure you check under your bed before you go to sleep, Snide Clyde."

"Ha. I’ll be attacked by dustbunnies. So where do you guys keep the flashlights?"

She pointed to the white bookshelf I was standing next to. One of our little rock towns had been set up carefully on the top. It was one of the first ones we’d ever done and the painting was definitely amateur, but I liked looking at it anyhow. I even felt proud of it. All those dot-eyed people with the blobby clothing had a nice, friendliness to them. There was even a certain stylistic quality to them...And the houses and sheep and little well....Well?

I stopped admiring our eight-year-old achievement and gave Henrietta a confused look.

"Second shelf," she giggled.

"I know..." My hand found the top of the flashlight and I picked it up, still looking at her with a wrinkled forehead and questioning eyes. "But this well...It looks new..."

Summer fell over her face in a gleaming curtain.

"It is," She said, in what almost seemed to be a challenging voice.

"Oh," I was taken aback by her tone. What was going on? Henrietta could be unpredictable sometimes but I’d always understood it even if I didn’t really. That doesn’t seem to make any sense, but basically what it amounts to is: there are some things you don’t understand about people that you understand within the context of the person; then there are things that you don’t understand, even if you look at them as belonging to the person; and THEN there’re things you don’t understand, but ESPECIALLY if they’re part of someone. This was one of the last ones.

"So....Monday afternoon?" It was an effort but I found the words.

The shrug. Icy. Blade-like.

"I’ll see you, then."

*~*~*

I’ve always told Henrietta she’s lucky, living alone with her dad. Just the two of them. Plenty of room, plenty of quiet. Even at my most exhasperated, though, I think I’ve always preferred my home. Probably just because I was raised in it, but I there’s something lovely about the constant movement and chatter of voices.

"Halt!" I froze just inside the doorway. My youngest sister, Maebell, glared at me through her round glasses, a paper crown sliding down her forehead, a cape slung around her shoulders.

"You must ask for permission before you cross the Kingdom of Socks."

"The Kingdom of Socks?!" I suddenly noticed that she was wearing a pair of princess socks on her hands.

"I wanted it to be the Kingdom of Pirates," Jack groaned from the middle of a mattress palace. "But I got overruled."

"Socks are cute!" Anita said, bouncing on the palace with two hamsters in her striped-sock hands, her crown falling over her eyes.

"Cute? Well, maybe yours are," I allowed, looking at the colorful designs I was surrounded by.

"That’s why we made Jack borrow some from Anita," Claudia said. My parents have a bad sense of humor when it comes to names. Claudia and I got off easy, though. Born a year after Anita, Jack’s first name is actually...Anakin.

You can see why he goes by Jack.

Poor Jack was now reluctantly holding pink and yellow polka-dot socks towards me. Around the top, "Miss Marvliss" was embroidered three times in sparkly thread. The Is were dotted with hearts.

"Why don’t you guys do the Kingdom of Pirates?" I asked, taking pity on my brother.

Four high-pitched voices drowned me out and my older sister Winona laughed at me over the top of her book. Crime and Punishment. It figured.

"I think you’d better go upstairs before they put you in the dungeon," She said when I was close enough to hear.

"The dungeon?"

She gestured carelessly towards an old playpen. It was filled with socks.

"Are those all dirty?"

I was in awe.

"You bet they are," Mom stretched out of her meditative pose and stood with a yawn. "They wouldn’t let me wash clothes last week because they were holding Medieval Court. AND Claudia finally cleaned her room. You want some dinner? Dad saved it for you."

"Nah...I’m not hungry."

"Did you eat at the hen’s house?" Winona asked.

"Shut up," I said lightly. Winona never really meant anything she said. I’d learned that years ago when she said, "You’re a genius, aren’t you?" Then asked me to help her with her math.

"I’m just not hungry, that’s all."

"Suit yourself," Mom shrugged. "You’re missing out."

"Dad made pineapple cake for dessert," Winona said.

My mouth watered. Leave it to Winona. "Really?"

