1. Dollhouse

Introductions, chance meetings, summer plans.

He would always come to her when she couldn’t sleep, when she was angry or frightened or sad; he would tap on her bedroom window three times with a flourish and she would scoot to the edge of her bed to undo the latch. At first they would play games together, fantastic imaginary plays with her many dolls as the players. He would tell her wild tales about a boy warrior and his many adventures in an overgrown magical world. Then, as she grew older he came less and less. He asked her to come with him out of the window, but each time she shook her head sadly and he would leave. She knew she could not go, no matter how badly she wanted to. She had school and her parents and her brothers and her dog. 

And so, when he stopped coming when she turned 12, she understood. He was not to be a kept pet, a caged bird to amuse her. He had more adventures to have, more stories to tell to other little girls. 

She was sad for awhile, but soon the excitement of starting junior high and her family planning a move to coastal Michigan from the small town in South Carolina they lived in, and the normal thoughts of a pubescent girl pushed him from her mind. 

By the time she got to high school she had forgotten him altogether. 

“Mom, I don’t see why you don’t just take Johnny and Mike with you guys. I mean, I hardly have time to make sure they don’t, I don’t know, blow up the shed or something. I work every day. Practically,” grumped Wendy. It was the first weekend of summer break. Her parents were leaving in two days for the summer, spending it in South Carolina with her paternal grandmother who had an enormous antebellum house with no one for company but her sneaky white cat Tybalt. 

“Because,” sighed her mother, “It isn’t a good idea for you to stay here alone either. And besides, they’d terrorize that house. All the breakables...” she trailed off. 

Wendy had to admit that was true. Her brothers were wild, all booming voices and stomping feet. She sometimes wondered if they would ever grow out of it. 

“Maybe it would be good for them to get away from here. You know, get away from suburbia. Plus,” she was grasping and she knew it, “I’ll hardly be home at all. Who knows what kind of shi--stuff they’d get into.” 

Wendy’s younger brothers Johnny and Mike were 15 and 13 and were always getting into some kind of trouble or other. Johnny looked innocent with his funny little glasses and intelligent way of talking, and Mike was already turning handsome with his strawberry blonde hair and dimpled grin. Wendy had seen the gaggles of 7th grade girls who passed by their house hoping for a glimpse of Mike mowing the lawn or playing with their dog Nana. Johnny was always masterminding some scheme or plot. His I.Q. tests had been ridiculously high.
Wendy always told her friends she wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up a genius or in prison. 

Mrs. Darling folded her arms across her chest and rolled her green-grey eyes. 

“Well then, I suppose you’re right. The only solution I can think of is to have you all along.” 

Wendy could have screamed. 

Instead, she smoothed her t-shirt over her slim hips and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“But I have to work. What am I supposed to do, just quit?” 

Just then, Mr. Darling came jaunting into the room, arms full of golf shirts. 

“What’s up? Wendy? Mary?” He looked from his wife to his daughter and back again. George Darling was often preoccupied with work or golf or some crime novel. He was usually the last to know about anything taking place in the household, and was typically goodnatured about it. 

Mrs. Darling took the shirts from him and began to compulsively fold them on the kitchen table. 

“I think the kids should come with us, George. Three months is a pretty long time to leave them here alone.” 

Mr. Darling scratched his head and shrugged, as if mulling it over. He shrugged again and raised his sandy eyebrows. 

“Well, I think that’s a great idea! The kids could use some fresh air. Do them some good. Maybe we could even all go fishing.” 

Mrs. Darling smiled, the little crinkles at the corners of her eyes making them twinkle. 

“Then it’s settled. Wendy, go get your things packed. JOHN! MICHAEL! GET YOUR BUTTS DOWN HERE!”

Wendy swallowed the growing lump in her throat, pushed back the childish frustration that was building in her chest. She could feel the beginnings of tears pricking at her eyes and that only made her feel more like a brat. 

This was supposed to have been her summer. She was going to be a senior next year. She finally had friends, a boy who she was pretty sure liked her back. She worked at the library and adored it. She had planned to languorously drift around the house on her days off and fill her nights with parties and bonfires. 

People had finally stopped calling her a space case, a weirdo, a retard. She’d gotten her daydreaming under control mostly. She barely had the dreams anymore. 

She pushed past her brothers, who had bounded up from the basement and were rummaging around in the fridge. 

Up the stairs and into her room, her perfect pastel sea-foam green room with the white trim. The collages she had made of pictures from magazines she liked still hung above her dresser. The painting of the boy from her dreams still sat unfinished on her easel. The almond-y eyes seemed to follow her. The corners of his mouth seemed to be tugging upwards in the slightest smirk. There was something animal in his face, something vulpine. She had tried to paint that. 

Now it all seemed like some sad joke. 

She had some creepy fixation with a guy who wasn’t even real. She’d dreamed him. Imagined him from old bits and pieces of other boys. 

Her parents were making her go back to South Carolina for the entire summer. 

She had to drop everything and just go, because she was 17 and had no say in anything. Wendy flopped facedown onto her bed with the old white iron four-poster frame and waited. 

She felt like she was constantly waiting for something to happen instead of out living her life like a normal girl. 

She rolled over onto her side, strands of her own gold-blonde hair making a veil over her eyes. They glittered in the afternoon sun melting through the window like butter. She’d been wearing her favorite soft white t-shirt and a pair of ratty cut-offs and had felt comfortable and relaxed earlier, but now they just seemed to be mocking her. 

She wriggled out of the shorts and kicked them into her dirty hamper before grabbing an old pair of sweatpants out of a drawer and pulling them on. 

Wendy knew she had no business wearing summer clothes anyhow, she couldn’t get a tan to save her life. Mike and Johnny would be golden by the end of the first week at their grandmother’s, but all Wendy would get was a few more freckles under her eyes and across her nose. She was as white as melted vanilla ice cream. 

“This is so unfair,” she said aloud to no one. Immediately she felt stupid. She pulled her wild hair into a sloppy bun on top of her head and dragged her big suitcase out of the closet. She wanted to just pile as many items of clothing as she could and not care, but she couldn’t not fold them neatly. 

She packed tank tops and t-shirts and blouses, skirts and dresses and denim shorts, pajamas. She made sure she packed her toothbrush and some pads (she never could use tampons; she just froze up and couldn’t work it in). She packed flip flops and sneakers and her favorite boots. Bras and underwear. Deodorant. She racked her brain for anything she might be forgetting. 

Phone charger. 

ADD medication. 

Hair ties. 

By the time she had finished, the digital clock by her bed read 7:00. She had been packing for nearly three hours. 

Author's Note

Please let me know how my character development is, and also if there are any changes or suggestions to help my writing flow better. Thank you :)