A/N: Thanks to the five of you who reviewed with such uplifting comments! You are the reason why I’m continuing with this. Enjoy!

The Herald
Chapter 2

I wake the next morning to bright sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. As I swing my bare feet over the bed and onto the floor, I can hear Stu’s giggle and Grandma puttering around in the kitchen. I grab the pair of jeans I wore yesterday off the floor and hike them up my hips. A wrinkled concert tee shortly follows. I exit the bedroom I share with my Grandmother, raking a brush through my choppily layered hair.

“’Morning Elli,” Grandma says, looking up from her bagel and smiling slightly at me.

“Hey, Grandma,” I say, putting down the brush and grabbing a bowl from the cabinet. Stu, I notice, is planted in his usual spot--in front of the entertainment stand, watching television.

“... And in other news, preparations have begun for the Flower Festival, which falls on the 23rd of Spring this year,” comes the announcer’s voice.

I shake the box of Cheerios until the cereal spills out into my bowl. “Are you going to go to the Festival this year, Elli?” Grandma’s voice is hopeful.

“Naw,” I say, dumping a few spoonfuls of sugar on top of my Cheerios. “That festival is ridiculous. It’s basically just another reason for a group of men to get drunk and gawk at Karen in some skimpy dress as she waltzes around with a tiara on her head. Isn’t that right, Stu?”

Stu throws me a confused look, which I return with a smile. Sometimes I’m jealous of his naïveté.

“Elli,” comes Grandma’s harsh tone.

I pour milk over my cereal.

Wonderful. Here it comes...

“I know you’re hostile towards Karen, but you need to start getting out there and doing things. Social things.”

I roll my eyes and shove a spoonful of Cheerios in my mouth.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. You’ve got an attitude, all the elders in town tell me so. You’re so angry with everyone and everything—you need to stop this. Maybe if you started acting like a friendly, respectful, normal teenager, you’d have some friends.”

“That’s awfully nice of you to be so concerned about my social life,” I say, a sarcastic tug on my voice. “But you didn’t seem to care too much about it last night.” And with that, I shrug my bag over my shoulder and am out the door.

I descend the steps of the front porch, smirking to myself. I’ve become so bitter, so derisive—it’s wonderful. Two years ago, I was so bright, so bubbly.

That was when mom was still around.

I didn’t have anything to be cynical about back then.

But now… Oh, now is a completely different story. I’m not blind to the bad in people. I’m wiser now, I can watch out for myself.

My thoughts shift back to Grandma as I near the crossroads, blood boiling. She is always calling me out for being reclusive. Like it’s helping me to point out that I have no friends.

As if on cue, Ann and Maria barrel around the corner, laughing hysterically. And suddenly, they notice me, slowly coming to a stop. I halt in my tracks as well, narrowing my eyes as if to say, “What? Stopping to gawk at the freak show?” We stare at each other for what seems like ten minutes—them looking at me as if they want to say something, me glaring back as if I want to sock them both. Finally, they continue on their way, exchanging hushed whispers and sneaking glances back in my direction.

See, Grandma? I want to say. It’s not like I’m anti-social—there’s just no one in Flowerbud worthy of socializing with. Point proven in that little exchange there.

I bring my thoughts to a close as I approach the office of the Herald. “Hey El!” Rick calls, opening the door and stepping outside. Then he locks the front door and tosses me the ring of keys, which I catch with a slightly confused expression on my face.

“Sorry, El, but I’m taking the day off. Karen needs me to take her to the main land so she can get a dress for the Flower Festival.”

Are you kidding me?

“Here. I made a list of things for you to do today so you can still get your hours in and whatnot.” He hands me a yellow piece of filler paper. I look down at the bulleted list and am tempted to laugh.

“Organize the file archive in the office? Pull the weeds in Rick’s garden? Rick, I’m not going to—“

“Oh!” Rick exclaims, completely ignoring my protest. “Here, there’s one thing I forgot to add.” He digs for a pen in his pocket and grabs the list out of my hand. “Here,” he says, jotting frantically. “We’re going to need you to interview that new Liam kid for the next issue of the Herald.”

“But--!”

“Look, Elli, all of our staff writers are too busy with Flower Festival arrangements to interview him, and seeing as you’re not going to the festival…” He smirks. “I guess you’re the only one with the time to get it done.”

No. There is no possible way that I’m talking to that Liam kid, not after the episode we had last night. Plus, listening to conceited Liam talk about himself for any amount of time during the interview would be unbearable. “Can’t you guys just wait ‘til after the festival to do the interview?” I plead.

Rick, obviously irritated now with my complaints, thrusts the list back into my palm and caps his pen. “I don’t understand you, Elli!” he booms. “You’re always angry because you never get to actually write, and now, when I give you the opportunity, you don’t want it? It’s ridiculous! It’s like you want to be fired!”

“ALRIGHT, Rick, I’ll do it,” I say, throwing up my hands and surrendering.