"No," She rolled her eyes and blew a very-berry bubble as she scanned the words about people whose private lives were a global affair. "I just thought I’d say it."

I sighed. The rule in our house was: no dinner, no dessert. Dad had made it up when Winona was trying to look like a skeleton. He had always made dessert but then...Well, those next two months a day didn’t go by without some new, exquisite, undeniable dessert displayed proudly in the middle of the middle of the poor piece of furniture that had been christened, the Round Table. Winona said it was going to have issues as it grew up because it was actually square, but I’ve got to say it seemed to be in a pretty good state psychologically. Not that you can ever tell with tables.

Obviously, everybody ate dinner in our house and Winona was actually decent-looking and healthy...for Winona.

"Alright," I gave in. "I’ll go have some dinner."

Mom beamed. "Join us in the theater when you’re done. We’re watching The Princess Bride. Alright, everyone!" she hollered. "Eight o’clock!"

The Sock Kingdom became the Kingdom of Mad Scrambling and Shouting.

"Again?" I asked. The Princess Bride had been shown yesterday. For clarification the theater was actually the den, just strewn with bean bags, littered with popcorn, and filled with the family and the sound of a favorite video.

"The Princes Bride is the best!" Winona said. "Even if the book is better."

"The book has to be better!" I grumbled, but when I’d finished dinner (Dad actually watched me to make sure I ate enough for it to qualify) I brought my cake in and watched Wesley save the day with Jack stretched out on one side of me and Anita snuggled against the other.

*~*~*

"What are you doing?" Jack asked sleepily.

It was five in the morning and I’d spent the last thirty minutes playing with the mysterious penny, attempting to discover whatever secret it held. My latest attempt had involved a lot of tossing and half the time there was a little ‘ding!’ asa the little metal disk hit window pane, bed-post, book, or scratched wood floor. I made an effort and scraped the penny into reach, picking it up from the floor and scrutinizing it in the early morning light.

"Did I wake you up?" I whispered.

"Yeah," He smiled and shook the straight, medium-length brown hair everyone else envied for its easy maintenance. "But it’s okay. What is it?"

He was on his stomach, staring at my closed hand with sleepy eyes, rubbing sleep away with his fists.

I sighed. "You’re not going back to sleep unless I show you, are you?"

White teeth gleamed beneath curious-sparked eyes the color of wet earth. "Nope."

"Here!" I tossed it to him.

Jack’s reflexes are always slow, but they were especially so right after waking up. He spent a few minutes scrambling around the floor looking for it. When he found the penny he looked at me from the bed as if he wasn’t quite sure I was sane.

"It’s a penny."

"Yeah?"

"Well, why do you care about it?"

"Find a penny, pick it up, all day you’ll have good luck," I chanted with a bit of a chuckle.

"Do you really believe that?"

"No, but pennies have to be good for something right?"

"Like what?"

"Well, you know... filling piggy banks... making wishes..."

I reached for the penny but he held onto it, staring at me.

"Clyde, " He said suddenly. "What would you wish for?"

Author's Note

Thanx for reading! (: Sorry it's a little long!

Reviews

[cloister]

That's not too long at all.

It's pretty good, actually. The end of the chapter is a great hook. It ties very well with the opening. I'm intrigued, certainly. You've placed a great pair of questions into the reader's mind "what did Clyde wish for" and "what could Clyde wish for?" And what's the thing with the rock villages? Now I want to know. Get busy with that next chapter!

The only serious advice I would give is that ridiculously vague aphorism "tighten it up". Which, in this case, I use to mean that certain parts of the chapter take longer to make their point than necessary, or continue on past where they have successfully made their point. The bit with the kingdom of socks, for example, I feel went on a little long. It's a nice portrayal of younger siblings, but I do think it can be streamlined a bit. Stephen King wrote, in "On Writing" that just about any piece of writing can be made better by being made 10% shorter. I think that's definitely true here. Cut the 10% that is fluff, that doesn't contribute to the story, and what's left is automatically better.