New spoiler! (SHHH!!!)

Okay, this a more of something else that I've been writing. And this time, it's not the very beginning. But even though you can't see how, this story is related to the one excerpt you read before. And this is a whole chapter, so don't begin reading if you don't have the time. Wait until you do. Once again, there's a BIIIIG spoiler in this, so don't just talk about it anywhere.

“So, where do you shop?” Peter overheard Lisa and her clique interrogating Jewelia across the hallway. He watched as the poor girl shifted uncomfortably, knowing that whatever she said would make her look below Lisa’s status.
“Well, I don’t go to any store in particular, mostly thrift stores, Target sometimes.” She got what she knew was coming. A patch of giggles from a superior attitude. Lisa flipped her hair over her shoulder in the way Peter disliked so much.
“Have you ever tried the mall?” she asked as if Jewelia were hard of hearing. This time Jewelia made a face of distaste.
“You know, I really don’t like the clothes that they sell there. I mean, it’s almost like the girls who wear those clothes have no integrity. I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around in a skirt that would show my underwear each time I bent over. And the necklines are so low! How can you stand wearing what you have on right now?” Lisa’s group of girls oohed. All right, Peter knew Jewelia had gone too far. Lisa was looking at her, and there should have been steam coming out of her ears, but there wasn’t. Peter watched as she looked Jewelia down, then looked herself up, and then tutted. He had to intervene; he didn’t like it when Lisa got mad.
“Hey, Lisa!” he called, stepping over to the other side of the hallway and putting a hand on Lisa’s shoulder. “You look great today; where in the world to you shop?” Of course Lisa instantly blushed and began acting sheepish.
“Really?” she goggled at him. “At least someone knows how to wear clothes.” She shot a deathly dark look at Jewelia. Peter pretended to agree.
“Yeah, Jewels, you should try the mall. Khakis aren’t working.” He moved away as Jewelia looked down incredulously at her pants and went on to class.
“I’d like you all to listen, please,” Mr. Jones was trying to get the class silent, which was turning out to be futile. The old man was too much of a turtle to get anyone’s attention, particularly a loud high school class full of students excited about the upcoming track events. A loud whistle interrupted all conversation and everyone’s eyes turned in the direction of the noise. Jewelia smiled and silently sat in her seat and folded her hands, looking very smug. Everyone followed suit in an awkward manner, unhappy that their fun was over.
“Thank you, ah…?” Mr. Jones began.
“Jewelia.” She answered.
“Right. Now, if you would all pay attention, I will remind you of that assignment that you all handed in about a week ago.” All except Jewelia groaned. “And I won’t say anything further than what I am about to say now. You will each be paired up with the person who wrote at about the same level as you did, and between the two of you, I want you to analyze and go over what these poems mean and why they are important. That is all for the rest of the period. When I give you your paper, the name of your partner will be at the top. I haven’t graded them, but I will be grading the analysis that you hand in to me at the end of class.” He began to go throughout the room handing each student their work, and Peter watched as some frowned and others got excited expressions. His heart fell when he saw Andy and Brycen turn to each other and clasp hands with their success of being partners.
“Mr. Parkinson,” Jones mumbled as Peter’s paper drifted onto his desk. Peter didn’t want to look at the name that was written at the top of his paper; he knew it meant certain doom. But he knew he had to. First he looked around at the others who were just receiving their papers. One pair of girls stared darkly at each other as they found a place to go discuss their poems. Jewelia had a happy, expectant grin on her face, but when she looked down, it was slapped right off, and a frown slapped back in its place. Peter finally looked down at his own paper.

Jewelia Manning

What?! No, there had to be a mistake. Either Jewelia had done really bad or he had done really good. Jones had read her stuff out loud before, and she was above any standards made in this school district. He stayed in his seat, unwilling to move. His fingers nervously tapped the edge of the desk, or played with the zipper on his binder.
“Hey,” a voice said hovering over him. “Why don’t we go out in the hallway, where it’s quieter?” He simply stood and followed her out into the locker bay. As they sat down beside each other, Jewelia looked at him wearily.
“Um…why don’t we switch papers and read each other’s poems first?” she said in a shaky voice.
“Any plan of yours is going to be better than mine,” Peter murmured. She gave him a fleeting glance as they traded papers and then instantly began running her eyes over his lines. Peter looked down at hers. It was all typed out in a neat font and had cute little pictures around it and her name, the only hand-written thing, was penned in a flourish.

Rainbows fly in the river of the dryads’ messages
A giggle from the wind
My spirit sang a song today, of roses.
The sun pours over the land, all around
I, queen, wealthy of life, of heart
Laugh like a bird, a dawning bird.