“Good,” he says, satisfied. “I’d like it on my desk by tomorrow morning, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“No, Rick,” I force through clenched teeth. “No trouble at all.”

-----

When I arrive at the farm, Liam and another man (who I’m guessing is his father) are unloading a bright red truck. I watch as they lift a dilapidated couch, a lamp, and a few other things from the bed of the truck before noticing me.

Liam says something to his father who laughs, and then jogs on over to me.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says. There is an element of sarcasm in his voice, and an amused grin plays at the edges of his lips. “For what occasion does the Angry Elli Girl come crawling back? Perhaps to say she’s sorry…?”

I roll my eyes and fold my arms across my chest. “Not in this lifetime.”

He laughs.

I scowl.

“Look, I need to do an interview with you for the Herald. You know, Flowerbud’s paper? Everyone is just so eager to read about Golden Farmer Boy.’ And seeing as everyone else on the staff is setting up for the Flower Festival—“

“Flower what?”

“Festival. It’s this big, stupid celebration of some goddess or something equally as brainless.”

His eyebrows crease as if he’s interested. “Hm. Well, Ms. Angry Elli, I guess I can do an interview with you, but I’m kind of busy at the moment.” He looks over to his father who is carrying a television set towards the house. “Want to come back in a couple hours?”

No.

“I guess,” I say, kicking some dirt with my shoe and trying to look bored.

“Okay. I’ll see you around 3 then.”

“Can’t wait.”

-----

“What is your name, and can you spell it for me?”

Annnnnnd, we’re off. Or so the interview is.

“William Darcy, Liam for short. Spelled like it sounds.”

We’re in Liam’s dimly lit, musty smelling little shack of a house. He’s standing in the kitchen with a can of pop in hand, leaning on the counter casually. I’m sitting on the very edge of the couch in the adjacent room, stiff, upright, and uncomfortable.

“Tell me a little bit about your family and your life before Flower Bud,” I say, avoiding direct eye contact with Liam, glancing over his head at the dirty refrigerator.

“Well, you saw my dad before—he was helping me unload the truck. My mom was here yesterday for the welcome party, but she had to leave early this morning—she was scheduled to be in court.”

“Ah, so she’s a criminal?” I ask, my left eyebrow rocketing skyward.

“No, a lawyer,” he grins. “I also have a sister. Her name is Lucy.”

“And her age?”

“Twelve,” he says. “As for my life before Flowerbud…” He pauses to think, taking a swig from his diet Pepsi. “Well, I graduated from high school last spring, and instead of moving onto college, I took a year off to help my dad out with his landscaping business. But then word came that my Grandfather died, and I guess the village was really suffering from this monopoly held by the grocers or whatever—“

“Yes, we were.”

“And it had been Grandpa’s will that his family inherit and run the farm so… Here I am.”

I nod, satisfied. “What do you like to do in your spare time? Got any hobbies?”

“I like to read. And write, kinda like you. I’m also really into music. I play guitar.” He gestures to a guitar case leaning against the far wall. The one I’d failed to notice until now. “I think we’re a lot alike,” he ventures.

“You don’t know me,” I say, becoming defensive.

He plays with the tab on his pop can. “Well, I said I write and play guitar. And evidently you do too, unless the person doing that before was your equally bratty twin sister.”

My laugh is full of contempt.

“Forget I said anything,” he says, his voice more edgy than the light banter we were shooting back and forth a moment ago. “Let’s just move on and get this over with.”

“What do you hope to find here in Flowerbud?”

“Well, I’m hoping to become successful with this farm business, hoping to learn a lot from it. Also, I want to make a bunch of new friends, maybe meet a future wife. Who knows.”

“Hah, good luck with that one,” comes my negative comment, shooting down his hopeful one. We have it down to a science by now, I swear.

“What do you mean?”

He is so naïve.

“I mean, good luck finding a future wife among the petty girls here.”

“That’s funny,” he says. “The only petty girl I seem to have run across thus far is sitting right here in this room.”

Silence.

Then, “I’m sorry, I have to be leaving now,” I force. “Goodnight.”

He hands me my coat and opens the door. “Goodbye.”

-----

“Grandma!” I shriek. “You didn’t! Please say you didn’t!”

“This morning was the last straw, young lady. I am sick and tired of your attitude, and Peter is a very nice young man.”

“But Grandma! You can’t just say that—that I’ll be his date to the Flower Festival!”

“Why not? He needed a date, and I wanted you to go.” The way she says this so calmly, so matter-of-factly infuriates me. Unfortunately, Stu is in the room, and it’s an unspoken rule that we can’t cuss in his presence.

So I stomp to the door, open it violently, stomp outside, slam the door behind me, and just let loose. I mean, just open my mouth and rip out every filthy word known to the English language.

First, Liam completely embarrasses me.

And now I’m set to go to the Flower Festival with Peter, the Doctor. A man I hardly know nor desire to get to know.

Shoot me now.