As the hour was struck by the deer call
Shadow left yesterday
Peace visited for tea, I say.
Come in, the weary are welcome
Where I reside I can fix your dreams
An apple house is no place for you.

What in the world…? He looked over at her. She was still engrossed in his poem. Peter thought that he had a strange poem; hers didn’t make any sense at all. He looked to Jewelia again and found her turned away, silent as no one had been before.
“H—hey, are you okay?” he asked, tapping her shoulder.
“I’m still reading. You wrote a long poem.” She said in a low-pitched, distracted voice.
“Well could you hurry up, then?” Peter was so impatient.
“Could you wait? I’m almost done.” It was in a strange low pitch. Suddenly she stood up, still not turning to him. “I’ll be back. Just a sec.” She began walking away with his paper still in her hand.
“Hey!” he called. She didn’t turn. “Hey! We still have some analysis to do!” She began walking faster and turned the corner. Peter didn’t want to chase her; he knew that would be futile. He folded his arms and tried reading the poem and getting the idea of what it meant, feeling completely inferior of intelligence and in wonder about her reaction to his writing.
It was about ten minutes before Jewelia came back, and she was continually rubbing her nose, as if it were cold.
“Here,” she said, sticking his poem in his face. “I thought it was really good. I never expected you to be a poet.” He stared.
“Frankly, I’m not. But you obviously are.”
“Well, duh, but you have to be a poet. I couldn’t have written something like that, even if I seriously tried. That’s the most insightful written work I’ve ever seen. Even above Emily Dickinson.” He kept staring. Finally, he got down to business.
“Well, I just don’t get where you’re coming from in this thing. All about rainbows and roses and peace and apple houses? To tell you the truth it sounds completely hippie.”
“I didn’t try to make it sound that way. Does it really sound that dumb?”
“No, it’s not dumb, but for me it’s just too happy to be real.”
“Oh, so you’re saying I’m creating an image of artificial happiness?”
“Uh, no. Look, can we just get on with the analysis? We only have about a half hour left.”
“Yeah, good idea.” Jewelia agreed. “Okay, so what do you think my poem means?” Blank. Peter was suddenly a deer two feet in front of headlights. He did not want to answer. The few things that he’d mustered up while she was gone certainly weren’t good enough.
“Well, it’s about happiness, obviously, but a certain kind of happiness. I was thinking relief?” She nodded, a gesture for him to go on. He held up the paper and pointed to a line. “Like right here, where it says, “Shadow left yesterday, Peace visited for tea,” that’s like saying ‘all my troubles are far away’—ha, sounds like a Beatles’ song—and ‘the rain is gone’.” Peter gave Jewelia a hopeful gaze.
“You get one of the ideas. That’s pretty good so far. Anything else?” Darn it.
“Um…the poem describes a place, like somewhere you would go to for healing, and it’s very welcoming and warm. This place is supposed to be beautiful and plentiful.” Something then came to mind. “Oh, I know!” Peter said. “It’s like the rainbow after rain. You know; the shadow is from the clouds and all of the rain, and after the rain left everything is shiny and new full of life. And anyone who is stuck in the rain is welcome to come and become whole again. Dude, you might have just written a new version of ‘Bright Sun-shiny Day’.” Jewelia just stared at him. And stared. And stared. And stared. Then she burst out laughing.
“You have the funniest way of analyzing!” she said. “Now you have to write that all down.” He assumed a mock look of defeat in his face and said “Aw, dang it!” as he pulled out a piece of paper and began writing.
“Here,” he said. “When I’m done writing all of this down, you and I could talk about my poem. It’s hard for me to concentrate on talking when I’m writing things down.”
“Okay.” She said. He began penning down his thoughts, surprised that he was meeting her satisfaction. He didn’t want to, but it made him feel like he was actually smart, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. How could this annoying girl make him feel guilty, full of wonder, and smart?
“…anyone… who is stuck…in the…rain…” He mumbled as he wrote the words down. Jewelia began laughing again.
“You might as well just tell Mr. Jones your analysis, if you’re going to say everything out loud.” He looked up.
“What?”
“You’ve been mumbling every single word as you write it down. And you told me it’s hard for you to concentrate on talking while you write. Do you always do that?”
“All the time; wouldn’t you?” Peter inquired. Jewelia shifted on her feet.
“Well, I don’t know….” The classroom door opened.
“It’s about time you two came inside now.” Mr. Jones said as he quickly stuck his head back through the door.
“We—we didn’t get to discuss his poem.” Jewelia said timidly, knowing he wouldn’t hear. “I’ll just have to write it down. We’ve got about ten more minutes until the bell actually rings.” They headed inside. Peter sat down in his seat and just sat there and wondered. He was amazed that he had actually done work in class. Way to go, Pete, he thought to himself.
When the bell rang he stood and stretched, trying to stall. Then he grabbed his books and walked through the isle between the desks, stopping behind Jewelia as she picked up her own things.
“Hey,” he said. She didn’t turn. “Uh…good job.” She nodded distractedly and said “Yeah, thanks. You too,” as he passed her.
After practice Peter found her sitting on the curb, leaning over a fat chemistry book and looking intense.
“Okay, Miss Dickinson, get in the car,” he joked. Jewelia looked up.
“I thought you were the one who wrote the poem that was worth Emily Dickinson. And besides, I’m almost finished.” She told him.
“Aw, come on. Your poem was great and you can finish reading before I take you home. My mom doesn’t need much help on Fridays. Remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. It’s Friday. I totally forgot, thanks to Mr. Svenorsen.” She said ruefully, climbing inside as Peter started the car.
“Oh, you got him? I’m sorry. You never told me that. Are you taking his AP class or something?”
“Yeah, somehow. I mean, I’ve been home schooled by my mom forever and suddenly she dropped out and my dad can’t teach diddly-squat and I’m landed in all of these advanced programs that are a breeze but absolutely boring. Should I just skip to college?”
“I don’t know. It depends on if you really want to. I think it would be better if you had friends in there with you. Otherwise school will really drive you nuts.” Jewelia rolled her eyes.
“If it hasn’t already. And besides, I don’t really have any friends at all. As far as that goes, the person I know most is you, and—well, I’m not so sure.” Peter stared forward at that comment. He wasn’t sure what to think of her yet; she still got annoying and talkative, but after the brilliance he’d seen today, things were given a confusing turn.
“Well, you’ve proven to me that you can write poems, keep a house clean, and be so talkative it literally drives me insane. I think my opinion will have to roost a while longer.”
“Oh, so that’s how it goes?” she said skeptically. It wasn’t mean; it was a joke. They laughed a little and left the conversation to sit until later as Peter pulled in to park. He hated that he couldn’t just pull into a garage and walked into a house like most other kids did. It was why he never had friends over and never had parties, beside the fact that his bedroom was off limits to all but him. Walking through the front door and making his way to the apartment, Peter pulled the door open.
Dead silence.
“Mom?” he called. Jewelia looked around worriedly. Peter went into his mom’s office. No one was in there. No sounds were coming from Rusty’s room; Mike wasn’t at the fridge like usual.
The phone began to ring. Jewelia gripped his arm. He didn’t dare pick it up, or check the caller id. It seemed to ring forever, loud and long and almost echoing. It felt like minutes before a beep made both Peter and Jewelia jump and Peter’s mom began to speak.
“Hey, Peter, this is Mom. I just wanted to tell you that I’m meeting your dad at the airport; he decided to come over and visit for a while. Tell Jewelia that there’s a small load of laundry in the wash closet, and she just needs to vacuum the floor, okay? I’ll be home in a couple of hours, so just do your homework and we’ll all be home soon. Bye sweetie.” Beep. Peter and Jewelia sighed heavily in unison, relieved that nothing bad had happened. Then Jewelia began laughing.
“That really scared me for a moment. I thought that someone had, like, kidnapped your family and was calling you for a ransom!” she sighed again among giggles as she went to the wash closet. Peter just stood there.
The message didn’t make him feel much better. He was glad that everyone was okay, but what his mom had just told him was unreal and unwanted. Something bumped him. Jewelia had the laundry basket set on her hip and was looking at him, concerned.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He said. “I was just—stunned—for a moment.”
“Oh, all right.” Peter groaned as he went to his bedroom. It would have been better if she hadn’t asked how he was. Of course he wasn’t okay! He didn’t want his dad to come over and he didn’t like the idea that his mom sounded a little happy about it. Jack was a jerk and he knew he was. Every time he visited he constantly talked about his good fortune and how well off he was.
Peter didn’t care that a great business owner was coming to his house; he wanted Jack out and he wanted him gone. It was the stupid man’s fault that his parents broke up anyhow. Just because Jack couldn’t handle three young children, he decided that the family life wasn’t good enough and he just walked out. He had better things to do than to teach Peter how to play ball and take Mom on dates every once in a while and actually have fun. No, Jack had to have money to have fun, because his kind of fun cost that much. Yeah, to Jack, he had to travel halfway around the world to go skiing, or get the best rock climbing gear; he had to go on fancy cruises that cost a million dollars. He had to have the best and busiest job, so that everybody liked him, and he was always number one, and he had all the power. He needed to go to award ceremonies and galas, see the president; be a celebrity.
Peter hated him; Peter loathed him; Peter wanted to gouge his eyes out. Because Peter knew that that man could never be a real father, and would never want to come back and be a real person. Peter knew that Jack was too high above him and Russell and Michael and Mom. Peter knew that if someone put Mom’s wedding ring, and Jack’s money on a scale, Jack’s money would weigh more. Jack wasn’t his dad. Nothing could make him that way either, unless someone really knew how to tamper with brains.
Heaving a sigh, Peter pulled up one of his notebooks and stared at the unfinished pages, and he soon found himself tapping his pencil. His mom’s news had completely jarred his train of thought and concentration and definitely his good mood. Peter looked at the clock. He’d wasted a half hour seething about Jack and trying to put unmade words on paper. A soft knock echoed from the door. Peter knew what it was, but he was in no mood to answer.
“Peter,” Jewelia said, “I know I’m not supposed to come in, but I’m done with everything, so it would be nice if you gave me a ride home.” He continued to remain quiet, and noticed something in her tone, as if she didn’t exactly want to go home, but she knew it wouldn’t serve her well to stay here.
“Peter? Peter? Are you awake?” she began rapping on the door again. Tired of her voice, he opened the door and simply stared at her surprised face. She suddenly looked concerned.
“Um…are you alright? You look really mad.” Pushing past her Peter muttered, “It’s none of your business.” The poor girl simply shrugged, though the look of concern stayed.
As they got into the car, the sky began to drizzle, setting a mist over the road. The two both stared out the window, though Jewelia gave Peter worried glances every once in a while. Peter couldn’t stand the silence, so he turned on the radio just to hear noise, no mater what it was or how much Jewelia liked it.
“Oh, this is a good song,” she said in a happy, hushed tone.
“If you like it, then you can be quiet and listen to it.” Peter told her, not trying at all to keep the surliness out of his voice. Her frown instantly made him feel bad for speaking.
“I would say something but you’d probably get mad at me,” she said to him.
“I’m already mad; go ahead and say it anyway.”
“Fine,” she said cautiously. “Would you mind telling me what’s wrong? It’s obvious you have a big problem.” In a strange way, he felt better about her request and afraid at the same time. Why should she care about his dad? She was just a person he knew from school that worked for his mom, and she probably had enough of things to worry in her life than him and his dad. But somehow the words spouted in a clumsy way.
“I hate my mom’s phone call.”
Peter realized what he’d said and slapped his forehead before remembering to keep his eyes on the road.
“What do you mean?” she was absolutely confused.
“I mean—I hate my dad. My mom said he was coming over and he just isn’t very welcome to me. The only reason he divorced my mom was because he couldn’t handle three kids and she couldn’t handle him going for the most time consuming jobs that deprived him of being part of the family. And now every time Jack comes he prances around like the king of the world because he always has a new girlfriend and always gets the best income and shows off how far he’s gone compared to my mom, whom he’s never helped and never complimented.” Peter ended with his knuckles white on the steering wheel and the rain pounding. Jewelia stayed silent. “I mean, why should you care? You have plenty of things to worry about and you don’t have to act like you need to help me.”
“That’s exactly what I have to do.” She told him. Her face looked annoyingly determined. Peter decided he should get her home faster, and pressed a little further on the pedals. He didn’t want her help.
“Turn right!” Jewelia cried. Peter swerved to the right, causing the breaks to scream in fear and pain. He stopped and looked back at the newly made skid marks.
“What in the world are you trying to do? Get me in an accident?” he yelled.
“Either you let me drive or I’ll continue to give you directions. We’re going somewhere else.” Jewelia told him firmly, not answering his questions.
“Oh no, we’re not going anywhere but to your house.” Peter started to turn to car around but Jewelia grabbed the wheel and began to pull it in the opposite direction.
“I am not going home!” she said with a frightening conviction. Peter glared at her.
“Do you not understand that I am the driver? Now let go of the wheel before someone hits us!” Peter pressed the gas a little bit further, and Jewelia pulled the wheel back in her course until Peter found himself traveling away from the route to Jewelia’s house. He braked again and this time he turned off the ignition, too.
“Get out of the car, right now,” he demanded. Jewelia rolled her eyes and scowled at him as she opened the door to the onslaught of rain. As soon as he got out, Peter almost lashed out at her. But instead, he was curious.
“Okay,” he said in a heated tone, folding his arms. “Fine, take the wheel and let’s go to this place. But if you make any more trouble, I’m serious I will not take you home.” He moved into the passenger's seat and didn’t care to turn as she revved the truck up again. They stayed silent and in intense moods for the rest of the ride until Jewelia stopped at the side of the road that seemed to Peter very random.
“We have to walk from here,” she stated. Peter didn’t want to ask, but was relieved when she headed toward the trees that would mostly shelter him from more rain. In the brush there was only a mist above the ground that immediately dampened his jeans. The way the air seemed steamy and thankfully warmer made Peter feel like he had stepped into a rainforest. Jewelia didn’t take time to say anything about what she was doing, but moved steadily onward and allowed him to follow in silence.
It wasn’t until they entered an open glade that was covered several feet above with tree branches while the center was amassed by a great tree that almost looked like a natural tree house. Peter wasn’t very good at identifying trees, so he didn’t care to try to decide which type of tree this was. He simply looked up and listened to the bullets of rain try to break through the roof of trees.
“And you brought me here because…?” he asked, giving Jewelia a questioning look.
“Now I just want you to imagine yourself somewhere, anywhere,” Jewelia called. She’d nimbly climbed up the tree and was looking down upon him.
“Where?” Peter said in disbelief.
“You pick! That’s why you’re imagining yourself there. It doesn’t even have to be known by the rest of the world. It can be all your own place. An entire world all for you.” Peter thought, but still wasn’t in the mood for whatever she was trying to do. Even the faintest thought of Gandrieltia made him want to leave.
“Fine, I’m thinking of it. Can we go now?” he called up, folding his arms.
“Are you imagining it, or just thinking of it. I told you to imagine it. Feel it, smell it, taste it around you. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“Jewelia, I don’t have time for this. I have homework that I could be doing right now.” Peter was getting very impatient.
“As if you would actually be doing it,” she retorted.
“Hey!” Peter bellowed. “I’m not here to be teased, and ‘m most definitely not in the mood for it either. Now get this thing over with and let me go home.”
“You don’t want to go home any more than I do. If you hate your dad that much, why would you want to go back?”
“Maybe it’s because I’ve made it very clear that he stay away from me or I’ll strike him with a hatchet. I’ll be perfectly fine at home; I just won’t like the fact that he’s here. Besides, who said you didn’t want to go home?”
“I did, smart one. And what I’m doing isn’t just something to ‘get over with.’ Okay? Now imagine your world or I’ll infest it with strange beings that look suspiciously like your dad. And quit letting your bad mood rub off on me. I don’t like being in a bad mood.”
“Oh, so all of this is my fault?” Peter scoffed. “The world is null and I’m to blame? Who was the one who nearly got both of us into a car accident?”
“There was nobody around, and I’m not the who one screeched on the breaks. They’re going to smell weird after that.”
“And I should care more about how bad some car breaks smell than about my own life. Well, my priorities are straight now.”
“Imagine your world, okay!” Jewelia sounded angrier than Peter thought capable of her. He glared at her as she made her way back down the tree and came up to him with a finger ready to jab him in the chest. “This is why I need to help you!” she hissed.
“You can’t have conversation with anyone without turning it into an argument or something very negative. I can’t stand people like that. Now I’m trying to give you as much sympathy as I can pull and right now I don’t think I can pull anymore!”
Peter stared coolly back into her angry face and simply made her read his lips.
“Well, then you don’t have to do it now. I’m leaving you here.” Her look of horror almost made him laugh, but Peter instantly shifted into gear and ran like sound. It was a treasure to his ears to hear that she had fallen behind him at one point and he just had to jog to his truck before she could climb in. Pulling the car door open and shut he turned on the ignition and got himself turned around just as her exhausted figure emerged from the wood. Smirking, Peter drove home, simply listening to the rain now lightly pattering on the windshield.
As he drove back home Peter couldn’t help thinking of how stupid she was. As far as he could see, the only great thing Jewelia was able to do was write at a college level. He had her in no other classes, so he knew nothing about how well she did in other subjects, but he didn’t care. She definitely wasn’t the best runner, even though he could hardly make that a credible thought because he just happened to be a phenomenal athlete compared to her. And the girl didn’t know how to hold her tongue when she needed to, or how to keep out of everyone’s business. She acted like she was the boss of everything during school; it drove him nuts. The only reason people would do what she asked for was that they new she could easily lash out at them just the same as being silently rude behind their backs.
Peter grunted to himself, as he didn’t have real evidence of this, but a rumor that circulated around the school had to come from somewhere. He smiled smugly when he entered the actual signs of town, just thinking of how much he thought she deserved to walk home. The only thought that could faze him was the idea that Jack would be there to replace her and resume making Peter’s life miserable. With that in mind, Peter stopped the car, got out, and made his way up to the Parkinson apartment.